Woof. Yeah, it's been a while. Coming back to the island and re-settling into the culture, work environment, and daily routine has consumed my time and energy, leaving me with a lot of thoughts and not much time to sit down and write them out. This also happened to me last year as a new arrival, of course, but a key difference was that I was seeing it all with new eyes and felt much more of a call to record it in some formal manner. I also had lived a lot less life at that point, and didn't have the feeling that writing casually was somehow betraying all of the deeper things that deserve to be brought to the light, too. Literally every time I've tried to start a post, I write one mega-paragraph about the swirling cocktail of emotions and thoughts in my head and why it's so damn hard for me to write about them, and then I get tired and/or distracted, and step away for long enough that the cycle begins again.
So I am CUTTING myself OFF here, and forcing myself to write about something inane and beautiful!
A couple of weeks ago, fueled by boredom and a touch of claustrophobia, I decided I'd hop on the guagua (bus) to visit Arure, the town at the top of the valley. It's a 15-20 minute ride up, which is about all I can stomach these days. After one too many 1.5 hour bus rides to the capital last year, I've decided I'm no longer willing to put myself through the hairpin turns and mountain switchbacks unless absolutely necessary. Now I wake up earlier and spend the extra euros for a boat ticket, and save myself the nausea. Worth it.
 |
| (taken while extremely nauseated) |
This was really only my third time venturing into the "interior" of the island, and my first time visiting a pueblo, so I wasn't quite sure what to expect. When we stepped off the bus, we were taken aback by the silence, which was punctuated only by goat bells and the occasional raven calling.
As we walked up the narrow street, Sarah spotted a tree loaded with ripe figs, and we stared at it longingly, wondering how we could get a taste. We must have looked pretty desperate, because an old woman appeared on the rooftop across the street, and yelled "¡¡CÓJANLOS, CÓJANLOS!!" ("Take them! Take them!"). She motioned for us to climb the stairs next to the tree for better access, and we began picking. I had never had a real fig before (yep, just Fig Newtons), so I had no idea what I was in for. But the minute I tasted my first, I almost cried. They are so delicious! We loaded our stomachs and then our backpacks, and as we picked, a parade of goats ran down the street below us, bells clanging. To this day, I think it was one of my favorite moments of the grant year.
With what little room we had left in our stomachs, we ate a delicious cheese-heavy meal, and continued wandering around.
At the edge of town, we had spotted something that looked like a bridge, and wanted to investigate. On our way over, we saw signs for a mirador (lookout point/vista), and started half-running out of excitement. Turns out the bridge was just an aqueduct, but as we crossed under it and looked ahead, we both teared up as the view took the breath from our lungs.
Most lookout points are beautiful, sure, but I swear on my life I've never seen one as incredible as this. On the left, a sharp razorback cliff juts forward, mirrored by a slightly softer cliff on the right. Between the two is a green valley which holds the town of Taguluche. The buildings of Taguluche are just sprinkled down the valley, surrounded by palm groves and a road that looks like a fallen ribbon. At the bottom, the ocean crashes dramatically against the basalt cliffs, leaving stains of white foam on the deep blue water. On the horizon, puffy white clouds buffer the dark blue masses of La Gomera's neighbors La Palma and El Hierro. The air smells of sweet juniper, and sound of goat bells is accompanied by kestrels calling and the distant roar of the ocean. As if it didn't already have my heart, Arure took it and ran.
So, in my second year on La Gomera, I've resolved to get up here a lot more frequently. October is prime time because the weather is still sure to be good (in "winter" it can be very blustery and even cold and rainy), and the figs are ripe for the picking. On my first trip up this year, I snagged a couple from trees in town, but felt weird doing it without the permission of a benevolent abuela, even though all of the trees are loaded down and the ripe fruits are bursting open and falling to the ground because no locals eat them. So I focused my energy on taking a hike up into the laurel forest, which marks the beginning of Parque Nacional Garajonay. When my best friend Elizabeth came to visit back in March, we took a similar route and had an excellent time until I received very bad news about my dad's outlook, at which point everything came crashing down. I'll be honest: taking this route again brought back a lot of traumatic memories, but it felt good to retrace the beautiful trail in a stable frame of mind. It just feels so good to get into green woods from time to time--as much as the ocean calls me, the woods are really where I feel most at home.
 |
| Mysterious berries--if you know what these are PLEASE TELL ME |
After a couple hours of hiking through the silent, misty, decently spooky forest, I popped out into the sun and decided to take a side road back into town. It was, of course, gorgeous and peaceful, and gave me some awesome vistas that reminded me a bit of North Dakota (but with, ya know, the ocean).
As I was strolling along, a sweet smell flooded my nose, and I whirled around. A FIG TREE! In the middle of nowhere! Oh baby, this was the jackpot!! Unfortunately, most of the figs were still little and green, but I found a few ripe ones and memorized the location for my return.
So, of course, yesterday I found myself in Arure again, having given my precious fruits two weeks to ripen. I went up with two goals: to eat figs and to find a shady place where I could finally write. As soon as I stepped off the bus, I made tracks for the tree in town across from the nice lady's house. I lingered for a few minutes and stared longingly, but alas, she did not appear to bless me. Well, that's okay! I practically ran up the hill to the side road, and as I was on my way to my oasis tree, I caught the scent of another more hedge-like tree that had somehow evaded detection last time. So I pulled on my fig-picking pants and filled a container with them, then did the same just a few hundred meters up the road at the original tree. I could not possibly describe how good they taste, especially when eaten in the blue-sky sunshine and sweet breeze. Just imagine the best thing you've ever tasted, but better.
After a very successful harvest, I slowly made my way back down to the mirador for a final sensory indulgence. I took one of those paths across the landscape that is clearly not meant to be a path, but where enough people have uncertainly made their way in the same direction that it kind of is a path. I scared up a bunch of common quail and watched kestrels and ravens glide overhead as the town sprawled out below me. I finally made it to the overlook and found a shady corner where I wrote undisturbed for an hour. These days feel like a balm, like exactly what I've been needing. I can't wait to have more.
