Sand flies

“Welcome to the Canary Islands.” She said.

“Thanks.” Cool-guy smiled. “I’ll need information on surfing.”

She frowned. “Surfing schools?”

“Sure. Where can I rent equipment?”

“Hmmm.” She started flipping through computer screens. “We don’t have much surfing here on Fuerteventura because it’s so windy.”

“Windy?” I asked, a little breezily. I mean. Come on. We left Portugal because we were less than enamored with the wind there. Could we have flown all this way only to be plastered by the wind again? Um. Please. No.

“There are a lot of wind surfing schools. That must be what you saw on the internet.”

Cool-guy started chanting. “No. No way. No way.”

I stepped forward. “We’re sure we read about surfing.”

“There are times of the year when the waves are good for surfing. This isn’t one of them.”

“No. No way. We’ve come so far. No way.”

“But. I do have two surf schools listed up north.”

“How far is that?” I asked.

“About forty minutes.”

We started our drive. Really. No kidding. It looked as if we had landed on the moon. There were no trees. No houses. Only great big sand dunes. One after the other stretching out forever.

“Camels.” I murmured. “It looks like we should be riding camels here.”

“Where’s the trees?” Cool-guy whispered. “I can’t stand being in a place with no trees.

“Me neither.”

He banged his hands on the steering wheel. “They said flora. They said fauna.”

“They must have meant sand fleas.”

We got to the North side of the island and sat in a little café in a little town on a little beach and ate lunch. We watched the children playing in the ocean. People were building sand castles. There were lots of sunbathers. Neither one of us mentioned the ever present wind.

I sat and did some writing while Cool-guy went to check out the surf shops. He wasn’t smiling when he returned.

“One is closed for the season.”

“The season?”

“The other charges a fortune to drive you around in case you find any waves. They haven’t found any recently.”

“Oh. Man. You’ve got to be kidding. What about all the stuff we read about on the internet?”

“Don’t know. I hate it here.”

“You need to rest, honey. We’ve been traveling for twelve hours.”

“I won’t rest till I’m off this island.”

I laughed. “I bet we’re missing some really great attribute about Fuerteventura. I think we should stay till we figure it out.”

“Nope. We have to pick another island. There’s lots of them.”

“You’re kidding. You want to leave right now?”


“Don’t you want to hang out? Go for a swim? Leave tomorrow?”

“Holly. I feel like they lied to me. What is this, some kind of island marketing ploy? Remember the photos of trees that we saw? THERE ARE NO TREES. They talked about nature walks. I don’t get it. There are lots of Canary Islands. Pick another.”

“But when we get to the new island we are going to be tired. And we’ll have to rent a car. And we’re still in Europe. And it’ll take a long time. And then we’ll have to find our way around another city to another hotel. And that will take a long time. And I’m tired.”

“We’ll get a taxi and let the driver find us a room. I don’t care. I can’t stay here.”

“Ok.” I sighed. I didn’t want to go. But I didn’t want to stay either.

“I’m sure the next place will be better. Please. Holly. I have to leave here.”

I smiled. “You know. There aren’t many men who would fly me to an island for lunch. I’m starting to feel like a princess. How are you going to keep up this dizzying pace?”

He stood up and took my hand and led me to the car that would take us back to the airport. “Just watch.”

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