As Spanish as Canarian can Be.

Los Canarios, the people of the Canary islands, are a proud people. These small islands that belong to Spain, even though they are nestled against Africa some 1200 kilometers from the spanish peninsula, are a world apart from their patria. They seamlessly blend African, Spanish, Caribbean and now English and German cultures. They feel like tropical islands, with bright colors and palm trees everywhere, but also keep surprising landscapes hidden in their interiors. The aboriginal people, los Guanches, once lived in cave houses in the dry, mountainous heart of Gran Canaria -- and this is where I had a brilliantly authentic experience with a group of their distant descendants.

It was my first week on the island and I found myself looking out of our cave hostel into the crag-like canyon that spread out before me. Myself and Tom, another American, were on cave duty for a few days because a couple from Barcelona were staying there. We had just finished the mid-morning cleaning and decided to go for a bike ride down the mountainside to a traditional village tucked under an ominous overhang of a rock. Our first mistake, and we knew (which was worse), was leaving at 2 in the afternoon, being overconfident in our biking abilities, and carrying just enough water.

Needless to say, 2 hours later, after seeing this..., we were dying of thirst, heat and exhaustion after climbing some pretty steep ascents without much shade. We arrived to the main road, still a ways from home, and saw the same group of men sitting under some trees that we had seen while passing by earlier. Tom spoke up for salvation and asked for water. They offered us wine. We took it and then they jostled beer, cheese, chorizo, mangos and finally water into our hands. They were a group 5 hunters having a good ole' Heminway-esque time getting drunk under a tree while their dogs barked in their cages nearby. They were jolly, loud and funny. They made sure we knew that they were true-blooded islanders and showed off their knives and singing abilities. One that was the oldest, drunkest, and most toothless, sat next to me and mumbled traditional ballads into my ear. He stole my heart. They explained how they had helped re-forest this part of the island, gave us business cards to eat at one of their restaurants, and yelled at the cars that were passing by. They saved us and enriched us, and I'll forever remember them for it.

Modern Booty: Experiences

I've been away from home 33 of the last 84 months. That's almost 3 of the last 7 years. Seems more impactful when said the latter way. I started when I was just about 18 and suppose I really only stopped in between for university. I'm not sure where the instinct comes from, if it's even some kind of inborn quality, but I'll just say I fit into the category of people with an adventurous spirit. Aaargh! I'll also give some credit to my lovely parents who possess similar spirits and took us road-tripping around the Southeast when we were growing up. Everything has a beginning, and this one is right after high school graduation.
      There was something about that first taste of true independence when I was 18 that changed everything. It was the catalyst that came at the right time, as so much of life depends on circumstance and developmental experience.  It was Rehoboth Beach, Delaware (the first state) in the summer of '05 when Mario and I arrived after our typical senior trip in Cancun, Mexico, which was a time when I didn't even stop to think, "Wow, I'm in Mexico." Fresh out of high school, Mario's long lost biological father began to reconnect with his maturing son, and advised us to spend the summer working at Funland, a beach-side, family-oriented, amusement park. It was our first communal living experience, and the moldings of our future began then.
      That summer we were endlessly stimulated and enthralled. We had escaped Southern Louisiana and we were making friends from all over the world who were equally open and excited to new experiences. In the end, that's the essence of traveling I think. The underlying group consciousness, the "we're in it together and we're all loving every second of it." We shared stories from Colombia, England, Scotland, Germany, Kenya, ate together, laughed together, were embarrassed together, roamed the boardwalk together and admired each other for being so different but similar all at once. We weren't each others friends from back home. We were young, free and enchanted with life.
      Now, 7 years later, I'm in my shadowy kitchen in Northern Spain processing the circular green tile patterns on the wall in my periphery. My cup of coffee is going cold next to me, it was too weak anyways, and I'm waiting for the right time to go surf at the city beach. I'm again living next to a cold, northern, Atlantic beach. I'm still living communally by having an "open" apartment and accepting couchsurfers when I can, and by trying to assure friends that they can drop by whenever they please. I've taken immersion a step further by deciding to live in Spain for 2 straight years and realize that I'm still chasing and catching that initial experience from Delaware. That's what we travelers are, right? Experience chasers, it's why we can't stay put in the same place for too long. At least for now. There are too many open, interesting, interested, free and fun people to meet and learn from. I know it won't last forever, and don't think that I want it to, but for now let the adventure continue.