El Hierro… The return

Two years ago, I wrote this review of an island that captivated me, that filled certain holes that I did not think I had, that left me the aftertaste…let’s see if I can explain it well…. do you remember the taste of a glass of beer, that special bitterness, that you enjoy it softly, with the hope that it does not stop, with that sound of satisfaction that you do not say sometimes, in others you can not avoid it, in short, that more or less you can imagine it, can you?

Well, that’s how that first encounter was, an encounter that time has shown me that it was not enough, since I have returned, perhaps under different circumstances, but to the same destination that a part of me knew I needed, the island of…. you know, I will let that first story tell you a little of what this island is like, and then, next day… I hope you will want to read the why, the how and the need to return to some rocks caressed by the waves, some brief sands licked by the waters of the Atlantic and to some lights that have not ceased to surprise me as soon as I could afford to see when the sun fell or when it was good enough to wake me up.

If I had to define my stay on this island, it would be the light, not a mathematical constant, nor a switch that I have to press, lower, press …. you understand me, this island is light that comes from the top of the mountain, rays that arrive inclined and awaken all the colors of these waters, that make shine the black rock that surrounds and forms the cliffs, the brief sand in few beaches, that dazzles in narrow roads and paths that barely remember whose was the last step that crossed them, is the light that arises when the sun rests and makes its entrance thousands and thousands of eyes in the sky, because I still believe that someone, up there is watching us, stars and even, last night, I thought I saw a fleeting flash, perhaps one of those wandering stars that cross all the immensity that we are unable to believe.

s also silence, plagued by the waves fighting with the rocks of the beach, beating relentlessly, with the help of wind and tides, to the cliffs that, it seems, offer a very worthy battle, is silence in a lot of moments, with the cry of rocks falling from these mountains in motion, with the sound of my own breathing as the only companion of this, for me at least, almost unknown, silence.

And it is also the special character of those who inhabit the island, forged of emigrants who left, of those who returned, of those who cling to a scarce water, of those who do not hesitate to greet you as you pass by, without knowing you at all, and even more when, on more than one occasion, you praise the dish so generously made for one, of those who arise the quick conversation about anything, just for the pleasure of sharing and listening.

It is a different island, for me the island of the senses, that of the sight that never runs out of sunshine on the paths, of the blues of its waters, of the blacks of its rocks, of the worn copper of some of them, of the taste, for its so varied food, for a strong wine, as it has to be if it is the fruit of this land, of the ear that treasures silences, for an urbanite like me, almost inexplicable on almost deserted roads, for the touch that awakens in you the roughness of many rocks and the softness of many others that have been caressed by water, for the smell, for that smell of countless aromatic plants whose names are impossible for me to remember, but not that aroma that they gave off when, passing by them, my hands caressed them.

It is a different island, whose enjoyment needs a different mood, the one that perhaps we lack lately… that of intimacy with ourselves.

It is and has been a pleasure to know this island.


*** Translated with http://www.DeepL.com/Translator (free version) ***

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