F U E R T E V E N T U R A
A (slightly tongue-in-cheek) Adventure
17 - 24 March 2007

The Island -- Monday, 19 March 2007 5:37 PM 

We took the two-dollar Coach Tour (or the €1.50 tour if you prefer) of Fuerteventura today.  I like coach tours because someone else does all the driving, they provide a bit of local color and they make me feel young.  I should think the first two reasons would be enough to convince people from any historical epoch to join in, but the average age on coach tours always seems to be about 87. 

We toured the entire island, from Corralejo in the northern tip (where we are staying) to the famous beaches of Costa Calma in the south.  We saw the eastern coast, the western coast and took a harrowing ride down the mountainous spine of the island. 

Church in Betancuria.

The beaches at Costa Calma.

Fuerteventura, which unsurprisingly translates to "Great Wind," rose from the ocean during a series of volcanic eruptions some 30 million years ago and nothing much has happened here since.  The most used phrase throughout the tour was, "There is nothing of interest here." 

A Frenchman, Jean de Bethencourt, conquered the Canaries, and Fuerteventura along with them, for the Spanish in 1402.  He landed with 40 soldiers and the island, then populated by around 1000 cave dwellers, promptly and wisely surrendered.  It's been in European hands ever since, despite its proximity to Africa. 

Betancuria.

The people, until about 200 years ago, subsisted on agriculture, but then the climate changed (without the help of our carbon footprint) turning Fuerteventura into a virtual desert.  Those who couldn't escape to neighboring islands, where rainfall was unaffected, either learned to adapt to the desert climate or starved to death.  Today, goat farming is the main occupation of those not making a living fleecing tourists. 

Fuerteventura became a tourist haven during the 1960's solely due to its climate.  It's a relatively stable 70-80 degrees year-round and it rarely rains.  On the other hand, apart from the man-made beaches and artificial oases, the landscape has all the bucolic charm of a strip mine.  The valleys are straight out of 'The High Chaparral' and the mountains more resemble slagheaps with names. 

All the appeal of a landfill.

There are 29,000 year-round residents on Fuerteventura, which is less than the town of Horsham.  But add to that about 89,000 tourists and you'll understand why the water and electrical systems are so over-stressed.  One might think, with wind and sun in abundance here, alternate forms of energy would be the answer, but that technology is expensive and fuel here is cheap so the power station and water filtering plants are run on diesel. 

Being a desert, water is a constant problem.  We heard on the tour that drinking water is shipped in.  The tap water comes from the desalinization plants and is then collected and recycled for crops.  The locals don't even drink the tap water, something that is really handy to know up front. 

One of the desalinization plants producing water even the locals won't drink.

Despite all this, people flock to Fuerteventura both to visit and to live, which has led to a hodge-podge of manic and often ill-conceived construction.  All along the tour route we encountered mammoth resorts either half-finished due to bankruptcies or completed, yet abandoned, due to apathy.  Housing, too, is subject to these vagaries.  With so many people wanting to live here, whole communities are built to house them, but then they sit, empty as ghost towns, glutting a market where--contrary to the laws of supply and demand--house prices continue to rise. 

One of the many hotels.

The government of Fuerteventura is about the same as any other.  A famous local artist constructed a stainless steel mobile, which the government purchased at great cost and erected in the only location on Fuerteventura where there is never any wind.  When it didn't twist and twirl as advertised, they tore it down and put it back up again--in the same location.  We saw it today; it still doesn't move. 

But there is bounteous wind out here on our balcony, I can tell you.  It seems to be getting stronger and it makes having a cup of coffee and a cigar a bit of a challenge.  Time to call it off and go find some dinner. 

Living Up to Its Name -- Tuesday, 20 March 2007 2:37 AM 

This wind just never stops!  It is so strong now that the cheaply hung door keeps clacking as the pressure pulls and pushes it, serenading us with a constant clunk, clunk, clunk and removing the option of sleep.  We were gamely attempting to ignore it but then I got up to go to the loo and managed to run face-first into a concrete wall when I thought I was returning to the bedroom.  My exclamation of surprise ("Oh my, who put this wall here?" or something like that) woke up my wife, and probably everyone else in the compound, so now we're both sitting in the living room, listening to the clunk, clunk, clunk of the door, staring bleary-eyed into space and trying not to blame each other for not being able to sleep. 

I think, once again, it's time to put my limited DIY skills to use. 

Calm Before the Storm -- 10:37 AM  

Currently, the showerhead is propped up with some crumpled carrier bags, the garbage bin is jammed in place with a dustpan and brush and the door is wedged closed with a bit of folded cardboard.  I have to wonder what else I'm going to have to jerry-rig before the week is out. 

At least we were able to sleep.  Last night, my wife discovered that the couch is more comfortable than the beds but we didn't feel like tossing for it so we both returned to our prison cots after I stabilized the door.  From here on, however, we may take turns sleeping on the couch just to get a restful night. 

By the way, when I said, 'Beds' I did mean two.  Even though this accommodation is for a couple, there are two single beds bolted to a common headboard with a night stand between them, eliminating the possibility of pushing them together if you so desire.  I find that rather puritanical for a place that encourages you to swim naked, 

The wind, if anything, is even stronger this morning, and it has brought with it a cloud cover, which makes it even cooler.  Still, if you can find a place out of the wind that the sun can reach when it peeks between the clouds, it's quite mild.  But such places are hard to come by.  I notice no one is at the pool.  Small wonder.  This would be a good day for the intrepid bather, as you could snag a good seat, or--more to the point--any seat you wanted. 

Neither of us, however, feels quit so intrepid. 

True Brit -- 2:57 PM

The wind and clouds remain but a few brave souls--some dressed in long pants and shirts but others, incredibly, in bikinis--have gathered around the pool.  We decided, since we were here and since there were ample seats available, we should go down and join them.  I put on my shorts so I wouldn't look like a wimp.  My wife was smarter; she brought a shawl and is wearing a cardigan.  Maybe, if I ask nice, she'll let me borrow her shawl. 

The wind has found us, even here at the base of the apartment corral.  And it's a strong wind; cushions are blowing away, the pool has surf, but everyone is remaining gamely in their spot because they're British.  When they go on holiday, no matter what the weather, they sit by the water with their newspapers, towels and sunscreen wearing shorts and ridiculous hats, encouraging their children to play in the raging sea or rippling pool because that's what Britons on holiday do, they enjoy themselves, grimly and with dogged determination. 

But I'm not British, and I am therefore not grimly enjoying myself. I'm just cold.

Beating the Odds -- 5:17 PM

Turns out, my wife was cold, too, so we went back upstairs.  It was too cold for the bikini babes, as well.  They abandoned the pool shortly before we did and I noticed no one was lounging topless.  We're currently sitting in the living room with the balcony door closed, watching the weather grow cloudier and windier and, believe it or not, rainier. 

Yes, it's raining.

There are only 24 days of rain on this island per year (and we were told they all take place between November and February) and we managed to hit one of them. 

How lucky can we be? 

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