Moved by Mountains
Solo trip to Lanzarote, mountain poetry, Egyptian vultures and kind strangers
The more I travel solo the better I become at knowing how to get what I need. The best lesson I’ve learned in the last few years is to allow myself to feel a bit off, perhaps a bit unrooted for the first day or so. Considering I am usually escaping some sort of intense series of deadlines and ‘teaching stress’ at work, it is only natural to need time to calibrate, reset, remember who the heck I am and figure out how the heck I’m actually doing. In retrospect, I’m not sure 5 nights on a Canary Island was enough, I could have done with a few more days, had circumstance allowed it. But I am certain still, nestled between mountains, I got what I needed.
Not wanting to put pressure on myself to do anything, I wrote a list of things I could but by no means should do and it was fine if didn’t do any of it. You will see below that I did about three.
After a whole day soaking in the sun and pretty much nothing else, I was ready to adventure. I soon discovered you can get most places by bus in Lanzarote, good because as I often do, had booked a remote rural village away from the bustle of tourism. This suits me perfect, but as I don’t drive or cycle I have to be able to explore by foot. The bus stops were the finest bus stops I’ve ever seen, designed by César Manrique.
I filled the rest of my holiday with small/medium adventures and what I like to call ‘holiday art club’ (see end of post for more on this). I visited the house of late actor Omar Sharif, with my Granny Pam firmly in my heart. She passed away two years ago. She thought he was very handsome, and it’s possible he was my first crush when he gave Barbara Streisand the faberge egg in Funny Girl. Although maybe I just thought the egg was really cool. Even better when Granny gifted me hers so that I had my very own, just like Fanny Bryce.
When I arrived after a short uphill trek through a quiet residential area, a mix of traditional and modern homes, all white, stunning. I’m always slightly uncertain if I’m going the right way and reassured when I spot some fellow visitors wandering up the narrow paths. It seemed at 10am, I was arriving with approx 3 tour buses. Meaning the Lagomar Museum was horrendously busy filled with tourists trying to go in opposite directions on the same flight of somewhat precarious stairs intended only ever for one person in one direction. Argh! One pool area was closed for a fashion shoot (this was fun to watch from my perch in an overhead cactus patch).
A moment of solace I found in a nook outside, sharing the cool white seat with a lovely German couple, who assured me as two gay men, they totally got my ‘Nicky Arnstein, Nicky Arnstein’ (Funny Girl, Barbara Streisand) reference. It felt good to bond over a film so dear to me, a kind familiarity. I took their photo because they looked so cute, then they offered to take mine and as they did I felt a tear brim up behind my sunglasses because I somehow felt Granny was next to me. I would have loved ringing her to tell her where I’d been that day. Sometimes at the end of my morning pages I write a little note to self, an encouragement for the day, ‘you are strong’, ‘you are worthy’ etc, and sometimes it really feels like I channel it straight from Granny Pam, ‘I love you darling’, whether it is from her or just my memory retrieving it from vaults of comfort, I’m grateful for the words.
There really is nothing like the unconditional love of a devoted grandmother, and now I realise just how much joy I felt from our phone calls over the years. Sometimes I think I told myself it was my duty to stay in touch (and I wasn’t always great or consistent at this), but now I see how much comfort our relationship gave me. Suddenly, I feel a bittersweet sadness that I can never ring her again to proudly deliver any kind of news, as though a child, knowing that it would be received with her unique warmth and support.
Throughout this holiday, I couldn’t stop drawing the mountains, and more the silhouette across the top of the mountains, the clean line between earth and sky. Are they actually mountains or volcanoes? I can’t be sure and have made the decision not to look this up because I have already chosen the title for this post and ‘moved by volcanoes’ does not alliterate. I realised on this holiday the feminine energy the mountains hold for me, I am influenced by a book I have called the ‘Silbury Treasure’, I can’t fully remember but it was about some theory about a big hill in Silbury being an ancient female worship alter. I totally get how big large mounds of earth can feel like a vessel for the divine feminine. In Lanzarote I found myself in humble awe of these earthly Goddesses.
My Human design says the place I feel most aligned is in the mountains, and so if I can I seek places nestled upon or in between, I will. It was the mountains that moved me to write some poetry, whether good or bad is not the point. The point is being called (and having the space) to write, by these peaceful, protective, monolithic earth forms. To see the same mound, constant, opaque behind the building outside my balcony each morning, I felt safe, and somehow connected to myself and dare I say my womb? Well I said it. I’m not really sure what my poems are saying when I write them and that’s how I know they are poems. They might make sense afterwards or not at all, but still I am quietly proud of them. Some bits I like enough to take a photo and share (see below). Some will stay firmly inside the confines of my journal forever.
On the third day I refused to believe the 3 hour walk to the beach would be that long even though Google said it would be. This is because I could see the sea. It of course was that long but I was glad of the physical demand, and the sights I saw, kept company by the mountains. Though, I would have felt a little deserted on the roads if it weren’t for the cyclists passing by regularly. ‘Who’s this daft lone girl walking for miles in the nice dress?’ ( love my assumption that everyone thinks my dress is nice). One man stopped his car to offer me a lift. 45 minutes later I almost wished I had taken him up on it. But I’m glad I did endure the long hike. At first through a sleepy little village with immaculate cactus-filled front gardens. I did a walking Deep Imagining (from To Be Magnetic) and it felt almost dreamlike, not a soul to be seen, just me and my subconscious. Next phase was a road straight through a desert-like, barren landscape. A Samantha Mumba song came on my shuffle and I was in a pop video, strutting like Emma Bunton and singing into the wind with the panache of Shania Twain. Laughing at how free I felt. Singing out loud in an open space really is some kind of medicine to me, the wind swallowing any possible embarrassment.
One of my fave stranger interactions of the holiday came from stopping for a coke in what can only be described as a roadside saloon. Feeling like a glamorous, mysterious stranger in my lipgloss and sundress. I befriended a German birdwatcher, who spotted an Egyptian Vulture, and I was honoured to witness him witnessing this apparently rare spectacle. ‘Gelb!’ I exclaimed proudly, after googling the vulture to see up close the bird had yellow colourings and I could recall the word for yellow from GCSE German. I wanted to ask the man for a photo of him, so that I could capture and remember his kind, tanned face full of lines and stories, and his utilitarian birdwatching outfit. It was dusty from hiding in the ground to spot the birds, he explained. But I didn’t want to ruin our sweet little interaction. So I said my farewell. I have this little video of him watching the vulture through his giant binoculars. I love the characters you can meet when off the beaten track.
My knees threaten to buckle on the last stretch to Famara beach, mountains lounge in the distance like sleeping women. Delighted, I can see women’s torsos, belly and hips in the folds and shadows of the mountainside leading me to the sea. Can you see them? I felt their energy from within, pulling me to the sea, back to myself.
I made it to the beach, and there was a stone bathing bay carved out just for me, dipped my toes in the rippling water and rested my aching legs. Famara was a hidden gem, a surfer’s village. The friendly coffee shop boy told me about the Spanish stereotypes on the back of the blue striped sugar packets I was admiring. The kind bus driver shouted me over from waiting on the wrong side of the road for the pick up. Goodness knows where I’d end up on my travels if not for the kindness of strangers! Yes, the direct bus took the best of 10 minutes to take me back to the air b’n’b, but I’m glad I let my legs walk me all the way down to the sea.
I documented my trip to the Lagomar museum on the back of an Irish butter box. Please see below a guide to do your own:
Holiday Art Club Memory Box
Make sure you pack a pencil or a pen to draw with, and something to add colour with. I would recommend watercolours or pencils, having discovered the meltiness/messiness of oil pastels in a warm climate.
When you go to the supermarket look for something that you need that’s packaged in a cardboard box. In my case this was some Irish butter, I also bought a lovely olive oil soap that came in a box.
When you are out on an adventures and visiting places, take photos of all the good things you see (obvo, like who wouldn’t be doing this?). (Remember to actually experience them as well or you might regret seeing everything through your phone lens)
When you find yourself feeling a bit bored or restless, take your box packaging and carefully pull it apart, trying not to tear anything.
Flatten it out and grab your art equipment, setting things up in a nice comfortable spot.
You may want to grab a cool drink and some snacks. When I’m in a hot place, I like to make a large pan of the complimentary herbal tea, then cool it in the fridge to make a refreshing drink to sip during the day.
Flick through your photos, and when you seen something inspiring draw it on a section of the box.
You could either pick one event or a place, like I did the Lagomar museum. Or just pick moments and events from your holiday that stand out to you.
Fill each section with a drawing from your photos and then add colour.
Take your time colouring in until you are complete.
Now you have a beautiful piece of art to remember your holiday with.
You can also make it back into a box which is fun!
Keep it for yourself or gift it to someone you are travelling with, or as a thank you to your host or a new friend.
Please share if you do do one!
Thank you for reading!
Lots of Love,
Abi xxx
Love this so much <3 <3