Spanish Hippies and Saying Goodbye

After 4 days in Tenerife, I’ve already been forced to cycle through a handful of hellos and goodbyes. Most people at the surf camp tend to stay around a week, so I have plenty of time to build friendships, make memories and wave them off into the unknown quickly thereafter. This is a brilliant way to meet people from all over the world (I haven’t bumped into an American yet), but I’ve quickly realized that I’ll need to get used to saying goodbye.

Twin Fin is a modest surf camp wedged between some banana trees on a mountain of volcanic rock. It’s dry, hot, and you can see miles of ocean curving along the horizon whenever you glance up from your hammock. The guest house is in a state of relative disrepair, which is about what you’d expect from a weather-beaten surf bungalow. A carpet of ruddy astroturf serves as a lame attempt to apologize for the dust storms that frequently blow over from the Western Sahara, and a cockroach the size of my palm sent me squealing out of the bathroom last night. That being said, I’ve never been happier. The people are beautiful and the love is palpable.

Every morning I wake up, grab breakfast from a banana tree and make a pot of tea with the pregnant camp cat, Hummus. I asked the staff why they named the cat Hummus, but nobody can seem to give me a solid answer. There’s also speculation that she isn’t actually pregnant but just has a serious case of worms from eating so many lizards.

The majority of my time is passed by cooking meals, practicing/teaching yoga, hiking and floating belly-up in the ocean. Once dinner is finished and I’m physically drained, I head down the dirt pathway to my tent and collapse amidst the crickets and owls. I don’t know the last time I slept this well.

Yesterday we made the trek to “Hippie Beach.” The beach probably has another name, but after seeing the countless makeshift shanties, dreadlocks and drum circles I would hesitate to call it anything else. After weaving our way through a mountain of cacti, we arrived at a patchouli-scented coastline of black sand. Now I’ll admit… I’ve seen a penis or two in my lifetime, but nothing like the dazzling array of manhood that swung before me. Men of all ages partook in various beach activities, seemingly unhindered by the freedom of their extra appendage. Most of the women were topless, too, but I found a few pairs of boobs less distracting than the glistening pubic hairs of the guy doing naked handstands next to me. There also seemed to be a designated urination rock, where people stood and pissed into the ocean without actually stepping in the ocean. I’ll be taking guests to Hippie Beach next week, and I’m really looking forward to watching them get acquainted with the locals.

It’s strange, knowing that I’ll say goodbye to everyone I meet in Tenerife and – in all likelihood – never see them again. But by sharing stories, space, and time, I think we all leave a little imprint on the people we meet along the way.

Want more Madison? Send her a message to talk shop about marketing, mobility and beyond.