Fuertevetura. Much drier than Lanzarotte and for the same time of year, much hotter. I never felt like I needed a head dowsing while doing that one.
Much favoured by the Germans, for they are everywhere. Which can be firmly placed at the door of one Willy Brant, once Chancellor of West Germany, who loved it here, especially at Morro Jable.

I am reminded of what I have lost. Thirteen hot miles for the twenty year old me would have been the pre lunch dander. Now, it can be hard, especially on the feet. Some of the tough climbs took me a long time. And in one case I managed a paltry kilometer on the map in an hour – cause most of it was straight up.
The challenge is still important and I dread to lose what fittness I have for there can be those wondrous moments still when summitting a hill top and a look back down the climb and the valley that you crossed before touches your spirit in a way that our ancestors could only describe as holy. It is no wonder that they invented Gods to explain it.
There is a serenity, hard to find elsewhere, especially in the desert which I still love – for no apparent reason – the quiet there is visceral, primordial. The heat and the sandy flinty smell, j’adore.

Well, it’s on to the next – Gran Canaria – and a very different experience.