The Two Devils and the Beach

I decided to break my recent trend of posting one blog every 3 weeks and write! I guess I was feeling a little introspective, and felt the urge for some articulation stimulation. That´s the result of laying on the most beautiful beach ever while reading Robinson Crusoe and The ...I´m not exactly sure of the cause and effect relationship here, but don´t worry about it. We arrived to Fuerteventura, which evidently means ¨strong winds (remember this as it will come into play later),¨ one of the more non-touristy islands of the Canaries, with zero idea of what we were doing. We found only one hostel online, and planned on staying there for the first couple of days. The hostel was described as a comfortable and fun place to meet surfers and other travelers. The description sounded good, however, in one of the reviews it described the lady who ran the hostel, Rachel, as being a "little unsympathetic." I have a little different take on the place. As soon as I check out of this hostel, I plan on writing on the website that in fact, Rachel is a total fucking bitch. Seriously, she is one the meanest people I have met in the last 4 months. I wouldn´t be staying at the hostel if there were any other ones on the island, as I hate encouraging this type of customer service. Which is another thing I hate about Europe: employees treat customers like crap. In America, the customer is always right. In India, the customer is always right, and the employee should compliment the customer´s physique (if they are both males) and ask him whether or not he is married. In Europe, the customer is never right, and often times, it is the employee´s obligation to shit on the customer. But back to Rachel. There´s a Chinese guy staying in the hostel called Jan, and Rachel feels it necessary to yell at him any time she sees him. He tried asking the cleaning lady, who only speaks Spanish, for a towel in English, and during Rachel´s rant at Jan, I thought she was going to headbutt him or throw hot coffee in his face. Rachel always has a scolding look on her face, and shouts one word snappy replies at people when they ask questions such as "Can I stay another night?". Rachel does not deserve to run a hostel. The only thing she deserves is a bitch slap. I make it sound like the hostel is a dreadful place to stay, but Rachel is only around 30 minutes a day, and she provides the rest of us with something to laugh at. Other than that, and the fact that we didn´t have electricity in our room for 2 days and we regularly get deprived of hot water, the hostel is great. The only other notable thing writing about is a guy called Gaston. Gaston is an older fellow, and has a jolly demeanor which he flaunts gayly by constantly singing and talking to himself. He is usually smiling, and is very easy to get along with. His singing crap sort of gets annoying when you´re trying to read, but that´s just a part of traveling. However, when the sun goes down, and the lights go off, and Gaston goes to sleep, everything changes. Those of us sharing a dorm with him have diagnosed him with sleep apnea, which is hard to sleep next to as he snores louder than both my father and a large train combined. However, this is another thing that is just part of traveling. What is abnormal, and almost intolerable about Gaston at night, is the fact that he literally becomes possessed by the devil. His snoring and apnea is interuptted by shrieks and indiscernible noises and cries that could only be made by some strange creature of the underworld who has been trapped in a fiery inferno for thousands of years. I lay in bed at night, with my camera in one hand trying to catch the devil in action, waiting for him to sit up and turn his head 360 degrees, exorcist style. I´m sure it´s happened before. I don´t know what to make of his sleeping habits, and if I wasn´t so scared the devil would come out, I might ask him about his sleep habits in the morning.
So enough about the hostel, and on to the most beautiful beaches in the world. Wide stretches of white sand, transparent water with hints of green and teal, perfect blue skies, my pictures will look like paradise. Which it is. But, something the pictures don´t reveal, but the name of the island does, is those strong winds. Strong being an understatement. Sometimes standing at a 45 degree angle winds would be more accurate (can someone translate that?). But those winds only pick up once every few days, so we´ve been laying out in paradise. And when those winds do pick up, we embrace them. One day, we tried building a sand shelter, which was fun, but ended up backfiring because the winds would pick up the loose sand and fire them at us like small razor blades. One caught Matt in the eye and had his eye swelling for hours. I guess it was our punishment for trying to alter Mother Nature´s plans. Once we learned that we can´t protect ourselves against the wind, we decided to play with the wind, and go windsurfing. So right now we´re in the middle of a 3 day winfsurfering course, and I think I will need no less than 4 more days in the water to be considered a beginner. Fuerteventura is one of the windsurfing capitals of the world, but for people who are first learning, and can´t yet harness and cooperate with the , it is brutal. But I guess if I can learn here, Boston and Lake Michigan will be a breeze.
So that´s about it for me. Quick stomach update...I thought I had been suffering from post Moroccan Tajin syndrome, when really, I was just drinking contaminated water for the past week. Silly me for thinking a country in the EU doesn´t yet have drinkable tap water. I guess drinkable water in the Canaries is a little lower on Spain´s things to do list than say, fixing their 14 percent unemployment rate, relieving their large deficit, stopping the ETA from blowing up Madrid, and finding food to serve other than shitty boccadillos and tapas.
Well folks, I´ll be back in Chicago in a little more than a week. Interesting how fast time flies. See you soon!