Atlantic coast on Lanzarote
Foto: imago images/Pond5
It pulls tremendously. The current pulls me out into the open, I swim with full force and don’t make an inch of progress. I see the golden beach, shiny with moisture, the black mountains behind it and the turquoise green around me. It could all be so beautiful. The next wave throws me five meters towards the shore, I breathe more calmly, submerge my head and see transparent fish with black stripes on their tails passing close to me through my swimming goggles. Here the sea has dug a depression two meters deep before it goes uphill again. I’m bubbling with relief, I’m pulled backwards again, I stay lying there and sloshing, I stand in knee-deep water and run out onto the glitter.
The neon colors of the Berlin winter transform into spectacular evening glow on Lanzarote, into gold chunks on the sea, into the bright green plumage of the ring-necked parakeets. A poinsettia glows on the festival site, while snow-white herons stalk around in the evening blue harbor basin. There is rodeo riding on plastic bulls, ice skating in a tent, singing on a stage. The Three Wise Men receive wish lists from the children until they parade across the island in a motorcade on January 5th and through the capital on dromedaries in the evening. Accompanied by candy-throwing postmen on mopeds, police and fire engines and parades with Disney stars.
Above water
Photo: private
Anne Hahn is the author of novels and non-fiction books and swims the waters of the world for “nd”.
My partner and I are spending three weeks in the island’s capital. Admire the hiking and cycling trails, well-kept beaches with showers, an eighteen-kilometer-long waterfront promenade. I don’t even know where to get into the sea first. A few kilometers north of the city the police get us out of the water. There was a chemical accident on a ship, again tomorrow. So ten kilometers to the south, where the planes almost scratch you and the holiday crowd is concentrated. Or towards the next volcano. There is nothing but dust, you can quickly return to Arrecife with its castles and islands, the harbor and the “pond”, a shallow side bay around which cafés and restaurants are grouped. With dogs the size of a handbag, the island people stroll past pale-faced European couples of all ages and genders, little supermen and princesses strut, parrots screech in the palm trees.
The best place to swim at high tide is at the city beach of Playa el Reducto, right next to the island’s only high-rise, a 17-story hotel. Yellow-brown sandy beach, wide entrances, protected pool by outer reefs. Parrotfish and a squid reward our snorkeling enthusiasm.
Then a Sahara storm comes and covers the island in a silver light for days, wrapping the sun in cotton wool. My weather app speaks of a health emergency and colors us red to purple. We rent a car and drive north, where my dream beach in Caribbean colors is hidden behind the last volcano off the beaten track. We are a handful of people who see the “No Swimming” sign. Ignore the “dangerous current” at the parking lot and walk through the whipping sand wind to the sea.
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