It is the present moment, and now a Mama myself, I return to my Island. But one important person is missing. In time, we will revisit the little Spanish girl in new and distant lands, but for now it is today.
The Boeing 737 slowly approaches the runway, sleekly gliding itself onto the tarmac with an almost imperceptible bump. We have reached our destination. The flight from Helsinki to Tenerife has taken almost six hours, and the little Spanish girl who climbed onto a plane back in the 1970's taking her to distant lands with emerald-colored fields has returned home (see post Share The Moon). That distant land was called England and it gave her a new life and a new name (see post A Girl Named Marie), but back on the Island she is once again Mari-Carmen, the same little girl who scoured the skies for storks, eagerly anticipating the delivery of a new baby sister. Over forty years separate that journey from today. Forty years that have discarded along the way eight US Presidents, beginning with Richard Nixon and ending with Barack Obama. Yet it feels like yesterday. But time stops for no one, not even for a little Spanish girl with two names.
Mama meets us at the airport as she often does. Now in her seventies and once again living in Tenerife, she is still as energetic as the young Mama I remembered back in her twenties in the caravan and on the chicken farm (see post Watching The English Part I). Her older brother, Uncle Fernando also in his seventies is with her, and together the four of us embark on the drive to our village on the Southern tip of the island. With me on this journey is my twenty-one-year-old daughter, Sofia. The scenery around us is one of serene beauty and we contemplate our surroundings with gratitude. Gratitude that we are once again in the cradle of our family roots. The sea and sky are both of a magnetic blue and with no clear boundary separating them. Heaven and earth blend together seamlessly in this tiny corner of paradise. After the cold Finnish winter that we have left behind us, the balmy air soothes our skin like warm honey. Mama and I can once again Share The Moon from the same window (see post Share The Moon), and joining us will be the next generation of Sanz women.
We pass by the sprawling Playa de las Américas, 'Beach of the Americas' tourist resort, its origins as a clandestine departure point for undocumented passengers stowing away on furtive boats to South America largely forgotten by locals, and completely unknown to the colossal mass of visitors that populate its hotels year after year. And once again I am that little girl, running up and down an empty swimming pool in this yet-to-be-born resort, revelling in the luxury of untainted childhood innocence (see post Share The Moon).
It feels therapeutic being back on my beach and closing the circle with my own child. The sun shines high in the sky, and the waves crash powerfully onto the black sand just as they did when I was a four-year old enjoying a family picnic with Mama, Papa and my many Sanz cousins (see post Share The Moon). Now I am here with my own daughter. The sands of time have trickled away, and with it have slowly vanished the buds of youth and innocence, but for my beach time has stood still and it feels like I have never been away. I wish I could meet with Papa and Share The Moment with him. I would tell him that I am well, that his grand-daughter, Sofia is with me on the beach on this day and at this moment, that her older brother Hugo is back home in Finland writing his thesis for the final part of his Masters Degree and planning his forthcoming wedding to Julia, that they are both immensely proud of their Spanish heritage. But I cannot say any of this, because Papa is no longer with us.
That strong man who once comforted me on his lap when I was tormented at school for being different, for coming from my Island (see post B Is For Bullied), is now looking down upon his family from above. His pioneering years were spent living among the English, but the pull of home was too strong to resist and he spent the twilight years back home on Our Island. One complete year separates our final farewell, yet on this beach yesterday, today and tomorrow all fuse together into one timeless entity with neither beginning nor end, and in my mind, I am drawn back to that last goodbye.
To be continued......
Next post 30th December: Share The Sorrow
Note: All written content is the intellectual property of this Author. Image material is drawn largely from Pixabay with some small additions from private family archives.
The Boeing 737 slowly approaches the runway, sleekly gliding itself onto the tarmac with an almost imperceptible bump. We have reached our destination. The flight from Helsinki to Tenerife has taken almost six hours, and the little Spanish girl who climbed onto a plane back in the 1970's taking her to distant lands with emerald-colored fields has returned home (see post Share The Moon). That distant land was called England and it gave her a new life and a new name (see post A Girl Named Marie), but back on the Island she is once again Mari-Carmen, the same little girl who scoured the skies for storks, eagerly anticipating the delivery of a new baby sister. Over forty years separate that journey from today. Forty years that have discarded along the way eight US Presidents, beginning with Richard Nixon and ending with Barack Obama. Yet it feels like yesterday. But time stops for no one, not even for a little Spanish girl with two names.
Mama meets us at the airport as she often does. Now in her seventies and once again living in Tenerife, she is still as energetic as the young Mama I remembered back in her twenties in the caravan and on the chicken farm (see post Watching The English Part I). Her older brother, Uncle Fernando also in his seventies is with her, and together the four of us embark on the drive to our village on the Southern tip of the island. With me on this journey is my twenty-one-year-old daughter, Sofia. The scenery around us is one of serene beauty and we contemplate our surroundings with gratitude. Gratitude that we are once again in the cradle of our family roots. The sea and sky are both of a magnetic blue and with no clear boundary separating them. Heaven and earth blend together seamlessly in this tiny corner of paradise. After the cold Finnish winter that we have left behind us, the balmy air soothes our skin like warm honey. Mama and I can once again Share The Moon from the same window (see post Share The Moon), and joining us will be the next generation of Sanz women.
We pass by the sprawling Playa de las Américas, 'Beach of the Americas' tourist resort, its origins as a clandestine departure point for undocumented passengers stowing away on furtive boats to South America largely forgotten by locals, and completely unknown to the colossal mass of visitors that populate its hotels year after year. And once again I am that little girl, running up and down an empty swimming pool in this yet-to-be-born resort, revelling in the luxury of untainted childhood innocence (see post Share The Moon).
It feels therapeutic being back on my beach and closing the circle with my own child. The sun shines high in the sky, and the waves crash powerfully onto the black sand just as they did when I was a four-year old enjoying a family picnic with Mama, Papa and my many Sanz cousins (see post Share The Moon). Now I am here with my own daughter. The sands of time have trickled away, and with it have slowly vanished the buds of youth and innocence, but for my beach time has stood still and it feels like I have never been away. I wish I could meet with Papa and Share The Moment with him. I would tell him that I am well, that his grand-daughter, Sofia is with me on the beach on this day and at this moment, that her older brother Hugo is back home in Finland writing his thesis for the final part of his Masters Degree and planning his forthcoming wedding to Julia, that they are both immensely proud of their Spanish heritage. But I cannot say any of this, because Papa is no longer with us.
That strong man who once comforted me on his lap when I was tormented at school for being different, for coming from my Island (see post B Is For Bullied), is now looking down upon his family from above. His pioneering years were spent living among the English, but the pull of home was too strong to resist and he spent the twilight years back home on Our Island. One complete year separates our final farewell, yet on this beach yesterday, today and tomorrow all fuse together into one timeless entity with neither beginning nor end, and in my mind, I am drawn back to that last goodbye.
To be continued......
Next post 30th December: Share The Sorrow
Note: All written content is the intellectual property of this Author. Image material is drawn largely from Pixabay with some small additions from private family archives.
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