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The Only American in Fuerteventura

I spent my June pursuing Fuerteventura’s promise of adventure. Its surf culture and rogue nature beckoned me. I quickly hit all of El Cotillo’s boutiques and cafés, and wanted more. I was used to destinations where these things ran in surplus. Places that stood at attention to fulfill my desires. But Fuerteventura remained horizontal, basking in the sun, eyes closed as my gust of expectations breezed by like a zephyr. “I have something to show you,” the island eventually breathed back, rolling over to unfold a vast desert-like flatness at my feet. I hopped on my bike and rode into the nothingness, searching. I peddled onwards to a fork in the road, stopping to wonder which way to choose. Unsure, I turned back—regretting my decision to come somewhere so sleepy when I was seeking respite from my loneliness. Heaving and dismayed, I succumbed to the beach. Arriving at the water, I turned my head and gasped. From this vantage point the void was filled with tiny white buildings convening with the coast, toasting turquoise waves as burnt orange hills loomed in the distance, blocking the wind, as if to keep it all—this intervention—and the remarkable vista—a secret for the next fool who needed to be reminded, via negativa, that gratitude for what exists is the ultimate fulfillment. 0:00 - Intro 1:59 - Cafés 3:11 - Boutiques 5:03 - Los Lajares 6:54 - Corralejo 9:22 - A Nomad Flaw 10:09 - Surfing 10:56 - Los Lagos 12:50 - Adventure 14:46 - La Puntilla ________ Instagram: @emma_m.mov If you've enjoyed this content, please like and subscribe! Lots more to come! 🌈