// p.n. timanfaya | lanzarote | canary island

I have been to the end of the world, and I did not want to return. It is made mountains of fire, passion and sand, of blinding sun, of clear sky and drums music. It is a desert of solidified lava, of infinite colors, of craters, of steam pressing to leave the earth.

A landscape after another one of greens, browns, oranges, reds and blacks, an iron and basalt maremagnum, with roads where suddenly appears a lone palm tree or an amazing flowering plant in that nothing that contains everything; or an orange or white lichen that dress rocks in our way.

I just wanted to get out of this glazed “guagua” that was carrying us along the blacks roads and run from that place, go down, go up and scream, jump in the solitude of a place petrified for decades, and listen to the birds approaching, and observe the tracks of small animals in the sand of coal. And lie there, on the warm soil, and melt into the landscape called ‘malpaís’, contained by the vastness of the ocean.

I have been to the end of the world… and for me it was the beginning of everything. Again.