When you're lying on the ground staring up at that inverted compass I mean, Christ, who knows?

Today I returned back to Belgium from a little jaunt to the Canary Islands.  Well, rather, one Canary Island that is, I went to Tenerife.  Interestingly enough, during the month of January, the demographics of this island resemble an oceanside retirement community for the British.  But this only enhanced my vacation, because come on - who doesn't love an old British couple discussing the exorbitant amount of dental clinics on the island, or telling you all about their daughter who moved to Boston with her husband whom she met while he was studying abroad in England, and their grandkids?  Lovely, fun, elderly people.  Makes you happy to see that people can enjoy life at all years; kind of gives you hope that maybe when everyone tells you 'its all downhill from here,' that maybe they're wrong.  Or they've never been to an island filled with happy 70 year old tourists. 

But anyway, I felt like a spoiled little brat.  My friends are back in Leuven with the perpetual rain, chill and cloud cover, studying to the brink of insanity, and I'm flopping on a black sand beach off the coast of Africa, with no decision to make other than what cocktail I'm going to order later.  I guess though, life can be a lot like playing the slots, and lately I've just been turning up straight 7's.  

We decided to adventure to the Western part of the island to see the cliffs, Los Gigantes.  Asked the man at the front desk what beach would be best to see said cliffs, and received information about beaches with good windsurfing.  Not so helpful, but he's a nice guy, so we said 'gracias' and used that magical little thing called a Blackberry to google our way to this scenic masterpiece.  We walked around, taking in the incredible views, and found a path to a natural pool, which was an oasis of black rock surrounding a tidal pool with the crashing waves of the Atlantic.  I lay on the rocks, looking out at the water, wondering, as I have on so many occasions, how the hell I ended up here.  

I took a break from my reverie to go swim in the tidal pool.  Now, I've had some bad luck with water in the past.  When I was a kid, I was stuck on an inner tube towed behind a boat going faster and faster because I was too afraid to take my hands off the handles to give the signal that means 'stop this death machine.'  Last summer, I got sucked down a rapid.  In the natural pool, I decided to try and cling to the rock masses while the waves crashed on me, instead of, you know, doing the smart thing and moving to the deeper water, as my fellow swimmers (again, mostly around 70 years old) were doing.  But nay, I had to keep my grasp on the damn rocks, which owe me nothing, just like the ocean.  First wave, oh thats fine, I can take that in stride!  Number 2 throws me for a loop.  Number 3?  Number 3 is a typhoon to me, and knocks me on my ass.  So I get thrown around a bit, pick up a few scrapes and scratches, and lost a flip-flop.  One flip-flop remains in the Atlantic where I left my mark.  The other flip flop is in my backpack because it was returned to me by my prince charming, a tall dark and handsome island native, with whom I certainly would have lived happily ever after if I knew how to speak Spanish.

So I survived that ordeal to continue on and drive up and around a volcano in a tiny stick shift car with approximately 7 horse power.  Have you ever driven around tight switchback uphill curves where you've had to drop down to 1st gear every 8 feet to keep moving?  My forearms are sore, I'm not kidding, and so is my heart.  Jesus.  The drive was gorgeous, but sometimes I wonder if roads were really meant to be there or not.  The area looked remarkably like Arizona.  Driving amongst what my astute friend pointed out to be, igneous rock, I felt like I was going through a time warp.  Once again, how the hell did I get here?  One year ago, I was just getting back to Baltimore to start classes, well, missing my first day of classes due to a hangover (woops).  Now I'm driving a car around a volcano on an island? 

There's that saying - live the life you imagined.  It's a nice thought, isn't it?  That you can control your path enough to make it just what you want.  But if there's something I've learned from my streak of luck, my travels and misadventures, it is that the imagining part - that's not important.  It's the living.  When I think about it, the island isn't what I imagined.  Leaving for Morocco in a few days isn't what I imagined.  Being happy to be back in foggy and cold Belgium after being in the sun, sand, and 70 degree air, just because this is another place I call home, that isn't what I imagined.  But, it is my life, and I love it.  And that's better than what I ever could've imagined.