By 5 July 2018

Banned from leaving Europe for the foreseeable future and desperate to escape the sub zero temperatures of last winter, I booked a very last minute trip to the warmest place I could find in the continent in early March. That is how we settled on Fuerteventura, the Island of Fire. It definitely delivered on its promise of warmth. As we left the airport we could feel our starved skin sopping up the buttery rays of light. Recharging, replenishing, nourishing ourselves with heat, fresh air and food for 5 days was all we needed and wanted to do.

We almost exclusively inhabited our villa, hidden in a mass complex of identical moroccan/aegean-esque structures called Bahiazul, and its one restaurant. The surrounding landscape of the island didn’t engender much interest for us. A volcanic, barren brown rock with sparse cacti and even sparser plots of buildings surrounded us. And although we could just see the sea we couldn’t get to a beach.

I can’t say I got any artistic inspiration from this trip other than drawing a few pictures of my feet. By being somewhere totally relaxing, however, it allowed me to be outside and un-mummified from countless layers of clothes and sickness, which gave me the mental freedom to feel creative again.

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