When my friend Jake and I found out that our All Saints Day break coincided with a 90 Euro flight to Gran Canaria, one of the principal islands of the Grand Canaries, we literally booked it on the spot.

With Halloween on Wednesday, the flight at 11, and a typical Sevillano night out wrapping up at about 6am, it was going to be a bit of a fight to hit all the obligations we needed to. After a night in the bustling Alameda de Hercules, we made it back for some sleep before waking up to take the 9 AM bus.

We arrived to the airport without a single hitch, and breezed through security, even though they took my sunscreen. We napped on the benches until we headed over to the flight (last on the plane by choice). We arrived treated to incredible views of the island before hopping onto the bus to head into the city of Las Palmas.

The bus drove along the coast until we pulled into the San Telmo Bus Station. We pulled up a map and walked a few blocks over to a hostel. I went for a run, got my bearings, and took a nap. We ate shortly after, taking advantage of the hostel’s beautiful kitchen, and then went out on a Tapas crawl with the hostel. There we met a few characters, including a semi-pro Belgian footballer who was traveling with a German companion-many people at this time of year are there for the surfing, them included.

The next morning we took advantage of the surf as well, renting boards from a Brasilian transplant named Gino. We surfed, then bussed back. I left my swimsuit on the bus.

After a lunch and a siesta, I went out, determined to track my swimsuit down. After 30 minutes at the bus station administrative office, they tracked it down thanks to my ticket number and ended up finding it (miraculously). They told me to come back at 6 to pick it up. That night we headed over to the hostel of our friends, where we joined a barbecue on the rooftop terrace before ending up, to my chagrin, at a club full of Canarians.

I woke up before Jake with a resolve to run up into the neighborhoods on the hills surrounding Las Palmas-as I winded around through the neighborhoods, the roads started to steepen, to stairs, the streets turned into alleys no wider than 6 or 7 feet, and over the very top, concertina wire surrounded the apartment complexes. I wound through a park/field and ended up on this rocky goat path where I saw a dude throwing up. As I ran back down, three men yelled for me to stop.

I pulled out an earbud and skeptically looked back at the 3 dudes smoking cigarettes on a stoop. A man with a face tattoo spoke first, ¨los perros muerden,¨ he said, half slyly. The dogs bite.

I went the other direction.

That afternoon we went to the old town and explored around the church, passing through a great museum that was formerly Christopher Colombus’ house. I really recommend it, super well set up and incredibly informative without being too dense.

The next day, Sunday, was one of the best days of travel in my life. We woke up at a standard hour and dipped down on a bus to Maspalomas/Playa del Inglés. When we arrived, we got our bearings by talking to a bike shop employee and grabbing a quick snack at a grocery store.

The beach is on the corner of the island, and we were on the far side of the beach, so we decided to hike the whole way along. It’s a huge beach/dune preserve. After procuring some sunscreen, we started to hike along until the waves got bigger and the people got progressively less clothed.

We finally arrived to a quieter part of the beach with some waves-I snapped some pics, changed behind some sand dunes, and we started to perfect our body surfing technique. They were big and foamy enough that you could really ride them all the way into the shore. We had a blast until a beach lifeguard pulled up and waved us in the shore.

He asked if we spoke Spanish and looked pleased when we said we did. Then he told us we had to leave cause the currents were strong and he didn’t want us to die. I appreciated his commitment to lifesaving.

We walked around to the other side of the beach and headed back into town with a plan to hitchhike (autoestop) in Spanish about half of an hour into the mountains right above tohe town to hike in this town called San Bartolomé. When we made it to the start of the road up into the mountains, a guy pulled over and tolled us he was going to Fataga, a small Canarian town nestled in the mountains. There were some hiking spots that lead out of there so we went with him

His name was Wim and he was a semi-retired former dutch sculptor that spends winters in the Canaries working on his 200 year old house and trying to build one of the worlds most complete cactus gardens. We talked to him for probably an hour, and he took us to an overlook on the way up, then showed us his house and a trailhead right nearby. His house was the old mill, and the entire towns water supply flows directly through his living room

His house looks directly over the town, which is a quiet little pueblo with a few restaurants and a gas station. We hiked up a trail to get to a ridgeline and check out the grand vistas.

We hiked back down in to town and ate at a cafe. As the sun set we tried to hail a ride down, and within the first 20 cars to pass, a Latvian vacation crew offered us a ride back into Maspalomas. We took it up, they argued among each other all the way down, before dropping us at a bus stop so we could catch a bus back to Las Palmas.

The next day we rose relatively early to check out and go boogie boarding. It was incredible, I rode one wave in from so far out, it was such a blast. The waves were big, too. It cost something like 12 or 10 euros to rent it for 3 hours. I recommend it over surfing every time.

We went to a grocery store and cheffed up a delicious tuna salad for 8 euros between the two of us-with enough leftover for a sack airport dinner. The hostel was happy to store our bags, let us shower after boogie boarding, and let us use their expansive kitchen facilities to feed and recombobulate before heading down to the bus station. Security, again, was a breeze, literally the fastest I’ve ever gone through. Door to gate-under 10 minutes.

Although we arrived early, our flight was delayed by a little over an hour. Things went smoothly from then on, with a nice little homework hour, then the flight. When we arrived in Seville, we missed a packed bus back into town so decided to take an Uber back with a Spanish caballero we met named Pilar. Seville just got Uber and, interestingly enough, due to legislation, all Ubers here are owned by companies that work under Uber. So when you get picked up by Uber, your driven by a driver who gets paid a salary by a company that gets paid by Uber-even so, it’s cheaper than the already ludicrously cheap cabs.

We got dropped off curbside, the driver said he wanted to go to New York over Christmas. I hope he gets there.

Seville is good, I go to Morocco next week followed by a trip to Barcelona, then Dublin, then things start winding down-crazy how the time flies with so much to do. I had my ‘mid-semester’ (more like 3/4) check-in this week which really made me reflect on how truly content I am to be here.

Jack