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The view from the aeroplane took up my entire being as I gazed over the several Canary Islands I could see on the descent into Tenerife South Airport. The small green volcanic mounds sitting in the blue of the Atlantic were unknown to me at the time, however, a few weeks later on the flight home I could identify them as Las Palmas, El hierro and La Gomera. They appeared magical to me now, as does any unknown land at the beginning of a journey, with volcanoes, deserts, jungles and endless beaches. But I would later find out my time here was a unique and inspiring experience: discovering the true magic of freedom. Climbing out the plane I noted my first step onto new solid ground, a ritual I perform each time I arrive or depart a place. The warm sun burns down at 28 degrees a welcomed contrast to Britain’s Christmassy weather and if I look to the right, the sea is separated from the runway only by a line of towering palm trees. I begin to feel excitement almost bubble over but I concentrate on finding my way to Los Cristianos, the town where the ferries leave for La Gomera. As I wait for the bus to Los Cristianos I roll a cigarette and think about where my travel mates, Oli, Ted and Najia, might be at this moment. My phone has no data consequently I have had no contact with any of them for a few days now. The last I heard they were heading to La Gomera, therefore, this is my destination. The hot air smells of tobacco smoke and sun cream as I wander down the streets of Los Cristianos, over dressed with my backpack weighing on my shoulders. This town on Tenerife is a huge tourist destination, especially by the British. I can identify their sunburnt bodies before they even open their mouths and I immediately want to disassociate myself from them. The beach is man made with paddle boats for hire and the resturaunts filling the promenade sell 3 euro English Breakfasts and 1 Euro pints. To me this place is claustrophobic and I feel uncomfortable in it. I saw one other alternative looking person on the bus and we smiled at each other, a sense of solidarity I later learned passes between hippy travellers who are exploring the world in a similar way. I marched in my neon orange running shoes and checkered blue chef trousers to the docks where the ferries leave to the other Canary Islands and booked my ticket for the next 2pm ferry to La Gomera. With a 40 minute wait I headed up onto the dock’s walls. From up on the walls I could see La Gomera in the distance, while inland, behind the distasteful cheap holiday flats of Los Cristianos, the volcanic landscape of Tenerife rose into the clouds. The sun strokes the barren side of what I can only describe as both mountain and desert terrain. Up above large clouds completely obscure the large volcano: mount Teide. Once on the ferry I sit out on deck, log onto the wifi and to find Oli is in Los Cristianos while Ted and Najia are separated on La Gomera. I want to find out if Oli is on my ferry however there is no reply so I relax knowing we will be drinking a beer in a bar before long. Arriving off the ferry in Santa Cruz, La Gomera I am confronted by sheer cliffs which tower up around the small capital town. This special 10km2 of island will be my home for the next 3 weeks; it’s rocks, sand, rainforest and banana trees. The opportunity to experience grasps my chest, caught with excitement and nerves. I do not yet know the different way of life I’ll live here, or how naturally I fit into it.