the canary islands.

We flew in over Morocco, the red beaches lying far below parallel to the deep blue ocean. Farther along were the snowy peaks of some, I imagined, fantastic and famous mountain range. It was getting hotter and sunnier by the moment, and we’d soon be stepping off into the heat of our island paradise. I took a deep breath and relaxed, letting the tension of take-off melt away. The initial few minutes of a flight always give me a panic attack, and this one had been no exception.

Our aircraft, first of all, was not much bigger than the “puddle-jumper” on which we had flown from Cancun to Cozumel (the type of plane where they make sure they have an even weight distribution on both sides), and in which I had been convinced I was spending the final moments of my young life. With every jolt, pitch, and rumble of the plane I braced myself for the nosedive into the sea…. Yet it never happened and consequently I was the only person gripping my armrests, knuckles white, face ashen, and teeth clenched in preparation for the entire flight. It didn’t help things when a random appliance crashed to the floor of the cockpit as we landed, or that we swerved back and forth along the entire runway, at one point coming so close to some trees that I expected to have a branch break through my window.

Our Tenerife plane was slightly larger, yet it still made veering motions similar to those of the Mexico plane as we picked up speed. What was even more disconcerting was the strange clanking noise coming from the depths of the plane as it became airborne.

“What IS that?!” I gasped to Rose.

She pondered for a second, then explained, “It’s because we’re near the wings.”

“Oh,” I said sheepishly, and worked on keeping my hands from shaking noticeably. Later, Rose revealed that she had also been terrified and had merely said the first thing that sprung to mind to keep us both from panicking. At any rate, the strange sound finally disappeared, and our nerves were put at ease temporarily.

Very temporarily.

"MA-MA! MA-MA!!!" The shriek was accompanied by a rhythmic banging on the back of our seats as the little boy behind us staged a full-fledged tempter tantrum.

"Shut up, shut up," Muttered a rudely awakened Rose, who is even less tolerant of children than I am. We both glowered but kept our tempers in check for an admirable length of time, until the boy poked his head over the seat and began shouting "Hola! Hooooola!!!" into Rose's ear. Rose promptly turned around and let loose in rapid Spanish, and it was a treat to see the mother's horrified reaction.

We flew alongside the snowy peaks of the Atlas mountains, over the blood red beaches of Essouria, and finally, across a long stretch of water until there it was. A volcano.

We had arrived.