Life, and Other Absurdities.

On our way to the restaurant it had been raining, but now there was an ominous stillness that hung over the island. The sky overhead had not only dark clouds, but a slightly pinkish hue. The palm trees no longer wavered in the breeze, but stood erect as if in anticipation. By the time we got to the aparthotel there was a sense that the atmosphere had changed again, as if things were slightly more dark, more silent, more surreal. In entering our room I went straight to the balcony, where I halted, the hairs on the back of my neck going up.

"You guys," I said sharply, "You guys, come here. Look at the volcano." The sky around it was blood red.

"Holllll, llly, Shit" murmured Rose.

"Um yeah, so, do we have like an evacuation plan to get off this island?" said Chastity. "Because it looks like that things going to blow."

They say the Canary Islands only have one tropical storm a year, and that night, we sure as hell got one. But as it turned out, we didn't mind one bit.

Rose and I take our sweet time meandering down to Little Italy, which is closing just as we get there. Next we peek in on a few places across the street, but they don't seem to be any good. We make our way past the arcades, past the scary hair-braiding women who, I'm delighted to discover, are now disarmed and powerless for the fact that my hair is already cornrowed.

"Hide me," Rose mutters as she comes to the same realization.

We are nearing the shopping plaza when, out of nowhere, the skies open up into the most torrential downpour I have ever experienced. Screaming, we bolt for Benetton as the water drenches us and within seconds goes from pelting to flooding the pavement. The salesperson hustles us in and has to lean her whole body into the door to close it against the wind. Outside, palm trees are bending at a frightening angle.

"Omigod," I gasp. "I've never seen anything like it!"

Rose is already at the display racks, a dangerous gleam in her eye.

"I guess we have no choice but to go shopping....." She murmurs vaguely as she thumbs through brightly colored skirts.

I feel a grin coming on as well, despite my ravenous state of hunger. There could be worse things than being stranded in Benetton during a tropical storm. And so for the next two hours, we shop. Hardcore. We try on and debate and assess and look some more until we've considered every item in the store at least twice. It's midnight by the time the rain has slowed to a drizzle and we're making our way out laden with bags, the salespeople locking the doors and wishing us a fond farewell, silently thanking the storm gods for picking theirs out of all stores in which to strand Rose Guerrera.

By now we're starving, and at this point in the night, McDonald's is our only option. On our way we see gaggles of revelers and short-skirted British girls, their makeup smeared and hair knotted from the wind. They're calling it quits already, we haven't even started yet. That's the beauty of the Canary Islands. There's literally no rush, no anxiety over getting ready on time, because it's a party 24/7. No matter what the hour, the weather, there will still be people out, and as we learned that night, the later and stormier the better.

We remember that we told Chastity we were going out just to pick up food and coming straight back- it's been about two and a half hours since then. We pick her up some chicken nuggets, but get distracted again on the way home by a bevy of Spanish men. By the time we approach the door, we are feeling rather apprehensive as to what awaits inside.

"I have an idea. We'll just open the door, throw the food in, and make a run for it!"

Rose is giggling hysterically. "I feel like we're dealing with some sort of wild animal. Chastity.... THE BEAST!!!"

We got ready in record time, gulping down mugs of tequila as Chastity sat glumly, watching.

"Are you suuure you don't want to come?" We dangled the bottle in front of her as an invitation. She grimaced, and we were out of there before the latest painful sigh and accompanying barrage of self-pity had a chance to leave her lips.

Outside, the tropical storm made the atmosphere even wilder. Palm trees were whipping in the wind, waves were crashing on the beach, and we arrived at O'Neils with windswept tequila flushed cheeks and corkscrew curls only to learn from my British boy that it had been flooded. He was therefore working up at the hilltop bars that night, and promised to catch up with us later; I got a birthday kiss before he went. We danced into O'Briens, and that's where the fun began.