Due to the rather sparse vegetation in Fuerteventura, we simply do without the part on this "Ode to the spring", where it is described how bare trees turn green again.
There are also green trees here, but they are rarely so crowded that one can speak of a forest.
Often, these trees also have an owner - be it a tourist resort, a public building, a park or just a private lover who supplies the faithful companion with a sufficient amount of water.
Now I have deviated something from the topic, because as mentioned above is the season-specific feature for the spring on which I want to write today, is not located in the local flora.
I have been living over the port of Morro Jable for several years and follow the local shipping traffic with a healthy interest.
Whether it is the excursion boat, which receives its daily guests in the same way every day in five languages, or the innumerable small trawlers who, contrary to any temporal laws, eventually leave the harbor and just as easily come back at some point.
I hear the dulling sound of the ferry when it's time to get up and the amount of cars leaving the boat is a good indication of the day of the week.
A typical spring messenger on Fuerteventura is when a normal amount of cars becomes an alarming number of campers.
This means: Easter is coming. Spring is coming.
These campers are by no means well-off Germans, who want to retire here surrounded by cleaning utensils, crocheted tablecloths and decrepit dachshunds - they are native Spanishs from the other Canary Islands.
The German package tourist may be amazed:
"Yes, the Spanish who work there, where I have to travel awkwardly to spend my vacation, still have enough free time for vacations?"
Let me tell you:
"Out of the air-conditioned airport shuttle buses and all-inclusive counters at the swimming pools, real people live with families and hobbies."
One of these hobbies is camping.
... and at this point the German camper will register reservations:
"Stop! The campsite includes toilets, shoulder bags and a groundsman who deserves the title. "
Living up to any prejudice, the Spanish simply camps in the open air in a completely disorganized way. He is protected neither by an association nor a place order.
The motorhomes leave the harbor and remain like marbles that roll down a flat hill at some point - many at the sea not least where there is still room.
Out of these homes rise people who often look the same as the Fuerteventura landscape.
They wear the sort of swimwear that is sexy at David Beckham, authentic at Italian lifeguards and just barely tolerable for our fathers.
In local shops or restaurants you do not meet them, because they have everything they need: green "tropical" beer cans and tons of conversation material, which they scream with loud laughter and with mutual pat on the back with the free beer hand.
Often, people who talk rather than listen have firm opinions and since they are rarely interrupted while talking, they save the judgment in the verdict determination.
One of those contemporaries, a certain Juanjo, gave our Surf School a "Google Places" rating with a star because he felt disturbed by our laughing surfing students at 8am as they carried their surfboards past his Van to the beach.
Now Easter is over, Juanjo back on his home island and we have learned something new:
No matter where the campsite is and what it looks like - there is always a groundskeeper!
Happy Easter and Aloha;)
Your Christof