Patience is not a virtue I was endowed with at birth, nor is it an asset acquired over the years. On the contrary, the people who love me need to disguise a lot or shut down their senses, at least two, hearing and sight, to be able to bear my proximity.
Sometimes, as if trying to demonstrate that it is never too late to walk the path to wisdom, I try to exercise prudence, dealing with endless waits, untimely honking, calls from pushy salespeople, or complaints to the administration or overbearing companies without answers.
I don't always succeed; most efforts end in a kind of enraged frustration.
And there I was, breathing deeply, waiting for a couple to ask and re-ask a guide in front of a stand offering tours of the island of La Graciosa.
It wasn't difficult to make a decision; a huge sign showed the points to visit, with a transparency and clarity understandable in any language.
It listed the vehicle to use, the time and route, who would be the driver, the stops, absolutely everything necessary for anyone with a minimum of exploratory interest to pay a modest sum to start enjoying.
Admiring the promoter's temperance and balance, and very restless due to the inner volcanoes that rivaled the outer ones, I noticed that the friend accompanying me began to make signs, the same as always.
She made them with her hands, eyes, and head, all of them almost without moving, imperceptible, speaking without speaking, shouting so that only the echo would bounce off my behaviors: "Don't even think about it!"
I didn't think about it, until the situation, so redundant, became unsustainable, and I left the line.
The two tourists, unbearably heavy, not only asked about the 4 x 4 but also about bicycles, trails, walks, islets, beaches; they only needed to find out if some strong islander could carry them on their shoulders.
They weren't in a tourist information office! Nor were they trying to book a trip to Mars! It was a tour of the eighth island of the Canary Islands, with less than 30 square kilometers.
As the drivers of other vehicles, offering the same service, were also waiting, I went to the one whose turn was next.
"Good morning, my friend and I want to do the circuit, and those ahead of us can't decide, so we're going with you."
His response, with his mouth full of smiles, left me stunned: "Look, it's the girl who's explaining's turn. I'm sure she'll take you in a few minutes because those who are asking so much are going to walk away."
He couldn't skip the line; the stipulation was that I wait for the service that the young woman would provide; those were the rules, and he respected them.
Of course, I wasn't going to be the one to transgress them, so I sighed, returned to the line where my friend was waiting, and when the persistent ones left, probably to replenish saliva, the driver who was attending to them didn't have to say anything to us, just listen: "Let's go, or we'll miss the ferry!"
The first thing I told Inma, that was her name, was that she had fabulous colleagues who didn't want to replace her, and that the guy I had spoken to knew that they wouldn't hire his service, that we were waiting for her.
She assured us that she knew it too, but that she was responding because, even though it wasn't her job, she liked to leave everyone satisfied.
Inma skillfully took us through every corner of the island, explained aspects of the Isla Graciosa and Northern Islets marine reserve. She enlightened us about a prodigious place, its coasts and its dangers, the times she stops to inform reckless people who shouldn't, even if they think they can, swim in certain places, or transport unconscious people who suffer heatstroke, either themselves or their nursing children.
I told myself that I was traveling next to an exception, at each point a reference, to each reference a story, there Alegranza, here the first city: Pedro Alba, the contrasts, the colors, Montaña Bermeja, Montaña Clara, Roque del Este, the number of inhabitants, the problems with water, primary studies, high school in Haría, preparation away from home, the trips, what the tourists who arrive represented and represent, respect for nature.
When the journey concluded, we went to have lunch at a place she recommended, and there what seemed like an exception continued to be the norm. How could they not know Inma? While we waited for the food, they continued to tell us stories, of the town, its people, their customs, of the 9 teachers who arrive every day, of the doctor, the priest, of the Virgen del Mar parish, where one day in the year 2017, the Cross of the Castaways of Lampedusa arrived to be venerated for a day.
At the end of the visit, about to take the ferry back to the Port of Orzola, we met the protagonist again. We told her that we had liked the safari, that everything had been great, and that I would try to capture it in a comment.
Inma thanked me, asking me to also mention her cousin Acaymo and the company where they work.
I was going to do it, but I thought: why?, if everyone knows them.
