Foam sprayed up onto the faded red sides of the Tarifa Ocean Ferry as it cut its way through the Strait of Gibraltar. The torrent of aqua bubbles coming from the whirring engines, attracted bottle-nosed dolphins who clicked and whistled as they played chicken with the ferry, criss-crossing its bow with their tremendously powerful elegant dance in the water. A joy leapt into my heart as I watched these creatures. As I observed them, they exuded a pure energy of playfulness.

It was midday, and the sun was just reaching its highest point in the sky, beating unusually hot rays down onto the metal railing at this time in late October, making it unbearable to touch. 

I was peering out over the glittering water to catch a glimpse of our destination. A few moments passed, and I saw land emerging from the edge of the horizon. I was so excited, I felt like yelling out my discovery for the whole ship to hear: “Land Ho Everybody!” I raced back inside to the table booth where the rest of my family sat; all occupied with different tasks. Dad was writing an email, Lalika was defending his domain on a zombie apocalypse game and Mum was trying to block out the swaying so that the sea sickness would go away. “I can see it!” I said, trembling with happiness. 

“What?” asked Dad looking up momentarily from the screen. 

“Spain!” I said, “I can see it!” 

Dad looked up again and smiled. “We’ll be there soon enough,” and surely we were. I don’t know whether it was my excitement and my mind racing all at once or another worldly effect, but the 45 minutes seemed just to fly by.

The stewards were already calling for the passengers to prepare. We disembarked to find the atomic tangerine city of Tarifa. The sun had gone behind the clouds, but I still felt a certain glow emanating from the people around me. Making our way through the quiet streets on a Saturday afternoon was a welcome relief from the constant rapid racing energy of the Moroccan cities we had left behind us, at least for a short while. After receiving an invitation from a very good friend who lived in the beautiful desert hills of Andalusia Spain, we decided, due to our proximity,  to jump at the opportunity and make the two hour journey from Asilah, across this most famous narrow channel of water. Strangely, I had felt as if we were coming home; as if after a long and tiring journey I was finally entering the familiar threshold that I was longing for. 

We rushed, with our backpacks on, to make the final direct bus for the day. After a certain mishap of mistaking the bus we were supposed to take, five hours and two servings of gelato later, we were on our way to the city of Algeciras, situated directly opposite The Rock. A few light showers had soaked the sparse greenery that we sped past, making our way into the hills. Everywhere I looked, beauty stared back at me: the clear azure water of the sea, the marigold rocky mountains,  the rare heliotrope colored desert flowers. Then the magnificent mammoth Rock Of Gibraltar itself came into view, and I was glued to the window, taking in all my surroundings with eyes as wide as a golf ball. 

A few minutes later I found myself boarding another bus, heading to the city of Jerez, where our dear friend, Kingsley, would be awaiting us. Unfortunately, due to our earlier tribulations with the buses, by the time the silver and red bus began its expedition down the highway, the alizarin crimson sunset was pushing its way through the clouds in one final burst, beginning to lose its light. For the rest of the journey, we were in the dark.

I remember disembarking the bus and making our way outside to be greeted by the cool wind and then the warm but blinding headlights of a car. Then a man with flame colored hair jumped out of the driver’s seat and greeted us with joyful smiles. “Welcome to Andalusia!” said Kingsley with a cultured English accent, mixed with that slight tinge of Spain.

“Thank you!” Dad began “It’s been wonderful…”

“And magical!” I cut in.

“Finally we meet in person.” Dad finished.

We boarded the car and drove through the black night, devoid of the moon, to the city of Arcos de la Frontera. I felt the smooth highway fall away from under the car, and we were then rumbling down a dusty and rocky road. At the end, I saw a rich red earthen coloured rendered house, glowing in the golden light of the porch lamp. I could make out a stunning garden patch that reminded me of the cover of a book I had once owned about Adam and Eve, mixed with the mystical descriptions of The Secret Garden.

We entered the warmth of the home, and I immediately felt only pleasant energies residing within. 

“My dog, Fuko, is out at the moment, but he will love to meet you once he returns. He is out galavanting, as I kept him in the past few days because he was naughty and tracked mud inside everywhere after staying out all night last time. He is now enjoying his regained freedom,” said Kingsley with a laugh. 

It was past 10pm once we sat down in the warm and cozy living room by the blazing fire and after a yawn from both Lalika and I, Mum shepherded us straight off to bed, saying “How are you going to enjoy yourselves tomorrow if you are not rested!?” Even though I agreed with her line of reasoning, after getting into bed, my tiredness simply vanished.

Lying quietly for about half an hour and listening in on the adults’ conversation, I heard a soft rustling coming from outside the door. At first I thought that one of my parents was entering the room, and so I snapped my eyes shut in a split second and pretended to be asleep. But after cautiously re-opening my eyes, I became extremely curious. I hopped out of bed, trying to make no noise and then carefully poked my head around the corner. More rustling ensued along with the pitter patter of small feet and nails on the dark slate tiles. It took a few moments for me to realize what this creature was. After my eyes had adjusted to the foyer’s darkness, I saw a smokey black dog with big brown eyes staring back at me, his head tilted to one side. 

I dropped to my knees, forgetting all about being quiet and beckoned for the dog to come over. He came running, and he jumped into my embrace in a matter of seconds. “You must be Fuko!” I whispered, petting him as he jumped up and down in happiness. “Fashionably late I suppose,” I said giggling to myself. 

“Is that you Fuko!?” I heard Kingsley cry out. Letting the dog jump out from my lap, I ran back inside the room and hid under the covers. I heard my parents becoming acquainted with Fuko and then slowly hearing the fuss die down. Ten minutes later I saw a small black nose peeking in from the door. After giving Fuko one last belly rub, I fell back into bed, content at last to fall asleep.

In the morning, after a delicious breakfast, we sat outside the house under the latticework on which the grapevines weaved their way around, where the October sun of the Southern Mediterranean warmed us, and we just joked about. It was here that I noticed three very cute, interesting little dogs blaze around the corner all at once. The gauge of the front gate was not small enough to stop them from entering, rather just enough to slow them down, and once they had pushed through, they resumed their speed in unison running towards Fuko who was sitting on the front porch. The thing was, they didn’t slow down when they reached him and their collective momentum of force impacted in a collision that sent them all tumbling over, Fuko included, into a ball of dog parts. They were up in a flash though and instantly running as if they were playing a version of tag.