Fuerteventura hautnah – Faszinierende Blicke durch die Kamera - Ajuy

Flight of the drone along our hiking route

Ajuy – A walk with an impressive panorama

It was a winter day in Fuerteventura. The only cloud in the archipelago had chosen us and followed us, as if it knew we wanted to be left alone. But it was typical of this island. Nothing moved quickly. Everything took its time. However, little by little, the weather improved, as it always did. It took time, but it came.

We stood at the Barranco del Madre de Agua, a valley that promised much more than it could deliver. The name "Mother of Water" sounded like an invitation to a refreshing experience, but the water had disappeared, as it often did here on the island. The barranco was empty, the palm trees stood like silent guards, and the rocks had buried their history. A quiet place that reminded us more of the past than bringing us into the present. Helmuth wanted to take photos. He walked ahead and always found something he considered fascinating. A palm, a stone, a shadow. I followed him and looked around. I took a photo too. We had to do it. It was the reason we were here. Not just the weather and the silence, but also the walk to Ajuy. A destination. Another piece of Fuerteventura that we experienced in our way.

Ajuy lay before us, a village that from afar looked like a relic from times long past. A scene from an old pirate movie, mystical, a little melancholic, but also filled with a charm that didn’t let us go. The black beaches looked calm, as if they weren’t expecting much except for the ceaseless coming and going of the waves. It was a slow meeting of sea and land, wind and earth. We continued walking, getting closer to the caves of Ajuy. The rocks surrounding them were so old they seemed to keep their silent reverence. It was as if we could feel the centuries in every crack and crevice of the stone. Hundreds of Atlas squirrels constantly surrounded us, trying to get our attention. They were like little tourists, making their lives a spectacle. These animals were like the island itself – tough, persistent, and always in motion. The path to the caves was not easy. Always along the narrow trail. The cliffs stood like great guardians around us, and the rocks took shapes that left us in awe. The view of the sea, stretching to the horizon, was breathtaking. It felt like we had reached the edge of the world.

Then we came to Peña Horadada. Helmuth called it the "Gateway to the World." The rocks there were massive, and the large eye in the middle of the rock opened the view to the horizon. At that moment, everything felt like the view of the sea was the only thing that mattered. Helmuth took more photos. I rested the camera and just looked. The moment was just as it was. It didn’t need to be captured.
The return was as peaceful as the journey there. It led us back across the plateau, and the sky slowly began to change. The colors of the sunset painted the sky in warm tones, and the landscape was bathed in golden light. Everything looked different. A final look at the sea, the waves rhythmically crashing against the beach. Everything was simple and yet perfect.

When we arrived in the village, we looked for a café. A coffee at the end of the day. The sunset had passed, and the day, which had welcomed us so calmly, was coming to an end. We sat quietly, each with our own thoughts. The day had been full of small moments that told us more than we ever expected. Sometimes it’s not the big events that define the day, but the simple, silent moments.
"It was good," Helmuth finally said, as he looked at the last photos on his camera.
"Yes," I said. "It was more than that." The moment had passed, but it had stayed with us. Like the sea, which endlessly beats against the shore. Again and again.
"We’ll come back," I said, and he nodded.

There was no doubt about it.