Storm Over Fuerteventura

One of the heaviest storms of the year is approaching Fuerteventura. At Flag Beach, the wind is already blowing full offshore with up to 35 knots the day before. The rescue boat is still broken. We head south to Gran Tarajal. A thunderstorm including a downpour unloads over us. Then the wind comes back. But unfortunately not enough, and totally stubborn.

Dominik alternates between overpower and underpower for a few laps. I flub his kite twice in wind holes in the water before I even get on the board. We head back to Corralejo. In the evening, the wind is blowing at over 55 knots. The car shakes in every gust. The storm is here.

I go out for dinner. It’s pouring with rain. In the shopping centre there is a single post in the middle of the large tent roof. It wobbles so anxiously that the waiter doesn’t take his eyes off it during my entire stay. Fast food, redefined. On the main street, the storm has blown down numerous sales stands. Trees have been uprooted, the fire brigade and police are in constant action and all the outdoor seating areas are closed.

We drive back down to Sotavento before dawn. There are normally no rivers on Fuerteventura. Not even streams. But tonight all the roads were flooded within a few hundred metres of each other. Sand, rocks and large branches lie on the carriageway. Sometimes so much that excavators had to clear the road. Cars have been washed off the carriageway, roads have slipped, some are impassable. Metres of retaining walls are missing from embankments and the otherwise turquoise sea around Fuerteventura is rusty brown.

We fight our way southwards through all the obstacles. All this just for the wind. At nine o’clock we are the first on the beach. The wind chops every second, alternating between five and 40 knots. For non-kiters: double wind = four times the force of the basic wind. Sevenfold wind = 50 times the force. A few naysayers (“What are you still waiting for?”) still want to prove their surreal assessment of the conditions in practice. By lunchtime, 10 kiters take to the water. Almost without exception, they are torn apart and/or sink in the wind holes.

Ex-racing bike pro Biane Ries arrives with a group of probably 100 students who are keen to learn. Everything is filmed on film, a band plays. The saxophonist is definitely the person who makes the most of the air pressure that day. I lie down under a palm tree. A nudist with a cock ring walks past. I’ve finally seen enough, close my eyes and sleep off my wind frustration.