OUR LAST WEEK IN FUERTEVENTURA 63 



narrow street ; a geranium growing in front of one of 

 the houses being the only flower we have seen during 

 our stay on the island. There are no flower gardens 

 in Fuerteventura, water is too scarce a commodity for 

 gardening. Our luggage is left down by the quay, now 

 laden with stores waiting for the boat ; a row of camels 

 may be seen reclining on the shore, the same abstracted 

 gaze far out to sea, the same nonchalant chewing. 

 Before we reach the fonda the boat slips quietly in 

 unnoticed, and takes her accustomed place. 



There was a crowded table at the fonda that night, 

 and many quaint and curious dishes, to which justice 

 was certainly done by the majority of the guests. 

 Among these I noticed a highly-coloured old gentle- 

 man from Lanzarote, with a napkin tucked round his 

 collar, his grey moustache doing a vast amount of work 

 over the various courses. He was rude enough to say 

 to his neighbour, in whom I recognised a face from 

 La Oliva, "The gentleman seems very fond of the 

 bottle.' This was in allusion to my nose, which had 

 borne the brunt of the sun for a fortnight. There was 

 a slight hush, then in an undertone, Amigo de la 

 Marquesa. 



By nine o'clock we were on board, Lorenzo appear- 

 ing very jovial, either on account of the prospect of 

 returning home to his wife and family, or else because 

 he had found some wine more to his taste than that 

 which he had been able to get in the villages. 



My closing recollection of Fuerteventura was cer- 

 tainly a weird one. The sea was calm, and after most 

 of the cargo had been taken on board I saw two long 

 boats being rowed laboriously towards the steamer, the 



