Happy in my little island paradise

THIS morning, dawdling knee-deep in the water at the edge of the port beach at Valle Gran Rey on the Canary Island of La Gomera, I remembered standing in the same spot many years ago with a skinny boy, now a giant of 30 years, and looking at a big manta ray lying in the sand at our feet.

‘Manta’ means blanket in Spanish and, while this specimen was only the size of a beach towel, it was nevertheless an experience to be so close to so huge a fish. In summer, they pick days when the sea is agitated to lay their eggs only a few feet from the shore.

The boy touched the edge of its shape with his toe, and it raised its wings and flew off, a pale ghost in the grey water.