Moving to Fuerteventura didn’t happen all at once.
It happened in waves —
5 or 6 heavy, exhausting trips across the sea,
car loaded to the brim with boxes, bags, blankets, memories, hopes,
and two children whose futures were about to take a new shape.

The speed ferry took two hours,
but each trip felt like crossing into another world.

We would leave the familiar mountains of Gran Canaria behind,
and then — slowly — Fuerteventura would rise from the horizon,
a long golden silhouette stretching into the Atlantic.

Driving off the ferry in the south,
the first thing I noticed was the light.

Fuerteventura doesn’t glow like other islands.
It shimmers.

Mountains shaped like ancient guardians,
covered in warm gold tones that shift with the sun —
sand dunes on both sides of the road —
white, soft, endless —
and the sea…

The turquoise sea of Fuerteventura,
so clear and surreal it almost doesn’t look real.

I remember laughing the first time we drove inland,
almost breathless from the strange, otherworldly beauty of it.

“It feels like another planet,” I said.
And I meant it.
The land felt untouched,
raw,
primordial —
like the Earth before memory.

We moved to the island for peace.
The girls were older —
schoolwork heavier —
life busier.
We needed quiet.
Space.
A slower rhythm.

But the truth is,
now that I look back,
the island had called us long before we realised we needed it.

The Exhaustion Before the Rebirth

That first month…
we were completely drained.

Unloading boxes,
finding new routines,
school registrations,
learning the roads,
learning the wind,
which lives on Fuerteventura like a spirit of its own.

Everything felt both new and overwhelming.

But somewhere inside the exhaustion,
something began to settle in me —
a soft grounding,
the kind that happens when your soul finally arrives where it was meant to be.

And Then Came the Road Trips

As soon as we had our breath back,
we began to explore.

Long drives across golden plains.
Small villages tucked between ravines.
Endless beaches.
Mirages of light.
Desert landscapes that felt ancient and alive.

And then the signs started.

The Ravens.

Everywhere.
On fences.
Circling the mountains.
Flying low across the road as if leading us somewhere.

Large, black, intelligent —
they watched us with eyes that felt too knowing.

In many cultures, ravens are guardians of thresholds,
messengers between worlds,
guides of intuition.

On Fuerteventura, they became part of the welcome.

Where Gran Canaria spoke in visions and echoes,
Fuerteventura spoke through ravens.

The Warm Pressure in My Lower Back

This began around the same time.

We would be driving through certain areas —
specific mountains,
certain ridges,
old sacred places —
and I’d suddenly feel a deep, warm pressure at the base of my spine.

Not pain.
Not discomfort.

A heat,
soft and ancient,
like something waking up.

In energy work,
the lower back is connected to:

root chakra

grounding

ancestral memory

survival energy

Earth energy

past-life activation


Looking back, I know exactly what it was:

Fuerteventura was opening something in me.

Where Gran Canaria awakened memory,
Fuerteventura awakened power.
Ancient, grounded, Earth-rooted power.

The island wasn’t just welcoming me —
it was activating me.

A Different Kind of Calling

Gran Canaria had spoken through emotion,
visions,
and spiritual encounters.

Fuerteventura spoke through:

the land

the wind

the ravens

the desert

the body

the spine

the bones

the silence


Its voice was deeper, quieter,
more ancient.

This wasn’t a place of past-life recognition.

This was a place of purpose.

A place where your soul stops whispering
and starts claiming.

💫Maggie

The Afterlove Voice 💫