We stood on the northern hillside of Tenerife, overlooking the Mar de Nubes, the famous Sea of Clouds, which often circles the island’s peaks. I pointed out the peaks of the island of La Palma, which drifted above clouds on the horizon, twin, purple, mysterious humps .
“That reminds me,” my friend said. “The other day from the boat I saw an island, but I wasn’t sure which one it was,” and he described its position. I knew that there should be no island in the direction he indictated, but I also knew exactly what he had seen.
I drew a deep, sharp breath. “You saw the magic island of San Borondon,” I whispered. A tingle of excitement ran down my spine.