Simple, profound, & beautiful

On Airbnb goodness and the unexpected gift of unhurried ways

“The industrial era at climax… has imposed on us all its ideals of ceaseless pandemonium. The industrial economy, by definition, must never rest…. There is no such thing as enough. Our bellies and our wallets must become oceanic, and still they will not be full. Six workdays in a week are not enough. We need a seventh. We need an eighth…. Everybody is weary, and there is no rest…. Or there is none unless we adopt the paradoxical and radical expedient of just stopping.”

-Wendell Berry, from the forward of Living the Sabbath: Discovering the Rhythms of Rest and Delight, by Norman Wirzba

My friend and I had taken a risk by booking the Airbnb solely based upon the pictures— there were no reviews yet, but the place seemed pristine and lush. After we arrived to the island of Tenerife, we rented a car, and drove an hour west along a coastal highway cut into the mountainside. Eventually we exited the highway and began ascending towards the village where we were told our hosts would meet us and give us the keys.

The streets were one lane (but not one-way), and colorful houses pressed together in sporadic clumps. We distanced ourselves vertically from the ocean, but the horizon only expanded. We met up with our hosts momentarily on a roadside parking area before they sped off in their tiny car, leading us further and further up the mountain. The houses became fewer, the foliage became wilder, and the road grew so steep we felt the need to lean forward to keep the front tires on the ground!

Pedro and Rosa welcomed us into their tiny rental home like we were long lost family— with hugs, laughter, and fresh eggs in the refrigerator. It was far more that just a key drop-off, which was a bit of a shift for an American used to contact avoidant transactions. As they showed us around, it was unmistakeable that they had spent years cultivating and enjoying a space that was Edenic. Pedro told me that this was a place to breathe. They were delighted to share the tranquility with us; they wanted us to rest, and they had no problem resting themselves. I later learned that they had been renting that home out for twenty years— it was a place they loved, and they wanted others to love it too.

Garden view

The next day, as I was enjoying the quiet and the endless blue view, my friend called for me to come join her. Rosa was in the garden and offering to show us around. She pointed out grapevines, passionfruit, potatoes, avocados, and tomatoes (to name a few), along with a myriad of tropical flowers. We followed her below one terrace to an area hidden by vines and were surprised to find chickens and bunnies running around. We followed her out through an archway in the stone fence into a field where Pedro was hoeing. Smiling contagiously, he came over and gave us handfuls of fresh potatoes, still warm from the sun-baked soil.

While in Tenerife, I read the quote at the beginning of this post— an epigraph in Ellen Davis’s masterpiece Scripture, Culture, & Agriculture. The wisdom and potency of each word only gained exponential power as I watched the life unfolding around me. There was no doubt in my mind that Pedro and Rosa worked hard, putting their bodies and souls into the labor of gardening, cultivating, caring. But I was struck by their joy, their ability to participate in rest. Out on that island they seemed utterly untouched by the ocean of emptiness that Berry had described. How different from my own experiences of work in the frenzied urban West, with its’ constant waves of pressure, motion, anxiety, noise.

I’m sure Pedro and Rosa’s reality was more complex than what I could see. But what I did see were unhurried rhythms of work and rest, generosity and contentment. There was nothing pretentious about their ordinary habits. And I’m still thinking about them weeks later; their contagious delight is still lingering in my memory. I received something powerful, something filled with an almost comical level of simplicity and wisdom when Pedro and Rosa invited me to witness their ways, giving me the unexpected gift of themselves.