While going through old files on my laptop, I stumbled upon a small folder filled with forgotten notes and photos from a time that feels like both yesterday and a lifetime ago. It brought a quiet smile and a wave of memories I hadn’t revisited in years. My husband and I had stopped blogging for a while, caught up in the rhythm of life. Still, these two places, Buenavista del Norte in the Canary Islands and Formentera del Segura in the Valencian Community, were such meaningful chapters in our story that I felt compelled to share them finally.
Each town gave us something different. Each one offered its kind of peace. Looking back, I realize how much a part of me still lives in both.
Yes, I left my heart in Buenavista del Norte.
Tucked in the northwest of Tenerife, in Isla Baja, Buenavista del Norte was our home for a whole year, a quiet retreat where we gave ourselves one more year in the Canaries (after Icod de los Vinos) before returning to the mainland. Life moved slowly there, in the best possible way. I’d glance out the window each morning and feel a soft awe. On clear days, I could see Mount Teide, the highest peak in Spain, towering in the distance. The smaller hills would appear and disappear under the shifting mists, and the banana plantations below added a layer of calm green to our everyday view.
We often walked among the trees, along the coast, and through narrow paths into nature. There was a humble cafetería in the neighborhood that served the most delicious coffee we’d ever tasted on the island, and just steps from our house was one of the best spots for Canarian food, unpretentious and full of flavor.
Though life eventually moved on, a part of me never really left. Buenavista is carried in my memories like a quiet poem, always returning me to a more grounded, simpler time.
✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧
After our time in the Canary Islands, we found ourselves on the mainland once more, in Formentera del Segura, nestled in the province of Alicante. It became our new home, our base in the Comunidad Valenciana, and while the transition felt like a fresh start, it also kept the spirit of our slow-living life alive.
Formentera del Segura is a small village along the Segura River, home to fewer than five thousand people. At first glance, it felt like a traditional Spanish village, quiet and grounded. But with time, we saw the blend of nationalities, primarily Spanish and British, living side by side and creating a small, interesting community.
There was a plaza with a café near the town hall, a big football field, a municipal pool, and a mix of shops and restaurants, some run by locals, others by foreigners who had made the village their home. The food was surprisingly good and often more affordable than in surrounding towns. We lived near the village entrance, where the walking paths stretched into nearby towns, and from our windows, we could see the faraway mountains and a glimmer of a lake.
It was a peaceful life until the world changed. When the pandemic hit, so did our needs. We moved thirty minutes away to be close to the beach, but I often think of Formentera del Segura. It was my first real connection to the region, and it gave us exactly what we needed at the time.
I remember the sound of the neighbor’s dog howling at odd hours, a strange but comforting detail that stayed with me. The kind of thing you wouldn’t think you’d miss, but I’m from the Philippines 😊
Then we moved to Torre de la Horadada…
These remembrances had been almost forgotten for years, but finding them now felt like discovering a little time capsule. Revisiting these places through my old words and photos brought me back to who I was then: quiet, observant, in love with stillness and small-town rhythms.
These towns weren’t just places we lived in. They were part of our lives. And though we’ve long since moved on, the memories are still warm and vivid.
I’m sharing them now not just for nostalgia but because I want to remember and honor those quiet chapters and maybe, for anyone reading, offer a glimpse into the slower, softer parts of life that often go unnoticed.
Featured image and page photos © Eldar Einarson, Gracela Einarson
