When you think of Hawaii, it’s obvious that coffee simply has to grow on the volcanic soil of Gomera.
But people looked at us rather strangely when we talked to them about it.
Islanders and mainland Spaniards.
Later we realized why: they all knew it was possible, because practically all their grandparents had coffee bushes in the garden, where they picked a few cherries, pitted them, roasted the beans in a pan, ground them into powder and then poured the whole thing into a pot of hot water.
They knew that.
But they also knew that the history of farm labor on Gomera is a history of disasters, of meanness, of a kind of slave labor, of shame and exploitation hidden behind religion, so they thought: let them come first, these Germans, we’ll see the results when they have to go to work.
You have set to work.
And now, after almost seven years, we can say: aha.
It was worth it, for the plants, for parts of the island valleys, and probably also for the people.
But it was a long road.
First we had to find coffee plants.
They actually existed, on winding paths, as tiny sprouts that then emerged somewhat tentatively in small cardboard boxes.
Then we had to find people who had done this before.
Funnily enough, there were, because it turned out that since Columbus, Gomera has actually been outsourcing parts of its inhabitants to South and Central America, to Honduras, Nicaragua, Mexico, Venezuela and many other countries, so that every Gomero family has at least one cousin over there.
It is often the other way around: the family is over there, the cousins are here.
As it was forbidden for the islanders to leave the Canary Islands under Franco, they did so anyway, and so Venezuela was even called “the eighth island” here.
And what do they grow over there?
Coffee.
Then we had to find people who wanted to start again with us.
And suddenly there were.
And we learned that someone who looks like a landowner is not necessarily one, and that someone who comes by bus can be one.
And that, on the other hand, everything can be as it seems.
Then we had to learn that not everyone is well-disposed towards us, and that they are above all really nasty pests.
Because it’s not just us who appreciate the climate here, but basically everything that lives if it doesn’t want to live in Norway.
And who wants that?
“Of course we know roughly how to process coffee, we also get prizes for it from time to time, but on the island it was a different story.”
Then we had to realize that it is only one thing to make the coffee bloom, grow and flourish – the other is to harvest it and let it continue to grow: Harvesting it and processing it.
Of course, we know roughly how to process coffee, we even get prizes for it from time to time, but on the island it was a different story.
And then, last but not least, we had to look into our wallets from time to time and realize that adventures can also be recognized by the fact that they are expensive – and sometimes unpredictable.
And so we came to the conclusion that it would be a good idea if we imported our best coffees, which are roasted in Germany, to Gomera (described as madness by good fellow traders) and then sold them here, namely to support the local work.
Then, also not easy to do, we had to make contracts with everyone involved, so that everyone knew that there was a big difference between the old slave owners and us.
And then, last but not least, we had to start looking for people who simply wanted to support the project: You.
With work, with joy, with the purchase of existing coffees, with time, with idleness and enthusiasm – with ideas, with anything you want to contribute.
Because one thing can be said: what is being created here is not only a very unusual coffee, but also a very unusual human project.
And in the middle of Europe.
Well, okay – but at least it’s in Europe.
