A long time ago, when I was still living in the Sahara, I heard from my friends that the people on the island of La Gomera could not only speak, but also have their own special whistling method. Perhaps this small island, covering an area of 380 square kilometers, is mostly the result of mountains. The inhabitants are so far away from each other that they can't shout at each other in the deep valley, so whistles have been passed down from generation to generation. According to a book, when pirates came to La Gomera in the early years, they cut off the tongues of the white-skinned natives on the island and sold them to Europe as slaves. Many tongueless natives fled into the mountains before they were sold. They lost their tongues and could not speak, so they invented the language of whistling. (I think the book may not be correct, because the tongue is also rolling when whistling, because I can't whistle myself, so I can't be sure.) The ferry only took an hour and a half to get from Danelife to La Gomera, and we only planned to stay here for one day before returning to Danelife, so we left the car on the dock and took the boat empty-handed. We were the only ferry boat at the lonely La Gomera pier. A dozen tourists who came with the tour group got on the bus and left. Two old jeeps were waiting for a taxi. A group of teenagers gathered around the boat to watch the fun. We asked for directions and strode hurriedly to the bus stop in the sun. The people at the station said that there were only two buses going into the mountain. One had already left, and the other left in the afternoon. If we wanted to take it, we would not be able to get back in time for the boat to leave. In short, there was no way to get into the mountain. The town,gold cil machine, built along the harbor, was practically empty. Three or four streets of two-story houses formed a lonely town called the city. There were no shops, no restaurants, no supermarkets, and no atmosphere of prosperity. At ten o'clock in the morning, the streets were empty, and occasionally a few cars drove past the cement square where the sun shone quietly. In the rubble-strewn cove,portable gold wash plant, there were a few broken fishing boats lying on the shore, and the gray walls were painted with big black letters-we want the cinema, are we a forgotten group? Accustomed to the political slogan of wall painting, I suddenly saw young people shouting in this place just to get a cinema, which made me feel a little sad for no reason. La Gomera is indeed forgotten in its seven islands. The winter paradise of nearly two million European tourists every year has not extended to it. There used to be more than 19,000 people living on the island, but in the past seven or eight years, all the people who can walk have gone. The hotels on the other side of the river have sucked away all the young people who want to find jobs, and it has been declining year by year. Jose and I were walking down the hot streets. Three streets were quickly gone. We saw a grocery store that also sold cold drinks. We went in and talked to the owner. The boss said, "There is a national hotel on the top of the mountain. You can visit it." We laughed. Let's not look at the hotel. There's an old church down the street. The boss said to us, almost apologetically. In this town with nothing, perhaps only religion is their real spiritual sustenance. When we found the church, we gently pushed open the wooden door, manganese beneficiation plant ,gold heap leaching, and the dim light shone through the stained glass, shining on a quiet sanctuary, and a few white candles were lit in front of the empty altar. We sat down gently on the bench, took out the sandwiches we had brought and ate them. As I ate, I wandered around the dark church. Under the stone floor, I found the tomb of a captain's wife who was buried here in the eighteenth century. Why was this European woman buried on this nameless island? How did she spend her life? And why did I, a Chinese, squat on the top of her coffin after so many years, meditating on her unknown? In my explanation, this is all fate, the mystery of fate, which makes me so puzzled and confused. As I played a song on the old organ, the little door behind the altar opened quietly, and a middle-aged priest came out rubbing his hands and smiling. It's strange that priests have the habit of rubbing their hands, even the priests on this island. Welcome, welcome, hear the music, know that a guest is coming. ” We shook hands with him separately, and he immediately asked if there was any place to serve us. Father, can I have some water, please? I'm so thirsty that I want to drink holy water. I hastened to ask him. After drinking a large bottle of water, we sat down to talk with the priest. We're here to listen to the whistle. There's no car to go into the mountain. I don't know what to do. I said again. It's convenient to listen to whistles in the mountains. If you don't go into the mountains, you can go to the square at dusk. Middle-aged people blow better than young people, and everyone will blow. We thanked the priest again and again, and when we came out, I saw his eagerness to talk to us, which made me dark again. Father, it's lonely here, too. Sitting in the square, facing this town without personality and characteristics, I unconsciously fell asleep on Jose's knee. It was past four o'clock when I woke up, and there were more people in the street. We got up and went to the nearby street to walk again, and accidentally saw two wooden Castanuela hanging in a small shop. This is a kind of Castanet that is held in the palm of the hand when dancing in Spain and used to beat out the sound, but the one hanging was so big that I had never seen it anywhere else. I immediately pulled Jose into the shop to ask the price. Inside the shop, an old woman in black in her sixties took it out and said, "Five hundred yuan." As soon as I took a closer look, it turned out that it was made by a machine, and it was not very good-looking. The price was too high, so I didn't want it. Unexpectedly, the old woman raised her hands, and two boards magically slipped into her palm. She beat the beat, singing and dancing behind the counter. I quickly stopped her and said to her,sodium cyanide price, "Thank you!"! We don't buy it. This person also does not stop, she is singing to me along with the tune: "Do not matter also, I come to dance to show you!" 。 ore-magnetic-mining.com