Andy's EPIC Hikes in Europe Canary Islands

The Canaries: 8 Islands, 7 Climbs

Day 1 and 2: Lanzarote: Peñas del Chache (670 m) Day 3 and 4: Fuerteventura: Pico de la Zarza (817 m) Day 5: Gran Canaria: Pico de las Nieves (1,965m) Day 6 and 7: El Hierro: Malpaso (1,501 m) Day 8 and 9: La Gomera: Alto de Garajonay (1,487 m) Day 10 and 11: La Palma: Roque de los Muchachos (2,426 m) Day 12 to 14: Tenerife: Pico del Teide (3,715 m)
I always had a soft spot for the Canaries, Europe’s southernmost outpost, some 100 km off the west coast of Morocco. Who doesn't, given that the archipelago is blessed with a balmy climate, that makes gloomy northern Europeans jump with joy in glorious winter sunshine? I had been there before, to La Gomera and to Lanzarote back in the pre-smartphone era, and I have memories of the islands’ wonderfully laid-back atmosphere, as long as you stayed away from the heavily built-up tourist areas.
And there are plenty of tourist hotspots. The Canaries are home to just over 2 million people, yet annual visitors pre-Covid comfortably outnumber locals by a factor of 6. Most of the population live either on Tenerife (960,000) or on Gran Canaria (860,000), leaving only a handful of year-round residents on the remaining islands. Santa Cruz de Tenerife and Las Palmas de Gran Canaria are the only sizeable cities, and amicably share the title of capital of the Canaries. The islands rose to prominence some 500 years ago as the main stopover during the Spanish colonisation of Latin America when ships sailed south from the mainland by catching the prevailing north-easterly winds. In more modern times, scientists started to appreciate the islands’ high mountains as an ideal terrain for astronomical observations. And even more recently the spectacular 2021 eruption of the Cumbre Vieja volcano on La Palma hit international news headlines.
I always wanted to return driven by an admittedly peculiar ambition to pursue a ferry-hopping trip that takes in all seven islands whilst hiking up to each of the islands’ highest peaks. Okay, in 2018, La Graciosa, a tiny speck of rock off Lanzarote populated by a mere 700 people, was officially declared Canary Island #8, but I am conveniently discarding that option given that the highest elevation there is a mere 200 m hill. I laid out my plan to my friend Carlos. To my surprise he did not need much convincing. Born and raised in Spain, educated to the highest academic standard in Germany and the UK, whilst conveniently picking up the odd Brexit-defying passport along the way, the man is an IT and Math genius by trade, but also annoyingly fit, and I am anticipating cheerful introductions to quantum physics while breathlessly trying to keep pace with him. His true asset though might just be his linguistic skill set and I am looking forward to sampling dishes that I have never tasted before, let alone be able to pronounce.
What lie ahead of us were some rather serious hikes, in particular the climb up Mount Teide on Tenerife, at 3,715 m the highest peak in all of Spain, which would take a good 5 hours up and 3 hours down. At a more manageable level, 5 hour round trips would take us up to and down from Peñas del Chache on Lanzarote (670 m) and from Pico de la Zarza on Fuerteventura (817 m)). Mercifully, on the remaining islands we could take advantage of paved roads that would lead us up to (or at least near to) the top of Pico de las Nieves on Gran Canaria (1,965 m), of Malpaso on El Hierro (1,501 m), and of Pico de Garajonay on La Gomera (1,487 m). On those occasions, our plan was to hire a car, drive as high as possible and explore the area by doing some circular hikes. I was particularly looking forward to the magical road leading up to the mighty Roque de los Muchachos (2,426 m) on La Palma, with the lava-spewing Cumbre Vieja surely providing an exquisite backdrop.
Pico del Teide, Tenerife
All accommodation listed in this post were made through Booking.com.
Getting your ferries organised requires a bit of planning and preparation. The main operators in the archipelago are Fred Olsen, as well as Naviera Armas. In high season, and on selected routes (such as the one from Tenerife to La Gomera) prior reservations might be advisable. For this trip, I relied once more on Direct Ferries. But be warned, unless you are a resident of the Canaries, ferry hopping does not come cheap. In total, I spent 331 EUR (or 360$): Ouch!
Thanks to public subsidies, the bus network on the islands is excellent and allows for a quick, reliable and comfortable way to travel between the major urban settlements. A simple Google search will get you to the respective websites.
On most occasions, getting to your trailheads will be made much, much easier by renting a car (only in Lanzarote and in Fuerteventura was I able to rely on buses). By far the best outfit is Cicar who also have offices in the islands' main towns and ferry ports and not just at airports. Their service is friendly and straightforward (so none of those extra charges and insurances). I recommend them highly.
More information on the hikes mentioned in this post can be accessed by visiting All Trails. Once on their website, just type in the islands' respective peaks for hiking options. I have also listed hiking guides on the individual islands in the sections below.
Day One and Two: Lanzarote
Last Volcanic Eruption: 1824
Peñas del Chache (670 m)

We nearly did not make it. The taxi that was scheduled to take us to the airport arrived a solid one hour late, only for the driver to inform us, that the battery of his e-vehicle was flat and that he can barely reach London’s circular motorway, let alone Luton airport. At least he had enough juice to carry us to his office, where thankfully a replacement cab was waiting. We arrived at departures with very little time to spare. Not the best start for my newest travel partnership with Carlos.
At least our transfer from Lanzarote airport to our hotel in Arecife was seamless. Bus #22 (1.40€) deposited us right in the centre of town. We went for an evening stroll around the picturesque inner harbour and had dinner at an inauspicious-looking restaurant called Leito de Proa that seemed to cater only for locals. My travel companion got to work on the tapas menu. As I had hoped for, I sampled things that I have never eaten before, all delicious. Carlos, man of science but also food connoisseur: Who knew?
Peñas del Chache (670 m)
Our plan was to hire a car and drive to Caleta de Famara on the north side of the island, from where we could tackle Lanzarote’s highest peak, Peñas del Chache, a relatively modest hill rising 670 m pretty much straight up from the beach. Arecife was not short on car rental agencies, yet every single one told us that all vehicles are booked up and that in any case supply is rather limited given that agencies have sold a lot of vehicles during the pandemic. If we had wanted a car, we needed to go back to the airport. How about a scooter then? Same story. A motorbike? Nope. We could have taken a taxi or relied on the island’s efficient bus service but somehow, and for no logical reason, we opted for two step-through city bikes, equipped with handy wire baskets attached to the handlebars, in which we could dump our backpacks. We had the unedifying look of two ageing maidens on their way to church.
Unperturbed we set off towards Teguise in the centre of the island. What’s 20k? We should be there within one hour, then another 30 minutes descent to Caleta, a 3 – 4 hour hike, then back on our bikes to return to Arecife before sunset at 6.00. Easy. It took us two hours along a steadily climbing, newly paved road (with separate cycle lanes no less) just to get to Teguise in the centre of the island. Surprisingly exhausted we rested at a café in the very pretty church square of this atmospheric town when it dawned on us that our plan might just be a tad ambitious. What we had just climbed on our lady bikes, we needed to climb once more when returning from Caleta, and we would be in the saddle for at least another three hours before the day is out. Not enough to squeeze in a hike, so we decided on a different course of action. The top of Peñas del Chache is also accessible by road (with a stretch of dirt track at the end). We could just about spot the peak in the distance, and since we were already quite high up, surely the road would not have too many more climbs.
View from Peñas del Chache
It took us another three hours, and in the process, we earned the title of being by far the slowest vehicles on the road. But the view from the top was (just about) worth it. The clouds started to lift, the sun came out basking the island in glorious winter light and we enjoyed stupendous vistas across the eerie moonscapes of Lanzarote. A group of French buggy riders added a poignant note. Judging from their dusty appearance, they must have been driving along bumpy dirt tracks for many hours in their off-road four wheelers, many of them roasted to a delicious shade of pink. They passed us cheerily and parked their vehicles in a prominent position right on the edge of the cliff top. Time for selfies and a quick fag, yet one of them disappeared behind a rock only to hurl up most of his lunch. Was it sun stroke? A badly cooked meal? Bumpy roads? Or all of the above?
Five hours up, a mere one hour down through a desert-like landscape where nothing grows unless assisted by human intervention. Newly built suburbs and holiday homes the closer you get to the coast and to Arecife. The island is not yet over-developed but is not far from saturation. But at least all houses are whitewashed which offers an aesthetically pleasing contrast when set against the black volcanic sand. One down, six more climbs to go.
Arecife, Lanzarote
Lanzarote: Bus #22: Airport to Arecife (1.40€)Hotel Miramar, Arecife Restaurant El Leito de Proa
Get a hiking guide book Jan Kostura. Walk! Lanzarote
Day 3 and 4: Fuerteventura
Last Volcanic Eruption: 4000 – 5000 years ago
Pico de la Zarza (817 m)

We got up early to catch bus #60, which took us to the south-western tip of the island to Playa Blanca. Almost exclusively locals on board, all sticking to Covid mask-wearing rules on their commute to work in the island’s tourist hot spot. Once again, a harsh landscape of ashen lava rock and black sand; very inhospitable but strangely attractive with white-washed houses dotting the scenery, a lot of them in sugar cube shapes and adding to the appealing scenery. At Playa Blanca we got straight onto the ferry to Correlejo on Fuerteventura. Instead of the widely-advertised Fred Olsen Line, we chose Lineas Romero (19€ instead of 31€) for a short 30 minute crossing to Fuerteventura in glorious sunshine.
Pico de la Zarza as seen from Playa de Jandia
Correlejo sports a pretty harbour set against the stupendous backdrop of the Bayuyu volcano which had lost its lid some 30,000 years ago, now exposing a huge bowl-shaped crater. Awesome. The town is the regional centre of the northern part of the island and thus full of commercial buildings and rushing shoppers. Straight from the ferry, bus #6 waited at the end of the quay, transporting us to Puerto del Rosario. Along the way, we caught a glimpse of the massive and beautiful, white-sand dunes just south of Corralejo. But the scenery quickly took a turn for the worst: abandoned houses, one-donkey villages set against a backdrop of grey and brown rock or sand. No colour-co-ordination here, and all a bit depressing. But a brief visual relief once we changed to bus #1 from Puerto del Rosario to Morro Jable: We turned inland, driving up and down dusty hills with a mountainous landscape in the back that reminded me of New Mexico; all red, shimmering in the afternoon sun light. But all too soon we were back to the mood-sapping grey and brown. Towards the end of the journey, gigantic, all-inclusive hotel complexes, that had been blasted out of the rock, started to appear seemingly out of nowhere. We had a quick lunch in the company of bored looking Northern European pensioners before checking into our accommodation for the next two nights: the mighty Occidental Jandia Mar, built above the equally monstrous sister outfit Jandia Playa: all palm trees, swimming pools and artificial waterfalls, yet within walking distance of a miles-long, white, sandy beach. After finding our rooms amongst the 500 or so of the complex, we walked that beach to nearby Morro Jable, a surprisingly attractive little place perched against a rocky outcrop at the end of the bay, just in time for a glorious sunset. Back to our all-inclusive dinner surrounded by pensioners and families with babies and toddlers, who do not yet need to abide to school schedules. The food was surprisingly good though.
View from Pico de la Zarza towards Fuerteventura's western coast
The hotel’s main asset however was its location right next to the trailhead leading up to Fuerteventura’s highest point: Pico de la Zarza. We got up early once again to beat the mid-day heat and walked at a gentle pace for two hours up barely vegetated hills; a desolate, colourless landscape and we were grateful for a chatty chap from southern Germany who slowed his pace considerably to join and entertain us with his stories of life as a German commuter enjoying a stupendous salary across the border in Switzerland. After 90 minutes or so the views gradually improved. The path finally got steeper and after a further 30 minutes we reached the top and were treated to a magnificent visual feast of sweeping vistas across the island and down a steep cliff towards the totally unspoilt Playa de Cofete on Fuerteventura’s western coast. The descent took as long as the hike up and after a total of 5 hours we arrived back at the hotel. Carlos, being the native beach boy from Malaga that he is went straight to the nearby Playa, while I enjoyed a more Spanish-like siesta to rest my weary bones. We met up again at the all-inclusive buffet, and this time hungry diners were greeted with the sight of several nicely-decorated tubs filled with gambas. Thank you, TUI.
Desert Landscape, Fuerteventura
Fuerteventura: Bus #60: Arecife - Playa Blanca: 3.20€ Bus #6: Correlejo-Puerto del Rosario: 3€Bus #1: Puerto del Rosario - Morro Jable: 10€ Ferry: Lineas Romero: Playa Blanca (Lanzarote) – Correlejo (Fuerteventura): 30 minutes (21€) Hotel Occidental Jandia Mar, Morro Jable
Day 5: Gran Canaria
Last Volcanic Eruption: less than 1000 years ago
Pico de las Nieves (1,965m)
Another early rise. Very early in fact. It was still pitch black outside when our taxi picked us out of a small gathering of red-eyed French tourists at the tail end of their week-long stay and drove the 10 minutes or so to the ferry terminal at Morro Jable. We arrived there way too early and waited eagerly for the ship’s café to open. The 7.30 crossing on Fred Olsen (57€ ouch) was empty, bar some truckers and maybe a dozen or so tourists. Two hours later and partially frozen by an overeager air conditioning system, the catamaran dropped us off at Las Palmas de Gran Canaria. A massive harbour filled with pleasure boats, cruise liners but also navy vessels, that offered an indication of the odd military surveillance station that we were about to encounter in the island’s mountains. Las Palmas is a proper town, and by quite a stetch the most built-up place that we had encountered so far with tall apartment towers amidst streets filled with offices, shops, and supermarkets, gearing for once to locals and not predominantly to tourists.
Town Beach, Las Palmas de Gran Canaria
It took us a while to get out of the harbour, only to walk the same distance back to our hotel in the older part of town. We dumped our bags and once again went on a hunt for a vehicle. Same story as in Lanzarote. I felt rather stupid for not booking in advance, but who would have thought that such an essential item of the tourist trade would be so hard to come by. Unfortunately, this time, hiring a bike – even an electric version – was out of the question, as our next mountain was just too high and too far away, so we had little choice but to get online and book a rental at the airport, which required taking another bus (#60, 2.90€, 30 minutes). Once comfortably established in our vehicle, we drove through featureless suburbs which reminded Carlos of home and climbed steadily into the green heart of the island. Our first encounter with foliage on this trip, as the higher altitude allows for moisture to irrigate the soil. Flowers, green shrubs, plenty of Canary pines and even pockets of deciduous forests.
The temperature dropped by a good ten degrees as we drove up to nearly 2,000 m to our final destination, the Pico de las Nieves. It received its name from a local tradition whereas farmers stored compacted snow in deep manmade shafts as an ingenious form of storing water for dryer summer months. Unfortunately, fog and clouds had descended on the mountain range, so we really could not see that much, but at least we found a trailhead right on top of the mountain that offered a 90 minute loop down and back up through dense pine woods whilst bypassing a picknick area called Lanos de la Pez, which was heavily frequented by locals on a weekend outing. Carlos had barely spoken a word today and now I realised why: We were both knackered from the previous days and in particular the early morning rises. After four hours up in the forest, we made our way back to the airport to drop off the car to a puzzled attendant who kept assuring us that we can keep the runner for another 20 hours or so. But instead, we took #60 back into town.
View from Pico de las Nieves
We walked along the promenade of Las Palmas’ glorious beach: a beautiful, long crescent lined with numerous cafes, bars, and restaurants that is just perfect for taking the kids and grandma out for an evening stroll. We were lucky to spot a vacant table overlooking the beach and the sea, at a restaurant that couldn’t quite decide on one name so instead went for two (O sole Mio, la Casa Roja), not really minding what the quality of the food might be like. But we were in for a wonderful surprise. Carlos casually asked whether there was any catch of the day, and soon a local fish called Sama was served up. We had never heard of this maritime creature but to its credit, it tasted absolutely divine.
Away from the beach, the town is a rather uninspiring mix of bottom-of-the-league architecture. Early on our next day, I took a Sunday morning stroll along the seafront. The first bathers were setting up their patches on the beach, and joggers of all ages were doing their thing. By mid-day the place was heaving with volleyballers, footballers, and racket ballers. Children were enjoying their first ice creams of the day. Older folks were trading gossip over a cup of cortado. The atmosphere was lively, friendly, even exuberant, and I was getting a much appreciated dose of sunshine while friends and colleagues back home were shivering in the wet cold. Who cares about the architecture? I could have easily spent many more days here.
Las Palmas de Gran Canaria
Gran Canaria:
Ferry: Fred Olsen: Morro Jable (Fuerteventura) to Las Palmas de Gran Canaria: 2 hours (57€)
Hotel Ciudad del Mar, Las Palmas Restaurant: O Sole Mio, la Casa Roja
Get a hiking guide book: Paddy Dillon. Walking on Gran Canaria
Day 6 and 7: El Hierro:
Last Volcanic Eruption: 2011-12 (below sea level, just offshore)
Malpaso (1,501 m)

London called us back for work, but we promised ourselves to return swiftly in order to complete the set of climbs. The Corona Omicron variant was still rampant across the continent, so not that many people were in the mood to travel. During this time, the strange, mind-boggling phenomenon of ghost flights started to hit the news headlines. The European Commission had stipulated that in order to keep their landing slots, airlines must maintain a great deal of their normal, pre-covid flight schedules. As a consequence, many flights were coming in and out of the Canaries with hardly any passengers on board. So, six weeks after we had flown home from Gran Canaria, I boarded yet another Ryanair flight together with some two dozen hardy traveller souls, with each of us having an entire row to ourselves. I paid less than 100€ return. That’s about 12€ for each hour in the air. Ridiculous. My plan was to make my way from Tenerife to El Hierro – the westernmost island of the archipelago – before returning to Tenerife where Carlos would join me for the continuation of the tour.

Malpaso, El Hierro
For those amongst you who intend to pursue this itinerary without any interruptions, this is what you need to do: Catch a morning or mid-day ferry from Las Palmas de Gran Canaria to Santa Cruz on Tenerife. The crossing takes about 1 hour and 40 minutes and will set you back 57€. Then, it’s on to Bus #110 (10€) for the one hour trip to Los Cristianos on the southern tip of the island, where the ferry to Valverde on El Hierro leaves at 17.30. And that’s where I continued the trip. Apparently, and unbeknown to me, there had been a storm warming on that day; up and down, left and right the vessel went, with a rather unappealing odour gradually permeating the deck. I thanked the Almighty for not getting seasick that easily, unlike some of my fellow passengers who had a less than enjoyable crossing on this packed boat. At least the ferry company put on a movie (‘Yesterday’ with Spanish subtitles) which offered a least some degree of diversion. I arrived after sunset, but this time I had come prepared and picked up my rental at Cicar, conveniently located in the ferry terminal, and made my way up steep mountain roads to the island’s capital Valverde; a spooky place, shrouded in mist and clouds with a stiff wind howling through deserted streets. But at least I found a restaurant that was open called la Zabagu where locals passed their time watching a football game and drinking beer. I briefly talked to a retired couple from Yorkshire who ‘weren’t much of Europeans’ but are relieved to have finally gained Spanish citizenship for ease of travel and health care. Go figure; I made my quick excuses.
Malpaso, El Hierro
Hotel Boomerang, my home for the next two nights, is a gem. Run by a Mom and Pop outfit (Pop Fernando apparently is a good friend of the Yorkshire Eurosceptics), spotlessly clean, quiet, a tasteful yet unfussy décor, a nice breakfast, and a steal at 40€ a night. The next morning, I loaded Google Maps on my smartphone, was delighted to get a signal and drove towards the centre of the island. Very interesting landscape. El Hierro rises steeply from the ocean floor with a mountain range dissecting the island from west to east. The north side is exposed to the trade winds and gets all the clouds and moisture, while the south is basking in almost eternal sunshine. And Malpaso mountain and indeed Valverde are right on the edge between the two. I took road #1 towards Frontera, then #40 up along the range, then a left turn onto #45. As soon as the paved road turned to gravel, I parked the car and started with a modest circular walk. First up to Malpaso (signposted), then back down using parts of the Camino de la Virgen (a 27 km long hike dissecting the island) and back round again. In total I walked for a gentle and pleasant 90 minutes, sometimes just above the tree line, sometimes going through lush and verdant forests of pine, laurel, and juniper with banks of clouds drifting in from the north, or sparkling sunshine when the trail was exposed to the island’s southern slopes. I did not encounter a single soul and had the mountain top to myself. On occasion, I thought I heard a car approaching only to realise that it was the wind. Of course, I could have hiked to Malpaso starting at my base in Valverde, simply following the Camino de la Virgen for 16 km, through the towns of El Pinar and Frontera and up two steep inclines. But I somehow felt that my gentle short cut was just fine.
Back in the car, I made my way through this surprisingly varied landscape, encountering grass land (with sheep), followed by fields of cacti, past desolate villages and down the southern slopes and on to La Restinga on the southernmost tip of the island, which has a proper end of the world feel: a couple of unappealing (and often run-down) dwellings, some slightly better looking apartment houses in amongst black volcanic rock, lending the whole setting a rather apocalyptic feel. I ambled across a board walk built on lava rock with ladders drilled into it to provide access to the sea. Spooky, yet impossibly photogenic at the same time. Further west lies Playa de Tacoron, just a run-down beach bar really that emanated a distinct hippy vibe: lots of camper vans most of them with German license, who had endured the 36 hour crossing from the Spanish mainland, many of them looking rather wrinkled in a clear sign that the 60s generation has approached pension age.
La Restinga
I spent the evening in Valverde; ghostly once more with hardly anyone around. At last I found a bar full of musky smelling locals, had a burger and a bunch of beers (when in Rome … ) and retreated to the Boomerang after having watched yet another match of football. The next day I had some hours to fill before getting on the mid-day ferry that was taking me back to Tenerife. The storm by now had turned into a gale, and I eavesdropped on some people speculating on whether the ferry would leave at all. It filled me with dread. I drove along the north coast in howling wind. More desolate towns and villages and more uninspiring architecture of the build-it-quick-and-cheap variety. Most beaches were cordoned off by the local authorities. At la Frontera – the only sizeable settlement in this part of the island - I encountered a bit more life with some shops, cafes, and municipal buildings. The place is the centre of the expat (mainly German) community, but I failed to grasp its appeal and was left baffled by its presumed drop-out lifestyle atmosphere. Why did these people sought a new life here? Anti-state? Anti-authority? Anti-consumerism? A better climate (though not on today’s evidence) or maybe some are just staying put in order to avoid the humility of admitting that the dream is not what one made it out to be? Depressing.
Back to the sunny south coast. The wind did not abide unfortunately, and I ended up in a lovely spot called Caleta: again, just a small collection of houses perched on a steep cliff complemented by the odd basic convenience store; not much else. And then on to the ferry. I dozed off almost instantly, only to wake up to the lady in front of me vomiting her lunch onto a much abused carpet (this being the third time on the trip when someone introduced themselves to me in such a fashion). When we took off, she had tried to capture a number of selfie images, with her right arm stretched out and her face positioned at impossible angles. I had tried to stay out of her background. But now I was tempted to do my own selfie with her (and the contents of her lunch) in the background as the ultimate exercise in photo-bombing. My manners got the better of me. To my amazement, the ferry arrived on time. As I disembarked Carlos was waiting for me, and the two of us climbed straight up the gang way for the connecting ferry to La Gomera.
Caleta
El Hierro:
Ferry 1: Naviera Armas: Las Palmas (Gran Canaria) – Santa Cruz (Tenerife): 1h 40 min: (57€) Ferry 2: Naviera Armas: Los Cristianos (Tenerife) – Port de Valverde (El Hierro): 2h 30 min (47€) Bus #110: Santa Cruz de Tenerife – Los Cristianos: 10€ (around 1 hour) Hotel Boomerang, Valverde Restaurant la Zabagu, Valverde
Day 8 and 9: La Gomera.
Last Volcanic Eruption: three million years ago
Alto de Garajonay (1,487 m)

La Gomera is beautiful. At an altitude of around 1200 m, one encounters a lush, almost rainforest-like, thickly wooded landscape, surrounded by steep mountains, gorges and ravines. Some black-sand bays, gorgeous vistas; an odd mixture between Machu Pichu and the Grand Canyon. We both loved it and Carlos declared it the most beautiful of the Canary Islands (with Lanzarote coming a close second). We parked near the island’s highest point at the junction of road #2 and #14 and went for a hike up and down Alto de Garajonay. Numerous hiking options here, from a short 2 km up to the top and back, to a 10 km hike listed on ‘All Trails’ as ‘Montaña las Negrinas - Montaña Igualero – Alto de Garajonay’. It combines two of the island’s hiking trails (#17 and #19). The hike takes you up to the mountain top and down to the village of Imada and back up to the car park via a very steep almost vertical cliff face. It took us four, sweat-filled hours, but the hike through different climate zones from the treeless and windblown top, through lush forests and towards arid ravines filled with cacti and Yucca plants was formidable. A true highlight and a gem of a walk. We drove to Playa Santiago where I had welcomed in the new millennium. It has changed quite a bit since then. The roads on the island are all excellent, brand new in fact. Hiking and cycle tracks are numerous and well-signposted, and all this public money (thank you EU Regional Development Fund) also found its way to Santiago: a brand new sea defence, street furniture, roundabouts, parks. It was still a sleepy place but the hippy vibe that I had encountered all those years ago was gone.
San Sebastian de la Gomera with Pico del Teide (Tenerife) in the background
Not so in Valle de Gran Rey. You can still find a handful of drop-outs hanging out in ancient camper vans or local ramshackle buildings. A younger generation has now joined the 70 year old veterans who have spent their lives precisely evading that. But it seems they are about to lose the battle. The village lies in a spectacular location clinging on to steep and massive cliffs with some banana and avocado plants thrown in for good measure. Some black sand beaches too and of course this natural beauty has not gone unnoticed to developers who are gradually turning the place into a fully functioning resort. Still, it is quite a schlepp to get here: no international airport on la Gomera, necessitating a 90 minute bus ride across the island, which mercifully prevents the place from joining the ranks of mass-tourist destinations. But the more intrepid (and affluent) travellers have started nonetheless to come in ever larger numbers.
View from Alto de Garajonay
Another excellent dinner at Breñusca in one of the two main streets in San Sebastian. Inauspiciously looking, but fabulous food. Carlos once more managed to chat up the patron, who was so pleased that we wanted to taste local fare that he must have told his chef (his mum or dad, presumably) to try extra hard. It was outstanding, and incredibly reasonable at 20€ per head with drinks. Señor Patron started to tell us his life story. He used to live in Colchester for seven years with his English wife and three kids. But the climate in Essex was just too cold for him, so the family moved back here. His establishment has been in the family’s hands since 1947 and gets particularly busy at weekends when the’ Canarios’ (by which he probably meant any citizen of the Canaries who does not reside on la Gomera), come over for a visit. A thoroughly entertaining evening and the perfect end to a perfect day. Oh, and I almost forgot. The friendly bloke at Cicar car rental asked us whether we would mind trading in our booked Fiat 500 or a slightly faster Fiat Spider? At no extra charge of course. Two old geezers with the top rolled down, barely able to heave their creaking bodies in and out of this roadster. For once, we were a sight to behold.
San Sebastian de la Gomera
La Gomera:
Ferry 1: Naviera Armas: Port de Valverde (El Hierro) - Los Cristianos (Tenerife): 2h 30 min (47€) Ferry 2: Fred Olsen: Los Cristianos (Tenerife) – San Sebastian (La Gomera): 50 minutes (30€)
Hotel Torre, San Sebastian Restaurant Breñusca, San Sebastian
Day 10 and 11: La Palma.
Last Volcanic Eruption: 2021-22.
Roque de los Muchachos (2,426 m)

A mighty 1,000 passenger ferry arrived in the morning, coming in from Tenerife, and carrying throngs of tourists. All but a mere dozen disembarked in la Gomera, which meant that we had this gigantic boat to ourselves for the 2 ½ hour crossing to la Palma in glorious winter sunshine. What an island. Not for nothing is its nickname la Isla Bonita. The capital Santa Cruz is simply gorgeous. Stretching out along a sandy bay and perched against tall and steep cliffs with a jumble of houses, high and low in different shades of muted colours. The approach into the harbour was spectacular, in particular since the afternoon brought in dark, looming clouds that sit like a comfortable blanket on top of a verdant green mountain range. And the beauty of the island doesn’t just stop there. Santa Cruz is arguably the only settlement on the Canaries with a proper historical flair, as the former gateway and steppingstone for the transatlantic colonial trade of the Spanish Empire. Hence, there are a multitude of elegant and impressive period houses with the town hall, cathedral, and theatre particularly impressive.
Santa Cruz de la Palma
We got off the ferry, picked up yet another Cicar rental, ambled through Santa Cruz’s beautiful streets, checked in to a chic and friendly boutique hotel and ended up on the town beach to catch some rays. The only minor downside of the day was dinner. Yes, so far, we had been very spoilt throughout our trip but here we ended up with an overpriced and overambitious fare on the town’s main drag (called Calle O’Daly). Better luck tomorrow hopefully. We had a chat with the receptionist at the hotel who gave us a better perspective of the place. Very interesting. The island had been quite prosperous in colonial times, with Spain’s first ever constitution-like document voted in by local citizens (and authored by an Irish banana trader named Dennis O’Daly; hence the Calle in his name). Harder times arrived with the decline of the Spanish empire. By the 1960s, tourism came to the rescue, though it is very low key, thanks to limited flight connections, a challenging topography of steep mountains and ravines and the lack of long sandy coastal stretches. EU membership from 1986 onwards revitalised the place even more, thanks to an abundance of excellent local produce (bananas, but also wine). Today, the local population might not be thriving, but they are certainly comfortable.
View from Roque de los Muchachos
We got up early the next day, brought provisions, and drove 70 minutes up to the Pico de los Muchachos; at 2,426 m our second highest climb. Again, just as in la Gomera, we passed several climate zones. At sea level, the island is remarkably green and verdant. Then come pine forests and above the tree line rocks; loads of them. Europe’s most famous Astronomical Observatory is up there as light pollution is so minimal as to allow stupendous views of the night sky. The sun was out once more and we parked the car at the end of the road, which leads right on top of Muchachos, and walked for about 2 hours along the mountain ridge to Pico de la Cruz (follow the sings towards Pico de la Nieve). To the left (i.e. north) we saw steep ravines running all the way down to the sea. To the right (south) we had stupendous views towards Cumbra Vieje, the volcano which just some weeks ago had just stopped spewing lava. But then the weather turned abruptly. Clouds started drifting in from the west, so we decided to take the paved asphalt road back to the car. Not a pretty walk, but at least it allowed us to inspect closer the often bizarre geological mix of rocks. Muchachos is of course a volcano as well, and previous eruptions had catapulted lava and rocks high up in the air only for them to land next to or on top of much younger formations. Fascinating. All in all, our hike was a 5 hour, 13 km affair.
Cumbre Vieje
We descended down the mountain on its western side, driving through beautiful orchards of almond trees and very sizeable banana plantations that were organised in steep terraces. Soon we hit la Palma’s second major urban centre, Los Llanos. And there it was: a gigantic lava stream that had come down Cumbre Vieje, still smouldering in places. Sheer luck that the lava did not damage the main road artery between Los Llanos and Santa Cruz, otherwise this part of the island would have been virtually cut off. Still, the sheer size and scale of the destruction was shocking. We saw some properties that were leaning against the lava rocks and some that were half submerged. The authorities had started with the clean-up and began to build new pavements and roads, but the fine lava ash was still everywhere and had permeated every nook and cranny. The blown-off top of the volcano (not the top of Cumbre Vieje, but a minor side hill) was an awesome sight. No wonder, tourists had flocked to the island in record numbers to watch the spectacle, and be confronted with nature’s incredible force, albeit from a safe distance.
This time we had better luck with dinner since we followed a recommendation from our trusted receptionist. Tasca Luis was just around the corner from our hotel: local, authentic, traditional, and quite cheap. As a bonus, the waiter kept providing us with anecdotes and historical facts. He had a thankful audience: we were his only guests.
Cumbre Vieje
La Palma: Ferry: Naviera Armas: San Sebastian de la Gomera – Santa Cruz de la Palma: 2h 30 min (28€)
Hotel Hotelito 27, Santa Cruz Restaurant Tasca Luis, Santa Cruz
Get a hiking guide book: Paddy Dillon. Walking on La Palma
Day 12 to 15: Tenerife
Last Volcanic Eruption: 1909
Pico del Teide (3,715 m)

Early the next morning, TUI’s ‘Mein Schiff’ arrived with some 2,000 passengers on board. Time to leave and to face the biggest hiking challenge of our tour: Pico del Teide, Spain’s highest mountain coming in at a whopping 3,715 m. The last time I was at that altitude, was exactly 40 years ago, and while we felt optimistic that our muscles could just about carry us up there, we were not so sure about our lungs and the impending possibility of catching altitude sickness. This precisely happened to a friend of mine, an ultra-fight mountain biker who attempted to climb the beast with his even more fit teenage son. He was forced to stop at 3,400 m, breathless and dizzy. With impending failure in mind, our plan was to spend a couple of acclimatising nights at higher altitude, so after the ferry crossing to Los Cristianos and after picking up yet another rental at the airport, we drove up into the foothills of Teide to the mountain town of Vilaflor, at 1,700 m the highest municipality on the Canaries. Mist had rolled in; half the shops were already closed for the day and hardly a soul was to be found on the deserted streets. Our stop for the night was a backpacker hotel called El Sombrerito: spartan, yet clean and cheap, and we managed to find one restaurant that was still open and were warmly welcomed by the local barflies whom we joined to watch yet another football match on TV.
Vilaflor
Very early the next morning we drove up road #21 (the only road around really), into the national park and onto the high altitude plateau that sits just below Teide. We parked the car at a viewpoint called Mirador Llano de Ucana. The sun was out once more, the air was crisp, and we had the place to ourselves as it was still too early for the coach loads of day-trippers to have made their way up here from the coastal resorts. We stretched our limbs a little on a 2 ½ hour walk around the Roques de Garcia, a group of bizarre rock formations sticking high into the sky amidst an eerie, arid moonscape that reminded me of the desert in Arizona. By the time we had completed our loop just before mid-day, the car park at the nearby Parador hotel was heaving with sight seers. We made our exit, drove a couple of miles further along #21, past the cable car station whose car parked was teeming with vehicles and towards a small parking area at km marker 40.5; the trail head for tomorrow’s hike.
Along the TF-21 Mountain Road
We chatted to a French couple who were taking off their hiking gear. They had started the ascent at 2.30 in the morning, experienced a magnificent sunrise after a five-hour climb and managed to beat the park ranger who takes up her post at the top of the cable car platform at 9.00 and only lets those pass who had previously secured a permit. What a stupid system. Hikers have to register their intention often months in advance in order to be given a permit issued for a specific day. But what if it snows? Strong winds? Thick cloud coverage? Bad luck, and time to get another permit. See you in a couple of months? Or next year? Or never at all. And all this fuss about a handful of hikers, while the park authorities happily welcome thousands of tourists who descent up the mountain with the hugely overpriced cable car. Surely, there must be a better way, and no wonder hikers are trying to cheat the system: get up the mountain and back down past the cable car platform before the park ranger takes up her position. The French couple were elated to have precisely done that and encouraged us to do the same. We didn’t particularly jumped with enthusiasm at their suggestion and settled for a start of 7.00 am. Let’s see what the day might bring. Who knows, we might collapse within one hour.
Roques de Garcia with Pico del Teide in the background
After an uneasy night sleep we were back at the trail head as planned, ready to tackle trail #7 called ‘Sendero Montaña de Blanca’. Have a dozen cars had already parked there, ready to defy Spanish bureaucracy. It was still dark when we set off, wrapped up tightly in multiple layers, hats, and gloves. Sunrise came within an hour revealing a dream-like landscape of ice, snow, and lava rocks, with the taller mountains of Tenerife and Gran Canaria poking out from the cloud coverage at sea level. The first two hours were a doodle: a steady, yet gentle climb on a wide, well-trodden path. Then came the sign that the climb to the mountain hut (the Refugio Altavista) was closed due to icy conditions. But this obviously did not deter a team of hikers, whom we could spot in the distance, maybe half an hour ahead of us. Surely, the sign must no longer apply, so we decided to march on and scrambled up an ever steeper path over lava rocks and the occasional slippery ice sheet.
We crossed paths with a pair of young Americans who cheerly enjoyed their descent: one carrying a full-volumed loudspeaker around his neck, the other shirtless (at minus 1 Celsius) in order to engage in a sun-bathing exercise of the more extreme variety. Hilarious. As anticipated, the higher we got, the more difficult it became for us to take in enough oxygen. Towards the end, we climbed for two minutes, and paused for the next one, to allow our heart rates to settle down once more. It worked, and we enjoyed a belated breakfast at 3,500 m just below the clearly visible peak and within shouting distance of the cable car platform. That sufficed and we both harboured no ambition to climb all the way to the top (for which we did not have a permit, anyway). But how to get back down? By cable car of course, but first we had to negotiate Mrs Park Ranger. Over to you Carlos and your charm, which he applied expertly in a demeaning, mea-culpa fashion. The team behind us however adopted a different strategy.
'Sign? What sign?' ‘Do you think I’m stupid? There are three big signs along the way which you ignored’‘Honestly, Madam, we did not see them, as we had to keep our eyes fixed on the path’‘Eff off, or I fine you’
After an unsurprisingly long afternoon nap back at the hotel, we treated ourselves to a fine restaurant in Vilafor, an outfit called Tasca el Rincon de Roberto, on the town’s main drag. A fitting celebration. We had factored in an extra day in case the weather might make a Teide climb impossible, which we decided to spend by doing a quick tour around the northern part of the island, taking in the small town of Orotava (go, if you’re into 16th century cathedrals, but otherwise you might be disappointed) as well as Laredo, seat of the island’s university with a beautiful, atmospheric old town. Our final afternoon was spent in the Canaries co-capital Santa Cruz (together with Las Palmas in case you have forgotten). Lots of supremely ugly architecture, and hideous concrete blocks amidst the odd, preserved and restored colonial building with an industrial harbour slap bang between the sea and the centre of town. Congratulations for this fine piece of town planning.
Auditorio de Tenerife, Santa Cruz
The authorities though built a massive artificial beach just to the north of downtown, but we did not fancy a dip and instead walked along the waterfront to take in the admittedly magnificent Auditorio de Tenerife by Spanish star architect Santiago Calatrava, with a stunning sail-shaped arch spanning the building. Yet upon closer inspection, Calatrava’s reputation for designing impossible buildings became apparent: the tiles were coming off and by inspecting all those angles and shapes one wonders how the Auditorio’s maintenance crew can ever keep up. Time for dinner and - of course, this is Spain after all – a café that showed the latest edition of El Clásico between Barça and Real Madrid. Time also to reflect on a slightly mad trip but I for one had a true sense of achievement. Yes, obviously we managed to scale Teide (or at least most of it), but also because of the logistical challenge of travelling across a stretched out archipelago. Best of all, Carlos and I had some truly wonderful memories (and images of that French chap in his buggy on Lanzarote have just crossed my mind).
Tenerife:
Ferry: Fred Olsen: Santa Cruz de la Palma – Los Cristianos: 2h 30 min (44€)
Hotel Somberito, Vilaflor Restaurant Tasca el Rincon de Roberto, Vilaflor
Get a hiking guide book: Paddy Dillon. Walking on Tenerife
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