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Marvellous Macaronesia Forget the lazy jibes, this archipelago is a little burst of paradise
THERE is one archipelago – as a travel writer who has visited over 100 countries – where I keep returning; I’ve already been back twice this year. It’s Macaronesia, an epic land of swaying palms, shimmering beaches and vaulting volcanoes; an oasis alive with seafood and wine. An exotic archipelago indeed, but one that has become banal in popular parlance; often deadened in our collective imagination beyond Brits abroad cliches. But delve beneath the volcanic layers and the Canaries offer a life-affirming escape.
It always mystifies me how many people are so dismissive, snobbish even, about the Canaries. Sure parched, previously little-used parts of this startling string of eight islands proved the ideal resort for defrosting northern Europeans with the advent of mass jet travel in the 1960s. But it seems churlish to deride the Canaries for its flop and drop tourism when our demand created the resort strips in Tenerife and Gran Canaria. In truth these mega resorts function like giant aircraft carriers floating off the isles’ littorals, leaving the rest of the Canaries largely untrammelled by tourists.
In the last three months I’ve been back to a trio of the Canaries and they’ve proved more soul-stirring than ever. I thought I appreciated my first sight of Teide from the plane, the big skies, waking the first morning to the thunderous surf of the Atlantic, and the whiff of garlic from a seafood grill hitting me just after the bonedry minerality of a world-class white wine. Having been starved of their charms by a half dozen Covid cancellations, I appreciate the Canaries on a whole new, renewed level.
I kicked off just before Christmas when I swapped barely above freezing Scotland for the 20C heat of Gran Canaria, the second most populous of the eight Canary Isles. Hailed as the ‘Continent in Miniature’ it packs a scenic punch, from the sweeping palm-fringed sand dunes of Maspalomas in the south, up through the pine forests into rugged mountains that soar higher than any in Scotland.
I split my trip, starting in the capital Las Palmas, the only real city in the Canaries, indeed Spain’s ninth largest. Its bustling port was built by a Scot and Scottish legacies abound, not least at the Hotel Santa Catalina (barcelo.com), where I was served creative tapas on the terrace by waiters swathed in tartan aprons with tartantrimmed waistcoats. It’s a classy hotel.
I stayed across the road at the modern Occidental Las Palmas (barcelo.com), which proved a great base halfway between the old Vegueta quarter and the Rio-esque suburb of Las Canteras, with its sweeping beach. You’ll also find Tapas y Pinchos here at the Mercado del Puerto – grilled El Hierro cheese with sweet jam, followed my melt in the mouth croquetas and sizzling garlic prawns was as quintessentially Canarian as it was delicious.
Pushing south I struck for those mountains, hiking up to the unmistakable rock outcrop of Roque Nublo. Gran Canaria is awash with hiking trails and I snaked off on another before lunch with a view at the Parador in Tejeda. There was time to take in the hanging balconies of Teror and the artist hideaway of Fataga, a whitewashed village tucked beneath improbable hills dotted with caves once inhabited by the indigenous Gaunche people. Would you be surprised to learn there are still troglodytes in the Canaries today?
Gran Canaria’s hinterland is breathtaking and the ideal foil to the pleasures of the coast, but it was the ocean that drew me next, and the welcoming arms of the Seaside Palm Beach (hotel-palm-beach. com), where I dined with Lisa Tuckman, a British ex-pat who has chosen to make Gran Canaria home. “It’s a brilliant island with it all, from beaches and the ocean, to tiny villages where time stands still and our special mountains. And the food is great too,” she smiled as we tucked into local fish cerne at dinner. I woke the next day for a sunrise bash across the sweeping Saharaesque protected dunes of Maspalomas. Lisa was right – Gran Canaria is brilliant.
Moving further east, getting closer to the African coast now, I flew to Fuerteventura, the second largest Canary Island, in early February intent on staying put in one place. The island is often dismissed as one giant beach, as if having world-class beaches and an eternal spring climate is something to be ashamed of. But it’s more than a beach, of course. I savoured boat-fresh seafood, the fishing village vibe of the old quarter and the tapas bars of Corralejo, my favourite resort in the Canaries. That mainland
Spaniards choose to holiday here says a lot; that Italians do too seals the deal on the food front.
I tried out a brace of hotels. I booked the Labranda Aloe Club Resort through Olympic Holidays (olympicholidays.com), who can package together whole holidays on all three of these islands if you don’t want to hunt around for flights, hotels and transfers. It was a cheap and cheerful three star elevated by excellent staff. They didn’t stint with the all-inclusive drinks either. With a brace of heated pools for the slightly cooler months it’s the sort of place I’d love if my kids were with me.
Travelling solo I preferred the Barcelo Bay (barcelo.com). It was impossible not to relax at this adults-only oasis. If the palmfringed pools and landscaped grounds were not enough, I had a hot tub on my terrace and a view of the volcanoes. The restaurant upped the buffet ante with fresh cooking and bone-dry Lanzarote white wine.
Just across the water – reachable on a ferry shorter than Wemyss Bay to Rothesay – lies Lanzarote, the most easterly Canary Island, just over 100km from Africa. Michael Palin and his deeply unfair ‘Lanzagrotty’ jibe (which he has since apologised for) belie its reputation as the classiest Canary Isle. The island only has one skyscraper due to artist and visionary Cesar Manrique, who worked tirelessly to control development and create his own ‘Nature-Art’ style.
My brace of hotels this time continue this classy vibe. Seaside los Jameos (losjameos.com) in the biggest resort of Puerto del Carmen is a joy. Bedrooms are large, it’s right by the sands and staff are ultrafriendly. Setting the tone nicely is a hotel buffet that offers fresh fish like cerne and vieja grilled to order, plus Lanzarote vegetables, herbs and delicious goat’s cheese.
Moving south to Playa Blanca, the Princesa Yaiza (princesayaiza.com) lays a fair claim to being the island’s most luxurious hotel. It reclines right on the water in a wash of sumptuous bedrooms, pools that look as good as the brochure and views to Fuerteventura. You can enjoy a great buffet here or go Japanese, Italian or properly gastronomic at Los Lobos, a restaurant that showcases Lanzarote’s growing reputation for gastronomy.
As it’s not a huge island I’ve not hired a car, sticking instead to day trips with a trio of brilliant operators. Lanzarote
Wine Tours eschew tour buses with a maximum of eight passengers. I love that they include some of the big names like El Grifo – Lanzarote’s oldest vineyard – along with family artisan newcomers like El Tablero. Blackstone Treks & Tours take a similar number of guests out hiking on this startlingly dramatic volcanic island. While tour operators haul groups around Timafaya National Park, Blackstone get you right in amongst it all in the volcanoes, with insights into the local flora and fauna.
I end my Canarian adventures with Catlanza, a catamaran yacht operator run by creative Irishwoman Roisin McSorley, who offer sailings from Fuerteventura as well as Lanzarote.
Call it Macaronesia, call it the Canary Isles, but there is no doubting the life-affirming escape this remarkable archipelago offers in such abundance.