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Fuerteventura

Landscapes of a volcanic island

By Georgios Vasilopoulos

December 27^th, 2021

Boarding the A320 from Gatwick at 6:30am on a damp morning in early December was at the same time familiar and novel—my first flight since the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. I’d averaged 12–20 flights a year to that point, with weekend getaways to Milan and trips to Greece over the years, and it was comforting to be getting away from the UK for the first time in more than two years.

Things have changed, yes, but the airport routine was much the same as always—well, other than the end of the ‘will I beep’ game through security, now that I have a prosthetic hip joint and metal plates in my right ankle.

Traveling to the Canary Islands is relatively straightforward—when I flew there was no requirement for a pre-flight COVID test, only registering proof of vaccination with the Spanish health authority via an easy-to-use app.

The logistics of my nationalities were a different matter, however, thanks to complications since Brexit. Flying out I would be entering Spain on my Greek (EU) passport and returning on my UK passport—but airlines only allow entering one set of Advance Passenger Information (API) per booking. In my case, both my passport number and name are different—Georgios on my Greek passport and George on my UK. Thankfully this only involved a quick call to the surprisingly pleasant easyJet call centre and regenerating my return boarding pass.

The three-and-a-half hour flight was reasonably quiet, the plane about three-quarters full and everyone half-asleep. I’d managed to secure seat 2C on both flights—perfect for making a quick escape from the aircraft on landing. Time passed quickly between Mario Kart on my Nintendo Switch and rewatching pre-downloaded episodes of Sense8 on my phone, while trying to tune out a slightly trashy couple in the seats ahead of me who drew out their meal service as long as possible in an effort to circumvent the mask requirement.

The plane crabbed its way to the tarmac, fighting against the near-constant west-to-east winds characteristic of Fuerteventura, and touching down with remarkable finesse. Reaching passport control, I flashed my passport and continued on to the checkpoint where the QR code from the health authority app was scanned.

Outside the spotless terminal, I was bathed in the first sun I’d felt in weeks and perfect, low-humidity 22°C warmth with a pleasant breeze. I met my best friend Federico—who’d flown over from Milan, himself, days earlier—to photograph this beautiful, empty island and make images of cycling and lifestyle products along the way.

Our weeklong adventure could finally get underway, taking us the length and breadth of this small desert island.

Fuerteventura (pronounced fwair-teh-ven-tóo-rah) is, on paper, a touristy island—for much of the year, tourists outnumber locals—but you would never know while driving along the empty roads through the smooth, volcanic hills, deserts and vast scrublands. Uniquely, for the Canaries, the majority of visitors to this island opt for all-inclusive holidays, which means they are tucked away in resorts, mainly in the north and south of the island, and rarely venture inland, leaving most of the island refreshingly free of crowds—and people in general.

A popular destination with the British and Germans, in particular, those who do venture further afield can often be spotted at 500m due to their complexions, which generally fall into one of three categories—double cream, moulting lobster or leather handbag. In this climate, I am fortunate and infinitely thankful for the protective veneer of my Mediterranean genes.

The north has a ‘California’ vibe, with a vibrant surf and skate scene—with communities of visitors from all over who arrived and never left, integrating this distinct culture into local life.

The island was formed by 12 volcanoes (13 if you include Isla de Lobos, a 4.5 sq km island, 2 km off the north coast) around 20 million years ago, all of which have been dormant now for some 4,000 years.

A near-constant wind blows from west to east—sometimes gently, other times with ferocity—and much of west coast has been eroded into sheer cliffs by millennia of waves. The climate, tempered by the North Atlantic, sees highs of 20–30°C and lows of 15–21°C year round—perpetual spring weather only 100 km away from the Sahara Desert. It boasts 365 days of sunshine a year—the few mm of rain that do fall are sporadic and short-lived.

One characteristic, in particular, that I loved, was the change from bustling town to open nothingness within a 5-minute drive.

Having a vehicle is essential for getting around and exploring. While there are bus services connecting the towns, many of the island’s unique and beautiful spots are well outside the transport network. Around half of the roads are unpaved, but most are well-surfaced and a normal car is adequate if driven sensibly and carefully.

After a week of going everywhere, our Opel Astra—a car with absolutely zero off-roading credentials—emerged somewhat dusty but entirely unscathed, on top and underneath. The local hire company Cicar was inexpensive—with full insurance and two named drivers included—and provided prompt, friendly service.

Fuerteventura is home to more than 150 beaches covering some 75 km of coastline. There is something for everyone—white sand, yellow sand, black (volcanic) sand, pebble and lava flow beaches. Away from built-up areas it’s not difficult to find a place to bathe without another soul around—most of these quiet spots are accessed by unpaved roads.

Along the east coast are the calmer beaches—the winds buffered by the island itself—and the west coast is perfect for adventurous surfers, with huge, unforgiving waves and frequent high winds. But one thing the beaches all have in common is the pristine, blue to turquoise water.

Grazing goats and deforestation led to Fuerteventura’s desertification years ago, in the mid-20th century. Today, larger scale agriculture consists of goat farming and plantations of aloe vera and agave, with smaller scale production of tomatoes—such as the Majorero, Huevo de Gallo and Especial de Fuerteventura varieties—and yucca, among others.

The indigenous Majorera goats provide milk for producing the island’s Majorero cheese at more than 40 cheese farms across the island, many of which offer tours and tastings. Aloe vera is used for beverages, lotions, medicines and cosmetics, while agave is used to to make Canarian tequila, sweeteners and syrups, and string and carpet from the fibres.

The local cuisine is simple, with high-quality ingredients, borne of the island’s past poverty. Meals always start with bread rolls, often still warm from the oven, and a small bowls of mojo rojo (red sauce), mojo verde (green sauce) and aioli (garlic sauce)—which are equally at home adding flavour to bread, papas arrugadas (Canarian wrinkly potatoes) and seafood.

As you would expect, the seafood is amazing, with fried fish and octopus served nearly straight from the sea. I especially enjoyed the Canarian-style octopus salad—chopped octopus, red pepper, onion and tomato dressed in olive oil, vinegar and salt.

As a volcanic island, Fuerteventura has hundreds of mountains, hills and calderas—many are accessible by car, others by footpath. Most of these have a soft, almost organic feel from afar, the result of erosion, over the centuries, by the near-constant winds. Some ranges appear interlaced, where flows of lava came together millions of years ago.

Up close, the mountains are strewn with rocks of various sizes and it’s important to be focused on where you’re stepping—you won’t be getting emergency services out to a remote trail in a hurry! (Disclaimer: I broke my leg in three places in September, which required four hours of reconstructive surgery and several plates and pins to patch up, so I am not quite back to the point of reckless abandon yet.)

That said, the trails are mainly clear and easy to follow, and it’s bad manners (and ecologically destructive) to wander off them anyway.

View at Mirador astronómico de Sicasumbre

While most of the island is arid scrubland, there are several sand deserts. The most well-known are the Dunas de Corralejo⁩ (Corralejo Sand Dunes) which look like a piece of the Sahara—but, fortunately, at only 24 sq km, those looking for the Sahara experience will be relieved to find it’s impossible to get lost. Even in the dead of night, the white sands remain bright under the moonlight.

Despite local legend, this desert is not part of the Sahara, with its quartz sand, but composed of a mix of organic sand from seashell and coral fragments and volcanic silica. Regardless, it is an impressive sight and, walking over the first dune, easy to feel like you’re far away from civilisation.

The constant flow of shifting sands blowing in the wind erases footprints in minutes and can be surprisingly painful on exposed skin at times—but the way it disperses the light makes for some beautifully soft colours in photos.

Others include a large sand desert around Costa Calma in the south, a small one next to Lajares, where we stayed, and another small one north of Montaña Cardón.

As the week drew to a close, I received a text message from easyJet urgently advising me to have a pre-flight lateral flow test for COVID, as the UK government had changed the criteria for entry. I was able to get to a clinic 10 minutes from our house and got my fit-to-fly certificate in about half an hour—for a reasonable €25.

Federico’s flight was, conveniently, close to mine, which meant we were able to travel to the airport together without one of us waiting around for hours. The gate agents were diligent in checking the COVID certificates, denying boarding to those who hadn’t done theirs.

The return flight was less than a quarter full and I had a row to myself. Landing at Gatwick, it took me 19 minutes to get from the plane, into the airport, through passport control and customs, onto the shuttle to the South Terminal and through the train station to the platform—definitely a personal best and possibly a world record. There was literally no one to be seen, save for a few customs officials chatting among themselves.

My week in Fuerteventura had me falling in love with the island’s desolate landscapes, friendly locals and the ease with which I could get away from other humans without even trying. I was long overdue some quiet and isolation, and the island proved the perfect place to clear my head before jumping back into real life.

Those surfers who visited the north and never left had the right idea—I understand entirely the appeal of leaving behind the non-stop bustle of the big city for the humble existence and slower pace of life offered by this amazing, beautiful island.