Of course there’s evidence of volcanic activity, the southern tip is a volcanologist’s theme park. We used to describe walking there as standing on land that was younger than we were. But, just like us, the rugged, burnt terrain around Las Salinas no longer feels quite so youthful. Especially as there is a new kid on the cinder block.

As we venture further north, there are further glimpses of the earth’s violent regurgitation. Black fans spread out like a bride of Satan’s train across the green slopes of the ‘beautiful island.’ But whether they are from the most recent eruption or from previous ones, it is difficult to tell. We’ve crossed lava fields on La Palma’s western slopes many times, using volcanic tubes to manoeuvre through Las Coladas de San Juan. These existed long before the 2021 eruption, even lending their existence to the name of the village we’re heading for, Las Manchas (the stains).

It is all so normal, not what we expected, and it’s a relief to see that most of the island has escaped the volcanic apocalypse shown in news footage. And then, after 18 kilometres, we round a hillside to arrive in Las Manchas to find a moody, russet mountain looming over the centre of the village.

“That wasn’t there before,” I say to Andy.

2021 Volcanic eruption on La Palma

At around 14:10 on 19 September 2021, La Palma erupted, or the area of Cabeza de Vaca below Cumbre Vieja did. For the following 85 days, volcanic devastation ensued. Lava spewed over 1000 hectares, destroying 1345 homes, and displacing around 7,000 people (local sources claim it is far higher). Nine percent of La Palma’s population had to flee their homes, some losing everything. A year and a half later, many are still living in temporary accommodation … still waiting for the appropriate financial support from their government.

Jonas, a guide we’ve known for over a decade, explains why this eruption was so different from when Teneguía exploded above the southern tip in 1971. “People treated that one like a spectacle. Families took picnics and sat on the hills to watch it.”

There were no houses or people in Teneguía’s path.

It’s a shock to discover the immediate impact spread beyond the destructive reach of molten lava. From a distance, the resort of Puerto Naos looks like it was lucky; the lava didn’t quite reach it. Yet it is a ghost town, a potential death trap; its houses shielding an invisible killer, toxic gas. A year and a half after the eruption and its residents are unable to return home.

The road across the lava

La Palma’s world changes at Las Manchas. As well as the new ‘mountain’, the Volcán de Tajogaite (a name voted for by the islanders), there are smaller hills of ash, glistening in the sunshine as JCBs attempt to shovel them into some sense of order. The road we used to travel to reach Los Llanos de Aridane is gone. From our position outside Bar El Americano we can see its replacement below, a narrow charcoal strip dissecting the three-and-a-half-kilometre wide band of volcanic badlands.

From a distance it looks much like any new road, but as we drive onto it, it’s clear it is anything but. Despite newly planted palm trees bringing a touch of subtropical normality to the scene, the sense of entering a disaster area hangs heavy in the sulphuric air. Triangular yellow signs warn drivers they’re in a ‘zona caliente’ – hot zone. Other signs instruct us not to stop, to keep driving, which we do … silently, except for the occasional, hushed ‘my god’ when we pass houses with lava spewing from doors and windows. Imposing its presence, Tajogaite does a passable impression of Tolkien’s Mordor in the background, reminding everyone who is responsible for this devastation.

The most profound sight comes just as we reach the end of the ‘hot zone’ at the barrio of La Laguna, where buildings with collapsed roofs and gabled ends ripped away, leaving interiors exposed, look like they are in a war zone. At one end of a two-storey block, where the makeshift road ends, lava has spewed through the lower floors, filling rooms with a basaltic deposit. A few meters away is a café where locals sit on the pavement drinking café con leche as if they might be enjoying their morning coffee in a town’s tranquil plaza.

It is an incongruous scene. And set against such a violently destructive background, it feels like it’s a symbol of the determination to prevail in the face of adversity.

After the sobering impact of the terrain we’ve driven through, this snapshot of normality in such an unusual setting is surprisingly uplifting.

In Spain, the association of Las Pueblos más Bonitos de España award towns with the label of ‘one of the most beautiful towns in Spain’ based on whether they meet certain criteria – the population must be under 15,000; it must be certified as a site of architectural or natural heritage; buildings must be well preserved and there must be pedestrianised areas; and there has to be green zones. Towns can be added and removed from the list. Currently there are five in the Canary Islands. Which, in theory, makes them…

The prettiest towns in the Canary Islands

Agulo, La Gomera

Despite being a natural stunner of an island, La Gomera’s small towns aren’t particularly pretty. Even the historic capital, San Sebastián, isn’t a great looker. It has some nice pockets, but overall it’s a workaday Canarian town. In that respect, Agulo does stand out from the Gomeran crowd. But it’s not the narrow streets lined by colonial buildings which earns it a place on the list, it is the location. Agulo sits on a shelf between towering cliffs, a natural viewpoint with Mount Teide on Tenerife being the spectacular focus point. Tourism is small scale – there are a handful of restaurants, pensions, and a couple of small hotels. In all the times I’ve visited Agulo, I’ve never been when it’s sunny, hence the dull photo.

Betancuria, Fuerteventura

Small in size, big in historic stature, Fuerteventura was founded in 1404, making it one of the earliest post-conquest settlements in the Canary Islands and, as such, it was once considered the capital of all the islands – the ones that were settled at that time at least. The former capital of Fuerteventura is postcard pretty – or maybe that should be ‘Instagram pretty’ these days – with immaculate whitewashed traditional Canarian buildings and bursts of vibrant bougainvillea cascading over walls. During the day, its shops and restaurants bustle with day-trippers. During the night it is, well, shut. We’ve stayed there overnight and were shocked to see just how much everything closes up when the day trade vanishes. Lovely for a visit though … when the sun’s still up.

Garachico, Tenerife

My favourite of the bunch, Garachico in the north west of Tenerife has traditional Canarian architecture, grand churches, pretty plazas, swimming pools made from lava, and lots of very good restaurants. It also has two of the best boutique hotels in the Canaries. As the town sits on a semi-circular peninsula hemmed in by steep cliffs, there’s been no room for expansion, which means it hasn’t changed much in hundreds of years. Like Betancuria, Garachico also welcomes coach excursions during the day. Unlike Betancuria, there’s a thriving local population which means it maintains its traditional Canarian town vibe 24 hours a day. For me, Garachico is the prettiest town in the Canary Islands.

Teguise, Lanzarote

Indisputably picturesque, Teguise in the north east of Lanzarote is possibly the second prettiest town in the Canary Islands. Another one of the oldest conquistador settlements in the Canary Islands, it was the island’s capital for over four hundred years. Like most places on Lanzarote, its buildings are blindingly white, contrasting sharply and pleasingly with the surrounding volcanic landscape. The town is immaculately maintained and home to artisan shops, intriguing small museums – including a pirate one in the Santa Barbara Fort overlooking the town – and restaurants and cafes tucked away in historic buildings. What’s interesting is, each of the towns on the list have a very different personality. Teguise’s is arty and slightly Bohemian, its residents a mix of Canarian and more recent settlers.

Tejeda, Gran Canaria

Whilst I go along with the inclusion of the other Canarian towns on the list, Tejeda in the centre of Gran Canaria is where I part company with Las Pueblos más Bonitos de España. My measure for whether a town is pretty or not is how photogenic it is. There are places I could go back to time after time and still find plenty to photograph. Tejeda isn’t one of them. The setting is spectacular, the town facing out over Gran Canaria’s mountainous hinterland. Some of the architecture is pleasant enough, but nothing special. I think the biggest problem for me is Tejeda caters more for day-trippers (lots of establishments close when the day visitors leave) and people with second homes and therefore doesn’t feel as authentic as others on the list. But it does occupy a breath-taking position.

Whether anyone agrees with all of the towns on the list or not, there is one thing that is certain, this is not one of those randomly and quickly compiled lists. It is that increasingly rare creature – a considered travel list that is useful when travellers are seeking somewhere picturesque in Spain to visit.

Try to answer without Googling, and I’m willing to bet few will get it spot on.

That’s partly because there are different ways of approaching this question. And it’s partly because the answer is liable to change. A few years ago, the generally accepted number of main Canary Islands was seven. Now it’s eight. In a way neither are right and yet, in another way, both are.

For a start, what is an island?

This is National Geographic’s definition: “An island is a body of land surrounded by water. Continents are also surrounded by water, but because they are so big, they are not considered islands.”

National Geographic also go on to say – “Many islands are quite small, covering less than half a hectare (one acre). These tiny islands are often called islets.”

There’s nothing about whether they are inhabited or not. And that makes those subtropical waters very murky.

So, how many Canary Islands are there?

The Canaries are made up of large islands, small islands (islets), and lumps of land protruding from the sea that ambiguously lie somewhere between being tiny islets and big rocks. Wikipedia states there are eight main islands, five islets, and eight ‘roques.’

The main Canary Islands

Up until a few years ago it was generally accepted there were seven main islands. Tenerife, Fuerteventura, Gran Canaria, Lanzarote, La Palma, La Gomera, and El Hierro. In 2018, Spain’s Comisión General de las Comunidades Autónomas officially recognised La Graciosa as the eighth inhabited Canary Island. Until then, it had been classed as an islet.

Subsequently, La Graciosa is now classed as one of the main Canary Islands … but it isn’t the same as the others, and it isn’t the eighth island, but I’ll come back to the latter later.

The reason it isn’t the same is the others all have their own island governments, independent of each other. La Graciosa, with a population that hovers around the 700 mark, administratively belongs to Lanzarote. That makes it different. Having lived in the Canary Islands, that not insignificant fact makes it difficult to treat La Graciosa on quite the same level as the other seven. Then there’s the next level down.

Canary Island islets

The five islets consist of Islote de Lobos (Fuerteventura), Montaña Clara, Alegranza, Roque del Este and Roque del Oeste. The last four, along with La Graciosa, also make up the Chinijo Archipelago, one of the largest marine reserves in the European Union. Although not inhabited, a couple of the islets have had inhabitants and Los Lobos still has buildings which are occupied at certain times of the year.

Canary Island ‘roques’

Finally, there are the ‘roques,’ big chunks of land rising from the ocean. They are not big enough to be considered an islet, yet too big to be simply classed as a rock. Wikipedia lists eight of these, but one of these is connected to the land and, offhand, I can think of at least three ‘roques’ that aren’t included. But these lumps of rock are just a distraction from the main question.

I previously mentioned that I didn’t consider La Graciosa as the eighth island. That’s because in all the years I lived in the Canaries, I regularly saw references to an eighth island, and it wasn’t La Graciosa. Every week, in a Spanish newspaper, I would read news from all seven main islands followed by reports from a place historically considered the eighth island, Venezuela. Admittedly, that’s a bit of a curve ball, but I wasn’t the one who named it the eighth island.

Anyway, there’s another eighth island, a proper Canary Island. Canarios know what it is and so do others who know the Canaries well. It makes an appearance in my upcoming book set on the islands. If you want to know more about it, keep an eye on my website and Facebook page for more information.

Tapas are a mainland Spanish way of eating when socialising, but it is also easy to find tapas in the Canary Islands, and tapas aimed at the palates of a local population more than a visiting one. I rarely met anyone who wasn’t Canario whenever I followed a ruta de tapa (tapas competitions organised within individual municipalities).

We’ve regularly eaten tapas on all of the islands. On some, finding good tapas is easier than on others. The level of quality, generally speaking, is related to the size of the Canario population. Many traditional bars have a small selection, as do a lot of traditional restaurants. But there are specialist restaurants as well. Occasionally, they’re not referred to as tapas bars or restaurants, throwing non-Spanish speakers off the tapas scent, like La Bodeguita de Enfrente on Tenerife, which called itself a picotea – somewhere to pick at small quantities of food.

But a rose by any other name and all that.

Many of the small dishes featured on menus are familiar to anyone who’s eaten tapas in Spain, but some are uniquely Canarian in origin. These ten tapas include a mix of both.

Papas arrugadas

Even visitors to the Canary Islands who never leave their all-inclusive hotels are familiar with papas arrugadas (wrinkled potatoes boiled in salted water till their skins shrivel and their left with a coating of salt) served with mojo verde and mojo rojo (savoury and spicy sauces). Although found just about everywhere, papas arrugadas con mojos aren’t truly authentic if they’re not made using speciality Canarian potatoes such as the tiny papas bonitas.

Ensaladilla rusa

Despite the name, ensaladilla rusa (Russian salad) is one of the essentials of any Spanish tapas menu, and it’s no different in the Canaries. It’s basically a potato salad ramped up with the inclusion of peas, carrots, boiled eggs, and tuna. There’s nothing sophisticated about it, but it is moreish. The more modern Canarian restaurants serve it with a tad more panache than plonking a messy mound of mush on your plate.

Croquetas caseras

Croquetas are another Spanish tapas staple. Usually, these small, fried croquettes are made with bechamel sauce mixed with either ham, chicken, or fish. Spinach croquetas are also fairly common. On the Canary Islands, you can find some quite imaginative variations. We’ve eaten blue cheese, banana, beetroot, mushroom, leek, and chicken curry croquetas. To be sure you’re not being dished up ones picked out of the freezer in the local supermarket, look for croquetas caseras (homemade).

Pinchos morunos

These savoury skewers are a favourite at fiestas. Despite the Moorish reference in the name, they usually consist of cubes of pork marinated in a blend of spices (cumin, black pepper, ginger, paprika, turmeric, saffron) and garlic and coriander; although, exact ingredients can vary. They taste especially good when barbecued, served with a chunk of aniseed bread, and eaten at a busy, ramshackle fiesta stall. If pinchos morunos are unavailable, carne fiesta is a good substitute.

Gofio amasado

One of the uniquely Canarian tapas offerings is gofio amasado. Gofio (a toasted flour dating back to the Canary Islands’ original inhabitants) features in a couple of tapas dishes (escaldón being another) and both are an acquired taste. In amasado form, the flour is mixed with olive oil, honey, almonds, water, and sometimes cheese until firm and pliable. Then it is sliced into discs and served. It’s not the most flavoursome tapa on the list, but it is an authentic taste of the Canaries.

Chopitos fritos

Some people are turned off by the idea of eating squid. If you’re a fan of squid and cuttlefish and want to convert non-believers to the cause, chopitos are a great introduction. These tasty fried squid are so small it’s not easy to spot they are squid (the batter blurs the tiny tentacles). Picking at a plate of chopitos is just like snacking on savoury crisps. That’s what you can tell doubting friends anyway. When I’ve eaten these on eastern Canary Islands, they’ve turned up on the menu as puntillitas.

Queso asado

Just about every time we went out to eat with one of our neighbours on Tenerife, she would order queso asado. It’s not my favourite tapa, yet it would often end up as one of the dishes on the table whenever we ordered a mix of tapas, with or without neighbour in tow. Queso asado is griddled cheese drizzled with mojos, honey, and/or miel de palma (palm syrup from La Gomera). The cheese used is important. It should be queso palmero, a semi-hard, lightly smoked goat’s milk cheese from La Palma which, when griddled, has a similar texture to halloumi.

Churros de pescado

I think of churros de pescado as the Spanish version of fish and chips, without the chips; although, the absence of papas fritas is easily rectified. Churros de pescado are strips of white fish (usually hake but can be other firm, white fish) coated in herby batter. They are especially addictive when served with alioli (garlic mayonnaise).

Pimientos de Padrón

Another perennial favourite across Spain, many people know these are small green peppers fried in olive oil and generously sprinkled with salt. They’re simple and tasty, but what gives them an added edge is that every so often one is blow-the-top-of-your-head-off hot. You can eat plates and plates of them and never get a spicy one. I’ve known of people in Spain who have never ever had a hot pimiento de Padrón. Subsequently, there’s always a Russian roulette element to eating them. I was told that, in the Canaries, only La Palma produces hot pimientos.

Lapas

By sticking to only ten tapas, I’ve shackled my choices. It means the likes of boquerones, patatas bravas, ropa vieja, gambas al ajillo, berenjenas con miel, emapandas, jamón Serrano, tortilla, and many more are left out, making my pick for the tenth spot a difficult one. I’ve opted for lapas because a) they’re found more on the Canary Islands than elsewhere (Madeira and the Azores also have them), and b) they’re delicious (when prepared properly). Lapas are grilled limpets drizzled with mojo verde. It is the addition of the mojo which makes them superior to their Portuguese cousins.

Quite a few agreed Tenerife was better for weather. But when it came to history, culture, gastronomy, and scenery, Madeira won hands down. However, many views were influenced by inaccurate and misinformed perceptions. To take a more considered view on which offers the more rounded and satisfactory travel experience, it’s essential to compare various factors using facts combined with first-hand knowledge.

Weather

The weather site holiday-weather.com lists the average high on Madeira as 22.5C in Aug, while on Tenerife it’s 24C. The average lowest temperature on Madeira is 16C in January. On Tenerife it’s 16.5. Madeira’s sunniest month is September, with 8 hrs of sunshine a day. On Tenerife, it’s August, when there’s 10 hrs daily. When it comes to rainfall, December is Tenerife’s wettest month, with an average 56mm of rain falling. In Madeira, it’s January when 108mm is the average. While stats don’t tell the whole story, the world map shows you all you need to know; Tenerife is 500km further south.

History

Historically, Madeira is more of a lightweight. It was an uninhabited island which, after its discovery in 1419, grew relatively rich on the trade of sugar cane and wine. Tenerife was already inhabited by a primitive race by the time conquistadors settled it. The island lay at the crossroads with the New World, leading to a strong South American connection. Battles at Tenerife are said to have led to the establishment of the Royal Navy as a leading sea force, and the independence of Portugal. Franco orchestrated the start of the Spanish Civil War from Tenerife. There are historical towns and cities whose architecture reflects the influence of numerous nations. So much so, La Laguna on Tenerife is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and was the blueprint for some South American cities.

Culture

Riches in history lead to riches in culture. Madeira reminds me more of the north of Portugal, whereas Tenerife has more in common with South America than it does with mainland Spain. But there is an interesting overlap. At traditional fiestas on Tenerife, people dress in a similar way to revellers at Madeiran festas. You can see similarities in themes as well, the reason being that there were many Portuguese settlers on Tenerife. But where Madeiran culture reflects mainly Portuguese traditions and customs, Tenerife’s incorporates a broader mix, one that even includes the influence of its pre-conquest settlers, and that makes it more unique.

Gastronomy

Generally speaking, gastronomy on Madeira is on the basic side outside of its resorts and main city – consisting of simple meat and fish dishes. I’d go as far as saying we were disappointed most of all in its cuisine. Compare traditional menus on both islands and, thanks to the wider influences, you’ll find a far greater range on Tenerife. Where choice is limited outside of Funchal and the resort towns on Madeira, some of the best culinary centres are located away from the resort areas on Tenerife. In towns where you encounter few tourists, you’ll find contemporary Canarian food close to Michelin standard. Talking of Michelin, Madeira has two Michelin-starred restaurants. Tenerife boasts five.

Beaches

Madeira isn’t renowned for its beaches. Tenerife’s have mass tourist market appeal. Tenerife’s beaches – a mix of black sand, pale golden crescents, and golden imports – don’t hold a candle to those of the eastern Canary Islands, but they are more of a draw than Madeira’s.

Tourism

Tourism on Madeira feels low key compared to Tenerife. There are no sprawling, purpose-built resorts populated by boozy Brits. In general, it’s a laid-back affair which appeals to travellers seeking a serene location. Tenerife’s mass tourism face can be gauche and boisterous, attracting reams of bad press. As I write, videos of English and Welsh football fans brawling in Playa de las Américas are trending. But that’s only one area. Most of Tenerife remains ignored by sun, sand, and booze cruise-seeking tourists.

Natural Beauty

Madeira’s ancient laurisilva forest is a UNESCO World Heritage Site and the area around Santana is a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve. It is a stunning island with dramatic scenery softened by extravagant floral displays, great swathes of agapanthus and hydrangeas. Madeira’s natural beauty is a breath stealer. Tenerife also has an incredible UNESCO World Heritage Site in Teide National Park, and a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve in the verdant Anaga region. Its scenery ranges from volcanic to pine and ancient laurisilva forests. Both are going to delight lovers of natural beauty.

Towns and cities

The meatier the history, the more likely you are to find picturesque towns and villages. I particularly like the colonial centre of Funchal on Madeira, and places like Câmara de Lobos. But, apart from a few pockets, there’s a lack of a historical architecture. There is a far greater selection of historical centres on Tenerife. I’ve mentioned La Laguna previously, La Orotava’s old town oozes nobility, and Garachico is one of the prettiest towns in the Canarian Archipelago. But there are many others which rarely get a mention in travel articles.

Hiking

These are two excellent destinations for hiking. Both offer great variety; although, Tenerife shades it for me. Having created walking holidays across Europe, I still rate it as one of the best places for diverse hiking experiences. Another factor which places Tenerife ahead is that some of Madeira’s best hikes have become victims of their own success. We aborted two due to the sheer volume of other walkers. We still enjoyed superb walking, not meeting many other hikers, but at second choice locations. There are a couple of hikes on Tenerife which also attract an off-putting number of walkers; although, these are now regulated. Ironically, they are not the best walks on the island as those tend to be so far from the main resorts they deter the masses.

Summary

Whether Tenerife or Madeira is better is mostly subjective. I lived on Tenerife for 14 years, so I’m naturally going to lean toward the Spanish island. But the history of each island is well documented, and that also feeds architecture, culture, and gastronomy. These are my opinions, but they are based on facts rather than perceptions, unlike the views of some people who commented on The Telegraph article, many of whom revealed their experience of Tenerife was limited to its purpose-built resorts, one of the reasons so many get it wrong.

Ultimately, comparing Tenerife with Madeira isn’t fair. One has a population of nearly a million, the other is quarter of a million, and those facts influence many of the categories above. A more relevant comparison would be to compare Madeira with the likes of La Palma. But even then, why bother? Each of the islands, whether Madeiran or Canarian have qualities which make them all worth visiting … unless anyone is planning simply to flop on the sand for a fortnight.

Recently, Andy and I contributed text and images for an article about the Canary Islands. The images the magazine initially chose showed only the arid, volcanic side to islands even though I’d provided a mix of scenery, designed to show how green some parts were. Unfortunately, this portrayal of the Canaries as being arid rocks isn’t uncommon, and yet the reality couldn’t be more different, as illustrated by one of my favourite views in the archipelago, this vista from above Tejeda on Gran Canaria.

I must admit to being selfish when it comes to spots where there are outstanding views. I especially like those which require some effort to get to, where there are no nearby lay-bys or car parks where coaches can disgorge hundreds of people who reap the same rewards for the paltry investment of a handful of steps. It’s important that there are accessible viewpoints where the beauty of nature can be shared by everyone, but I also want places which remain unspoilt, where to enjoy them involves an immersion in and an appreciation of the surrounding countryside. This spot between Cruz de Tejeda and the cave village of Artenara is one such place.

Whenever we’ve walked the route, we started at Cruz de Tejeda, meaning there’s a meaty ascent before we reach the ridge which traverses Gran Canaria’s mountainous central region. It’s a world of pine and almond trees, of ancient caves with fertility symbols painted on their rough walls, and of epic views of the island’s interior canyons, valleys, and peaks, including the iconic Roque Nublo on the other side of the great valley.

Whilst crowds gather at the base of that sacred rock, those who walk this cumbre get to enjoy Gran Canaria’s remarkable panoramas all to themselves.

Since 2004, we’ve written reams about the largest of the Canary Islands, both on our own sites and in newspapers, magazines, and online for others.

Even before 2017, when we swapped the north of Tenerife for Portugal, the articles we wrote about Tenerife dwindled as our attention became more focussed on Slow Travel around Europe. By the time the pandemic hit, and we couldn’t travel to Tenerife for our annual visit to make sure all our guides were still up to date, we virtually stopped writing articles about our former home. It felt false to continue to continue to do so, especially when we were unable to visit.

However, that hasn’t stopped some other writers mining the wealth of material we have on our Real Tenerife website.

Who is writing about the real Tenerife?

This week, a number of articles relating to Tenerife, produced by a respected travel publication, popped up in my Google Alerts. From details in the articles, I knew some of the content had come from our website.

How can I know for sure?

It’s quite simple. Our content comes from experiences, many of which are quite unique and personal. And this was the case here.

It’s something that happens on a regular basis. On one occasion, the writer of a piece would have had to be sitting on Andy’s knee to be able to write what they did.

Using information from specialist websites isn’t uncommon in travel writing, in fact it’s daft if writers don’t utilise available information about a destination they’re writing about. Whenever we’re planning on visiting somewhere, we check out articles, blogs, official websites etc. for tips.

But ‘tips’ is the key word here. Once we get some pointers, the experiences we chalk up are ours.

Increasingly, there are writers/content creators using other people’s knowledge to pass themselves off as specialists. And that’s what happened in the case of the articles on my Google alerts.

It’s both ironic and irritating that, even though we’re not writing about Tenerife, there are other writers using our articles to create their own ‘fresh’ material, without spending much, or even any, time on the island.

For years, we’ve questioned the amount of information we put on the website. There’s a balance between sharing useful, and hopefully interesting, information and basically lining someone else’s pocket.

A few years ago, I would try little experiments. I’d think of something relating to Tenerife I hadn’t seen referenced in any English language travel articles, then write about it. Then I’d wait to see how long it took before it turned up in another travel article/blog. Mostly, it didn’t take long.

Off the top of my head, I can think of 10 things relating to Tenerife we’ve never written about. And have I ever seen mention of these 10 things in any other English language publication?

Nope.

This year, it’s our intention to pull the walking guides from our Tenerife websites. But we’re also contemplating taking the Real Tenerife website offline altogether. Our writing focus has changed in the past few years, and its increasingly difficult to maintain five websites.

Whatever we decide, from now, we’ll publish a more selective series of Tenerife posts on this website.

With the years of knowledge and experience we have, it makes no sense to stop writing about the real Tenerife, especially when others are doing so using our experiences.

When I mentioned this to my sister, one of the things she said in reply was “you’ll find Britain has changed a lot since you left.”
It’s not the first time someone has said this to us. Then Andy said something which got me thinking: “But so have we. We’re not the same people who left in 2003.”
And she’s right. Living in other countries has changed us in a number of ways.

We don’t take basic home comforts for granted

When your water comes from a bore hole and heavy rain causes the electricity to go off, you soon learn to appreciate having uninterrupted access to basic utilities. When water pressure drops, I head out on a circuit of the farm to see if a pipe has come loose, or a connection has split. When the electricity goes off, so does the water because no electricity means no pump. Many repair jobs are done by knowledgeable amateurs rather than professionals, so repairs can be hit and miss, which leads to the next category.

We’re more self-sufficient

When houses don’t have central heating keeping warm becomes a more time-consuming job. On both Tenerife and Portugal this has involved wood management; chain-sawing and chopping logs for firewood and planning wood supplies for the following winter. If you want to stay warm, you have to create your own heat. There isn’t always a ‘man’ to call to come and fix things when they stop working, even if there is there can be a concern he’s going to make things worse rather than better, subsequently doing-it-ourselves has become the norm. This might involve tackling jobs like replacing the chimney after a storm blew it off, fitting a new flush system in the toilet, dealing with invasions of ants, or preventing the beams which hold the roof up from being devoured by woodworm.

A change of drinking habits

We drink less alcohol. It took some time, but we gradually slipped into the local groove when it came to drinking patterns. We’d go out later, stay out longer, and drink less. This was no conscious decision, we simply started to mirror the habits of those around us – On Tenerife that was Canarians who simply didn’t hammer the booze with the same ‘enthusiasm’ as many Brits. Consumption of alcohol has become a case of quality over quantity.

And eating patterns

In Britain I always preferred the later lunch spot at work (between 1 and 2 p.m.), and by the time both of us got home from work and cooked dinner it was around 8.30p.m. So fitting in with Spanish dining times only required a slight shift. What has changed more is the length of time we spend over lunch and dinner, especially when eating out. Lunches last the whole afternoon, whereas dinner is the evening’s entertainment. Thirty years ago I’d have wolfed done my food to get to the pub quicker. Now if a restaurant meal is over in under an hour I feel cheated and consider the place to be a fast food joint.

Appreciating local produce

Thanks to regularly writing about regional culinary specialities we’ve developed a greater appreciation of products which are sourced locally. Our wine rack on Tenerife was full of Canarian wines, some from the valley we lived in. In Portugal, it’s Portuguese wines, some from the vineyards around us. Most days Portuguese chestnut honey will feature in our food at some point; one of our favourite cheeses is made a few kilometres away; and the meal I’ve missed most during COVID lockdowns is choco frito (fried cuttlefish), a speciality of the nearest town. We still shop at supermarkets, but picking up goodies from specialist producers is one of the things which excites me about a return to Blighty.

Explore our surroundings

I come from a tiny Sottish island. Recently, as a birthday present, my sister sent me a calender featuring photos from around the island. As I browsed through the photos I kept repeating “I’ve never been there.” I was never that interested in the place where I grew up. How I regret that.
Our first writing commission after we moved abroad completely changed how we viewed our surroundings. It was called In Deep and involved getting under the skin of specific towns and villages on Tenerife – finding out about history, culture, gastronomy, traditional activities, fiestas etc. We loved it, uncovering all sorts of things we found interesting. That first experience still acts as a blueprint for how we approach visiting anywhere new to us.

Treasure communication

When you stumble around speaking a language you’re not fully fluent in, your personality is stripped away and even the most basic transaction can be frustratingly difficult. Whenever I return to Britain it rams home how much trying to communicate in another language fills my subconsciousness. When doing something like queueing to buy tickets, I find myself automatically thinking ‘how am I going to say this?’ before the penny drops I’ll be asking in English. Most of our transactions in the north of Tenerife were carried out in Spanish; it’s become our default foreign language. The area where we live in Portugal is about as Portuguese as you can get. I have far more empathy with people in Britain for whom English is not their first language.

Less materialistic

Two things changed how we view material goods in general. One was going from having a good income to having virtually none. Having no money soon dampens the urge for whimsical shopping sprees. But the main reason has been living in places where people don’t have much spare cash, and haven’t succumbed to materialism. Whenever we return to Britain we instantly notice the marked difference in spending power. As a result, material goods aren’t as important as they once were. We don’t crave the newest version of this or that. As long as things work well that’s good enough. Other aspects of life have simply taken on more value.

Europe has misshapen fruit

Finally, we know bananas in Europe can have wonky shapes. For 17 years our veg rack has been filled with oddly-shaped fruit and veg. But then, you don’t have to live in a country that isn’t Britain to know that European supermarkets/markets aren’t filled with perfectly-shaped food. All anyone on holiday in Europe has to do confirm some papers had blatantly lied to them back in 2016, and beyond, is wander into a local market.

For anyone who wants to take a more in-depth look at what it’s like to live in another country, take a look at my book Camel Spit & Cork Trees; a Year of Slow Travel Around Portugal.