"Pubic triangles,” replies my guide, Guillermo Bernal, after I’ve asked him to repeat himself. Guillermo speaks excellent English but I had to be sure I heard him correctly. “If you look inside the cave you’ll see carved into the wall public triangles,” he says again.
I peer into the gloom at these downward-pointing triangles, a very rudimentary cave carving. The oddness of this only feels more profound when I remind myself: I am in Gran Canaria.
Before British teenagers were running riot on the coast, before German tourists were reserving sun loungers with towels, before the Spanish waged a bloody war to conquer the islands, and before the Romans gave it a name, people lived on Gran Canaria. It was these Canarios who lived in caves such as this, worshipping the sun and their matriarchs.
From the air, the island looks uncannily like the Millennium Falcon but look at a relief map and you can immediately see that it was once dominated by a volcano. Guillermo is leading me along the rim of the Caldera Grande, more commonly known as Caldera de Tejeda.
Inside the volcano the air feels noticeably different; the vegetation is obviously distinct too. We make our way through a pine forest — if I didn’t know better I’d guess I was in Northern California.
Prior to coming here, I’d written off Gran Canaria as one of those sunny regions condemned to endure mass tourism. And parts of it do have that, but in two days of hiking, my guide and I meet fewer than a dozen other people on the trails, all of them local.
Towards the end of the first day I enquire about the name, Gran Canaria. “So I guess the islands are named after the birds, then?” I ask. “No, no, no — they’re named after the islands, not the other way around,” replies Guillermo, before going into a long explanation of the real naming of the islands. No one can be sure but it likely had something to do with dogs — theories range from the presence of a dog-worshipping cult to dog-eating natives to packs of indigenous hounds. In any case, there was some link important enough for the Romans to give the islands a name that relates to canis, the Latin word for dog.
On our second day we start our trek to the north of the island, working our way down a gorge towards the mountain village of Firgas. As a densely populated area dominated by famously temperate, sunny days, reliable water supply has always been an issue for much of Gran Canaria. Not so here, where the slopes have channelled fresh water into a gorge. Near the lowest part there’s grass taller than me, and the air feels denser.
To follow the path out, Guillermo and I have to briefly abseil down some rocks then hop across stepping stones and over falling trees. It’s more Jurassic Park than waterpark. When we emerge back into the sunshine we head to Finca La Laja in the Agaete Valley, in the north-west. At the bottom of a steep, volcanic ravine, the farm also benefits from fresh water and rich volcanic soil. It grows oranges and sustains a range of vines for an array of excellent red, rose and white wines; and another 18 vines for things including avocados, mangoes and bananas. It’s the 21st crop that is probably the most remarkable, however.
If you regard the Canaries as European — and at just 52 nautical miles off the coast of Morocco, there’s no geological reason you should — then Gran Canaria is also home to the Continent’s only coffee growers. From here, it’s only a few miles as the canary flies to the island’s ravaged coast: 15 years ago I’d have been there pouring not enough Red Bull into too much vodka — but now an americano seems kind of perfect.
Details:
British Airways, easyJet, Iberia, Jet2.com, Norwegian, Ryanair Thomas Cook, and TUI all fly to Gran Canaria from London. Cordial Resort Holidays (cordialresortholidays.com) offers accommodation around Gran Canaria.
