Lanzarote: a sci-fi slice of winter sun

I never realised Lanzarote was such a weird place. During an extended Camino de Santiago pilgrimage to escape UK lockdowns, various pilgrims I met urged me to visit the splendours of the Canary Islands as a natural sequel to the splendours of the Iberian Peninsula we traversed. But Lanzarote was rarely mentioned.

As soon as you land at the north easternmost of the eight main Canary Islands you quickly appreciate there’s much more to it than cheap bars, piña coladas and the often-derided Brits Abroad vibe. Looming over the airport—whose runway must be a contender for one of the world’s greatest, though more of that later—is a landscape of volcanic mountains that looks like a cross between the surface of the Moon and Mars. While stretching away to the horizon is the vast expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. It’s a striking mix, as is the whole composition of this small 845-square-kilometre island, lying only 80 miles off the Moroccan coast, and formed—like all the Canary Islands—by volcanic eruptions millions of years ago.