Lava [the Lanzarote logbook, pt. III]

DAY 6 (21.4.23)

An early alarm jolted me awake for the 8:30 AM ferry. But the groggy start was quickly redeemed by witnessing the best sunrise yet—pink hues lighting up the cliffs above Orsola, casting a magical spell over the lava fields. Breakfast was a blur as I rushed to catch the ferry to La Graciosa. a very petite island close to the northern tip of Lanzarote. The crossing took just 30 minutes, delivering me to an island that looked as quaint and quiet as a postcard.

First things first: bike rental. The island’s reputation for safety meant no need for lockers. Opting for a regular bike over an electric one (15 vs. 35 euros? DUH), I started my day with a cappuccino and reggae beats at a charming café in town. I chose the north route, pedaling through volcanic landscapes until I reached Playa de las Conchas on the northern coast. A walk along the beach and a relaxing spot near the volcanic black cliffs was just what I needed. Swimming was not an option —the ocean was far too rough. As midday approached, the beach started to fill up, so I headed out.

A hike to Punta Gorda and Los Arcos followed, where a well-deserved bocadillo (Spanish sandwich with serrano ham, cheese and avocado) forced me to sit down and enjoy the view. My loop ride took me along the north coast and back through the island, including sinking in what felt like a path of quicksand and an extremely challenging steep climb up a volcano. By the time I returned to town (Caleta del Sebo), an ice cold beer (or a few more) break at a small local shack by the harbour recharged my batteries and cooled off my overheated body.

Ignoring the bike rental lady’s warnings, I decided to brave the sandy path to Playa Francesa, on the southwest side of the island. Dragging my bike under the blazing sun wasn’t fun, but the destination was worth of its reputation. I picked the furthest section and enjoyed a naturist beach experience in waters as crystalline as in Amorgos (Greece), albeit colder. Funny enough, as soon as I got rid of my speedo, the few other people on the beach also got naked. Sometimes it surprises me to witness how much people are holding back. After cycling back on the low tide, I realized I’d missed the last ferry with my company. Oopsie, my Spanish is definitely not as good as I thought. Luckily enough, as I started to consider the idea to spend a night on the small island, I snagged a ticket with the competitors for the last ferry of the day at 6:30 PM.

La Graciosa, beautiful as it is, feels like a place that only exists because of tourism – which, thank goodness, is still on a very low scale. The streets are unpaved, and cars are a rarity, except for the Jeeps ferrying the occasional tourists around.

The views of Lanzarote’s northwest coast were absolutely stunning as we departed. A quick, less romantic shower at my makeshift spot from the previous day was followed by dinner at a restaurant in Punta Mujeres. Starving, I found the food decent, though the place lacked any real vibe. I drove west to Caldera de los Cuervos, a volcano approximately in the centre of Lanzarote, planning to kick off the following day with a sunrise hike around the crater.

It was a long, beautiful, and extremely active day. One of those days where everything seems to fall into place and being on your own makes you feel stronger and more independent than ever.

DAY 7 (22.4.23)

Slept like a log and woke up before dawn to tackle the hike to Volcán El Cuervo, probably the oldest volcano on the island. The trek through sandy black dunes and rocks was gorgeous— a much softer “malpais” (/evil land, how the locals call the crooked and inhospitable volcanic landscape) compared to my previous hikes. I did a loop around the volcano as the sun played peek-a-boo, casting dramatic light on different spots in the lava field and surrounding volcanoes. A crack in the volcano led me down to its bottom. It was stunning to be there alone.

After a breakfast place in an Italian run cafe in Yaiza, I drove nearby for a photo stop at the Echadero de los Camelos. The starting point of dromedary rides on the dunes, a ridiculously packed spot at the entrance of the Timanfaya National Park, felt immediately extremely off. After a week of barely coming across any other tourist I somehow forgot how mass tourism operates.

Next, I visited Los Hervideros, the dramatic lava tunnels, relentlessly pounded by the ocean’s fury. These were a must-see on the west coast that I had missed earlier in the trip. As the sky turned cloudy, I made my way back to Playa Mujeres and found a sheltered spot beneath a rock. There I stripped down, hoping to add some colour to my tan, but got only 30 seconds of sunshine. After a couple of hours spent reading on the beach until the goosebumps won, prompting me to move on to Playa Quemada. Sadly, under the gloomy weather, it felt quite uninspiring despite a friend’s recommendation.

Famished, I made up my mind to cross the island towards Famara for dinner at La Mar Café. I indulged in beers, a burger, a banoffee pie and a good one hour of surfers-watching. I decided to drive back to the parking lot in Playa San Juan, where I had slept earlier in the week. I took a final shower outside the van as the sun set, painting a pink line on the horizon. I opted to skip a night out in Teguise in favour of some early sleep.

Though the sun seemed to have gone on vacation elsewhere, this last day was a perfect chance to tick off a few missed spots revisit favourites. My heart brimmed with adventure and newfound confidence. It’s beyond words what a week solo can do when you’re in the right mindset. I felt empowered, independent and at peace, and I was absolutely determined to maintain this attitude once back in Berlin.