Daniel shouts, “Are you ready?” and jams his Land Rover into gear. I’ve barely registered his words before we’re off, wheels spinning, our 4X4 blazing a dusty trail along the sandy, sun-scorched track. “Welcome to La Graciosa,” he says, eyes twinkling behind his Ray-Bans. “Our little secret.”
Secret is right. I’ve pack-rafted through empty lakes, clambered down canyons and surfed giant waves, but nothing has ever felt so thrilling, so undiscovered, so remote. Before me, towering mounds of red rock – millions of years of volcanic eruptions – stretch into a cyan sky. At their feet, tumbling turquoise waves pound against pitch-black rocks, which give way to the softest honey sand. I look around. There’s not a single soul in sight. This is all mine.
Feeling footloose back on Lanzarote’s mainland? Then check out our lists of the Best Things to do in Lanzarote and 5 Unreal Landscapes to visit on Lanzarote.
One of Caleta del Sebo’s sugarcube houses
For centuries La Graciosa was left to its own devices, to be nothing more than a spot in the Atlantic Ocean. But the fortunes of this tiny, sun-baked island – just off the north-east coast of Lanzarote, in the Chinijo Archipelago – may be about to change. Only last year, the 29km2 spot – comprising 600 residents, seven beaches, four volcanoes and a handful of sugarcube houses dotted around a web of sandy tracks – officially became one of the Canary Islands. And, although neighbouring big brother Lanzarote serves up all the comfortable necessities of a classic winter-sun destination, La Graciosa is rustic, relaxed and refreshingly untamed – the perfect setting for a carefree micro-adventure on an incredible, nearly car-free little island.
A beachside café in Caleta del Sebo
Mine starts in the village of Caleta del Sebo, where I and a handful of daytrippers skip off the 30-minute ferry from Lanzarote. Some people choose to explore by bicycle, but I opt for the high-octane option of Daniel’s Land Rover. I clamber in and soon he’s distributing facts as we speed past the ‘sites’. “Fifty children go there,” he says, pointing to the island’s school. “Our solar panels used to be there.” He signals towards a bare patch of land. “Being a Canary Island will help make our services better,” he adds with a grin, “although we haven’t noticed much yet.”
The islanders may be excited for change, but I’m very happy with what I see. We pass the virtually abandoned hamlet of Pedro Barba, which was once the island’s main fishing hub. Today it’s home to a peaceful cove and a clutch of white holiday homes, and is so remote that services – including ‘luxurious’ flushing loos – are virtually nonexistent. It’s worth it: visitors are rewarded with fluoro-pink bougainvillea, giant cacti and red hot pokers (relax, it’s the local plant) practically to themselves.
