Mike MacEacheran, Travel Media Awards 2023 Sustainability Writer of the Year, recently stepped away from typical Tenerife holidays to discover stargazing on Mt Teide was the adventure he never knew his young family needed.
It was Monday morning, with school out for February half-term, and the wild Atlantic was opening up in all directions below. The cone of Mt Teide had been left free to poke above the warm Calima wind blowing in sand clouds from the Western Sahara, and its lava flows and strata could be seen from the plane’s porthole windows.
The stratovolcano was formed as little as 170,000 years ago (the same period humans began to wear scant loin cloths and animal skins — infinitely more than exhibitionists get away with on Tenerife’s nudist haven Playa de Las Gaviotas these days), and it stretched out its magmatic bones to the sun, overlooking town, terraced farmland and coast. Then Costa del Silencio, the southern tip of Tenerife, appeared as our plane landed with an exhausted burp.
Did Tenerife grow up, or was it just me?
I was here on holiday in the Canary Islands with my family, the first time back on Tenerife in 25 years. Aged 19, my week in Playa de las Américas was both a bender and a blur. I stayed in an all-inclusive, half-built hotel with three pals, signing ourselves up for late afternoon water skiing and a pirate ship boat party, but mainly scouring the main strip set back from the beach for cheapo sangria, San Miguel and 2-for-1 shots in the scrum of pubs and bars.
The smell: ashtrays and jugs of sickly-sweet Blue Lagoon cocktail. The sights: retina-scarring lights, flirty club promo girls and the sun breaking over the beach each morning before stumbling to bed. The postscript: a vague recollection of a not-very-good holiday.
Tenerife holidays take on a different shape with kids
This time would be oh-so-different though. Not least because of parenthood and having my wife and two kids – ages 5 and 3 – in tow, but because sipped fruity mocktails would replace stupidly slammed cocktails; pool time would overtake pub time; and we weren’t going to settle for a budget guidebook hotel, or backstreet apartment in a rubbish bit of town.
Night time would be much better than at home, too. In our household, arguments in which our kids insist on staying up later than they’re allowed are a torturous evening ritual (to the extent toothbrushes disappear down toilets, pyjamas are cast aside for rogue nude run-arounds and cupboards become impenetrable Fort Knoxes). Could a week in stereotypically late-night Spain, where kids siesta and are expected to stay awake until midnight, offer some kind of travel reprieve?
Emboldened, we decided to do it and take advantage of Tenerife’s warm, balmy winter nights. The icing on the cake? Our local primary school had already begun teaching our son about the planets and solar system, and he was more excited about telescopes, stargazing and the expanse of unfiltered sky to ogle at after twilight than the animatronic T-Rex that had been promised to appear around our hotel pool throughout the week.
Beachy days and starry nights at The Ritz-Carlton Tenerife, Abama
On paper, that was one of the chief sells of The Ritz-Carlton Tenerife, Abama, a vast showpiece citadel surrounded by waves of banana plantations and a perimeter of rocky cliffs and barrancos. It was even better once we’d unpacked (read: dumped the suitcases in a corner and thrown on shorts and sandals) and explored its casbah-style stone corridors and open air staircases. The spritzing Moorish fountains, the pastel pink turrets, even the water gardens brimming with carp gave me visions of Grenada’s Alhambra — for the kids, it was the Agrabah of Disney’s Aladdin sprung to life.
The genie out of the bottle, in fact, was the choice of restaurants for our fussy eaters (glory be: round-the-clock pasta and pizza, plus under-4s eat free from any menu) and the mini adventures on tap for our two pint-sized travellers.
We took the hotel’s child-pleasing funicular down to the breaker-cradled beach, where neighbouring La Gomera, mysterious as a forgotten land, appeared hazy on the horizon. We rode the resort train to the clifftop terrace and El Mirador restaurant for sundowners, helped by blackmailing our two with extra scoops of ice cream. The transport proved such a hit, in fact, we once rode it twice one morning, not because we were going anywhere, but just to feel the salty air on our faces.
Tours by Locals tailors after-dark Teide to your kids
As the Calima began to dissipate over the next few days, plans were forged to exit the hotel (in truth, the resort is set up exactly to prevent this from happening, being a three-mile walk from the nearest beach town, Playa San Juan… try tackling that with a baby buggy in peak summer).
Stargazing topped our to-do list and the classic itinerary sold by most tour operators includes a bus circuit to the cones, obsidian stones and lava tongues of the enormous Las Cañadas caldera, a sunset from the Pico Viejo viewpoint atop Mt Teide’s cable car and star spotting with proper telescopes. But 8-hours of child-wrangling on a stuffy coach isn’t anyone’s idea of a good time and was far too long for us (particularly my wife, who to tell the truth was now in prime holiday mode and more interested in raising a caipirinha than Cassiopeia rising).
Did we know Tenerife experience up to three earthquakes a day? No we did not!
Fortunately, there are a few companies set up for all-ages tours and our guide, Dario of Tours By Locals, promised to squeeze his usual 5 hour trip into a more compact tour of the galaxy (plus, he brought a full flask of Wonka-style hot chocolate to keep the kids happy so Mum and Dad could relax). And yes, he managed to make the journey from the coast up through the clouds to around 2,000m whizz by with all sorts of trivia.
Did we know that Tenerife experiences up to three earthquakes every day? Or that 100 tons of gas pour out of Mt Teide every day? Of course, we didn’t. The real bombshell was when seeing the juniper and blossoming almond trees slowly morph into an alien landscape of ashen red lava that was quite impossible to cross without imagining we had been transported to Mars. If only I’d ditched the tiki drinks for a Teide Tour years ago.