Up on the volcano: Teide, Tenerife
It is the first thing you see when you arrive on the island, and it’s the last one you see when you leave, taking off at sea level and soaring past its almost 4000m, looking down at the island it rises from.
To paraphrase The Dude, Volcano Teide really ties the island together. Not only figuratively, as a fixed reference point and landmark, easily seen from the most parts of Tenerife, but also literally, because the island formed when Teide’s great-grandpa, a stage III Cañada volcano, rose in the middle of three older “flat“ volcanos, tying them all together. The former volcanic trio can still be perceived today, in the island’s triangular shape, with Teide in the middle, rising in the great cauldron that used to be its gramps.
Wherever you lay your step in Tenerife, every bone-dry piece of earth, was once something that flew or oozed from a lava-spewing volcano. The feet-scorching black sand beaches, the reddish crumbly soil, the cracked forest floor, the arid wide planes and the mighty vertical cliffs, they all have volcanic origin. As does the whole Canary archipelago, which is a volcanic oceanic hotspot where only La Gomera island has been geologically quiet in the past 10.000 years. Teide itself last erupted not longer than 100 years ago. Its younger nearby cousin, Pico Viejo, last erupted about 220 years ago, following two (!) years of forewarning earthquakes.
The joyride to Teide took us on a smooth winding road which crept through a narrow pinar, pine forest area, after which we could peek down at the clouds below, huddled over the coastal areas.
The landscape then became barren and Martian, seemingly lifeless and hostile. We then drove over a dry black top of hardened lava streaks, leftovers of Pico Viejo’s most recent antics in 1798, when he huffed and puffed, and lava came out its nostrils.
Ready for climbing Teide? Not so fast, amiguito. The volcano is in the middle of a protected area, Teide National Park, where you might need permits for some activities. Such as, climbing Teide’s top. Which is, by the way, Spain’s highest peak (3718m).
But the good news, for the weak-kneed tourists who are not mountain-climbing material, is that there’s a teleférico, a cable car that will carry your lazy ass from the parking lot (2355m) up to the altitude of 3555m, from which you will be able to admire - while slightly stricken with mountain sickness - the peak of Teide from below and the crater of Pico Viejo slightly from above. If you absolutely must hang your feet over the edge of Teide’s crater, you will need a permit, granted in advance.
As we were a bit unclear as to the geography of the place and permissions granted by our regular teleférico tickets (yes, we’re sorry-ass cable-car climbers too), let us draw you a quick map, to make things crystal clear. Let’s head to Google Earth. (Click on images to see them larger.)
A regular return ticket (37 EUR, bought online) will allow you around an hour’s time to hop, skip, and jump all the way to La Fortaleza lookout toward the north, and to Pico Viejo lookout, towards the west. The red path towards the actual peak means you need a permit.
They say that on a clear day you can see all the Canarian islands. Good luck, though, to get there on such a day. We barely managed to see La Gomera. See? Right over yonder, behind Pico Viejo’s shoulder and the clouds.
Parque rural de Teno
The green valley around Puerto de la Cruz stayed under a blanket of clouds
Crystalized sulphur and the high edges of the former Cañadas crater (Teide’s gramps, remember?)
A bunch of margaritas del Teide. Surprisingly fresh, unlike us, who were hit occasionally by waves of mild altitude sickness.
Martian landscape with white Earth car.
Martian landscape with red rental cars. Just 4 really, but multiply exposed.
You have not seen the last of us, Teide. We will be back. Hasta la vista, baby.
Check out the gallery for more martian photos, including some panoramas,
or directly the slideshow below.
