I sketch cacti in César Manrique’s Jardin de Cactus while my son draws spirals and snails. Later we surf the raw, rolling dunes of Famara — a beach for poets and purists, all wind and wildness.

We road-trip across the island in a Toyota Land Cruiser — the only way to handle the volcanic terrain — past La Geria’s improbably lush vineyards, grown in black ash pits dug by hand. The vines here seem to bloom out of moonscape. Nothing else would dare.

At El Golfo we order paella and cold white wine, eaten with bare feet in the earth. Between the black volcanic rock and the crashing sea, the planet reveals its tectonic truth — all lava, salt, and sky.

Down at Marina Rubicón, I sip beer at The Sailors Bar as the first McIntyre Adventure small boats arrive — part of a transatlantic crossing, about to depart to Antigua from where they’ll set off. We’re 4,600 nautical miles from the Cape of Good Hope. British hydrofoil racers skim the water nearby, training for the IQ Foil Olympic challenge. It’s all muscle and trade winds.

Inland, we climb at Hang On, a vegan bouldering spot built into a whitewashed courtyard — sun, chalk, palm trees. Offbeat. Local. Cool.

We snorkel across to a rocky islet, where rays drift like spirits and sardines dart silver in the shallows. I hunt for shells and sea glass to bring home for my son. Later, on Playa Blanca’s warm shore, we make animals in the sand — turtles, something like a seal. He names each one and tells them they are safe.

At the marina, we eat what may be the best Indian curry in Spain. We cycle ten miles to the lighthouse at Pechiguera and make a wish. We roll along in a golden haze, wind in our ears, past graffiti and goat tracks and families hanging washing in the sun. We drink lemonade, take a cold swim every day, and let the sea do its quiet work.

We watch storms roll in from the Atlantic, feel the windows rattle in the fishing harbour, and curl up to watch Chaplin DVDs. On other days, the island glows — whitewashed walls, blue sky, and the cobalt lava pools of Jameos del Agua, another Manrique masterpiece carved into volcanic tunnels by hand.

We paddle with grandparents in the surf. Ride a dinosaur at mini golf. Travel the “magma river” at the waterpark, laughing too loud.

We listen to Louis Armstrong’s Honeysuckle Rose and raise a toast to loved ones passed. The salt clings to the air like memory.

We talk about buying a camper van. Maybe we will. After all, as Quincy Jones once said:

‘We’ve got 26,000 days on Earth. You better spend each one right.’

Viewfinder: Lanzarote

A moonlit island sculpted by fire and imagination. Manrique’s Lanzarote is lava, light and raw, architectural poetry.

Roomkey

La Residenza at Villa Vik — a tranquil Bauhaus-inspired hideaway in timeless white, set back from the sea and scented with hibiscus. For something closer to the pulse of ocean life, check in at Hotel Cordial Marina Blanca, Marina Rubicón’s sailing hub and home base for the British transatlantic team. Book a marina-front room. The masts creak. The light shifts. British sailors train below your window. You sleep with the ocean outside and dreams of crossing it.

The Table With a View

El Risco in Famara — local octopus, Manrique sketches on the wall, Atlantic rollers outside the window.

El Golfo — cold white wine, wood-fired paella, and the Atlantic roaring at your feet over lava- rock.

Through the Lens

Leica-ready scenes at Mirador del Río, the wine valleys of La Geria, or the black sands of Playa del Janubio. From Papagayo Beach, frame the curve of sand like a secret — crystal water, ochre cliffs, a lone snorkeller crossing a turquoise page.

On The Road

Rent a Toyota Land Cruiser — vintage if you can — from local outfitters like Lanzarote4x4 or PlusCar. Essential for the moonlike interior: vines in craters, cacti rising from silence.

Trace the coast to the wild dunes of Famara. Take a slow morning through La Geria, the vineyard valley where malvasia grapes cling to black volcanic ash. Roadtrip to Jameos del Agua, the César Manrique cave-pool, and roll the windows down — it’s the closest thing to driving on Mars.

Future Frame: For The Global Citizen

In Lanzarote, sustainability is written in stone. From the hand-built vision of César Manrique to slow-sipping rain-fed wine, this island is proof that luxury and responsibility aren’t mutually exclusive.

Watch the next generation surf the Atlantic swells. Learn which plants clean the gut and which ones survive fire. Catch the start of the McIntyre transatlantic sailing race at Marina Rubicón and toast the courage to cross oceans — literal and metaphorical.

From volcanic origins to salt winds of tomorrow, Lanzarote is a blueprint in basalt. A place to reset, rethink, and look outward.

Filed on location for Room With A View. With thanks to Turismo Lanzarote.