Canary Islands

October 1–9, 2010

The Canary Islands are a part of Spain, but are located in the Atlantic Ocean west of the border between Morocco and Western Sahara. Africa is located approximately where the flower pot on the right is.

Tenerife

The most well-known of the Canary Islands. Its silhouette reminds me of a Su-27 aircraft.

Tenerife

The sun is always shining here.

Some houses are the color of the sky.

All sorts of people come here. Old.

And young.

They come to surf and fish.

To play fetch with their friends.

Every day is a cause for celebration.

The little towns can fit in the palm of your hand.

Dog owners wipe their precious little ones’ butts with baby wipes.

Palm trees grow like weeds on the roofs.

Every flower bed has an automatic sprinkler which is connected to the water supply.

If there is ever any trash to be seen, it’s invariably the fault of some careless tourist.

Feces are safely hidden away under heavy cast iron hatches.

All the beaches on the Canaries are public.

The sardines pack themselves in and roast, roast, roast in the sun.

You have to pay to use the deck chairs.

So many people just lie on the sand, free of charge.

And some lie in the sand. Both pastimes are about equally fun.

Trash receptacles welcome the separation of trash.

Parking spaces in the towns are shared on equal grounds by cars and dumpsters.

Beach trash bins.

Sometimes dug into in the sand so that they don’t get washed away.

A fancy trash can with a bench.

A regular trash can.

All the fire escapes are in the form of spiral staircases.

Many people seek to buy real estate here. Identical, boring, mass-produced, modular, drab real estate.

What’s the point of moving to the Canaries if you’re going to end up with the exact same kind of ugly panel home you left back in the suburbs, only slapped onto a cliff?

It’s much better to move into previously lived-in old places.

Which have a little more personality.

And at least some variety.

Let’s stop.

Take a look around.

Notice the details.

Although, given the general pointlessness of the place, they aren’t that numerous.

Many houses have crosses standing up against the walls.

You can often encounter window shutters that slide to the side on special tracks.

Trams run along meticulously manicured lawns, like in The Hague.

Some of the old buildings have classic Tenerife balconies, which are very similar in style to their cousins in Syria.

It’s customary to embed a wooden post into the corner of a building.

A typical Canary Islands antenna.

A flower pot ashtray.

The neighborhood’s water supply.

Zebra crossings are painted in a wavy motion, as a result of which they look like they’re covered in fingerprints.

There’s absolutely nothing to do here. The only people in the streets are lottery ticket vendors.

Lanzarote

The entire island is covered with solidified volcanic lava, so nothing grows on it (even Iceland looks like a tropical rainforest in comparison).

Absolutely nothing.

Nada.

As far as the eye can see.

The locals tried growing greens of some sort, but the influx of tourists made their agricultural efforts unnecessary—food can simply be shipped in by boat.

Just for the hell of it, they decided to paint all the houses white, like on Santorini.

And so that’s how they live—all in white. And all the neighbors are white.

With pumice-filled back yards. Very chic.

The only distinctive local feature is the Lanzarote chimneys, which are crowned with cupolas.

And all around, there’s nothing but volcanic rock with no vegetation.

And camels.

What? Camels? Why on earth are there camels? Well, there’s nothing else here, so just be grateful that they shipped in some camels.