Most of my days are spent roaming about the island, with many a memorable drive going west to east with the sun behind. The roads float around hundreds of these young volcanoes, with sparse vegetation in the form of lone palm trees, gigantic cacti, and alien-like lichen that serve as visual reference in the vast nothingness. Like Mars. When the night falls, you can almost hear the stars.
The rest of my time goes by in Famara, a 3km-long wind-wave-sand-dune paradise framed by a dramatic 16 million year-old red basalt cliff. It all makes sense there—the waves look like mountains and the mountains look like waves. I told someone that line once because it sounded poetic but it's also the truth.