Four students explore Tenerife on an unbelievably small budget

By Amanda Blake

We weren’t supposed to be there. Face-to-face with a warning sign on the base of the hill, my American brain sloppily translated the threat to: “Trespassers will be prosecuted.”

But the view was so beautiful. Serene. Enchanting. I quickly joined my three schoolmates in scampering up the trail.

Surrounded by tropical mountains, we were queens of a vast kingdom. To our right lay a mild ocean, softly illuminated by coastal homes. To our left, vibrant aqua waves ran up the shores of Santa Cruz, their backends stretching into darkness, to Gran Canaria. If I squinted, I could see the sister island. At least, I convinced myself I could.

For four young women who had ventured to Tenerife just yesterday, this lush terrain, tinged by bizarre purples and reds that appear only when the sun sets, was theirs to command. It was ours to cherish for one weekend. We were on top of the world.

And . . . it . . . was . . . cheap. Each of us paid €20 for a round-trip plane ticket from Valencia to Tenerife, another €20 to spend the first night at a hostel in El Médano, and €25 for two nights at an Airbnb in between towns dispersed along the edges of the Anaga Mountains— essentially the middle of nowhere. We bought groceries in town for taco salads, sandwiches, pasta, and french toast. I spent less han €120 in total.

On our first day in the largest of Spain’s Canary Islands, we explored Playa del Médano, took naps on Playa de la Tejita, and climbed La Montaña Roja, where we watched the sun set below the island. I tried vegan pistachio gelato, and (sorry

Italy), it remains the best gelato in Europe. We traveled north the next morning to our Airbnb, where we ate a hearty taco salad dinner and decided that the next logical step was to climb the hill behind our temporary castle to catch yet another sunset. Julia was the speediest. She strode up the bank as if going down the stairs. Sydney and Chloé followed at a reasonable pace. I was the slowest, not because the sign scared me but because I had my camera, and everything was the perfect shot.

I arrived at the peak of the hill seconds before the purple-red haze disappeared. A shadow giant loomed above the island: El Teide, an active volcano and the largest mountain in Spain. To its right, closer to us, stationary fireflies: the city of San Cristóbal de La Laguna.

We talked for an hour, maybe two. Similar to how a campfire makes strangers reveal secrets, Tenerife drew the four of us closer. We were all studying at the same college in Sagunto, yet most of us had met only two months prior.

“ What do you wanna do with your major?” “What’s the most beautiful place you’ve ever traveled to?” “Why Spanish?” “Do you think we’ll get arrested if we stay here any longer?”

We forced ourselves to leave the star-lit sanctuary. We needed sleep. Tomorrow, we would hike through the 3,000-foot Anaga Mountains and down to the ocean, an easy task by no means, except maybe for Julia.

We started early. With a few sandwiches, fewer euros and no cell service, we trekked up the highway and into a laurel forest. As I wandered among the trees, coated in mist and neon moss, I could imagine the landscape 1,000 years earlier and somehow knew not much had changed since then.

The ceiling of twisted jungle soon opened to reveal a different landscape, one characterized by dragon trees, cacti and vividly purple flowers beneath a cloudy sky. We shuffled carefully up and down ravines. Every once in a while, we’d pass another hiking group or a farm, but an air of tranquil solitude still managed to permeate the land. At times, I’d forget about everything but the biodiverse paradise I’d become one with.

The ocean’s appearance startled me awake. I suddenly remembered that we had an end goal, an Airbnb to get back to, and a flight the next morning. Julia led the way as we made a steep descent to the rocky coastline, where we found a grass oasis to sit and eat lunch.

A couple weeks later, I was in Barcelona, then Salzburg, then Venice, checking off city after city on my European bucket list, my wallet getting lighter and lighter. I wouldn’t give up my study abroad experience for anything, but, at times, the constant plane rides and draining of funds threatened to overwhelm me. Then, I’d remember Tenerife.

Heart and mind racing, I’d be studying a bus route or taking an unplanned taxi when cyan waves would gently crash into my memory. Warm sand enveloped my feet, frozen pistachio melted on my tongue, sea salt and the sharp, delightful aroma of tropical flowers wafted beneath my nose.

Tenerife hadn’t even been on my bucket list. I’d planned the trip with Chloé, Sydney, and Julia on a whim—tickets were cheap! We weren’t supposed to be there. We weren’t supposed to get away with it. Yet, Tenerife became the beating heart of my European experience, the trip I now describe to friends who ask me, “Where was your favorite place? London? Athens? Amsterdam? . . . ”

No, Tenerife. Or, more specifically, the top of the forbidden hill behind our Airbnb in the middle of nowhere. Our cheap paradise.