Canary Way of St James: Gran Canaria, Maspalomas to Gáldar

Michael Stief walked the Canary Way of St James on Gran Canaria: from the Faro de Maspalomas lighthouse in the south right across the island to the Church of St James in Gáldar in the north. He walked it in three stages with a rest day at Finca La Isa and, during the Holy Year 2021/22, arrived in Gáldar just in time for the Epiphany Mass.

From the Faro de Maspalomas to Gáldar

The Canary Way of St James on Gran Canaria. A Canary Way of St James? Yes, it exists. From the lighthouse, the Faro de Maspalomas, all the way to Gáldar. Right across the island from south to north.

(You can download the GPX file for this walk here)

And there's a Compostela too. Thanks to a papal privilege granted to the Canarians.

Days 1 and 2: Arriving in Maspalomas

Arriving in Maspalomas. That's where the route starts, at the lighthouse. On the day of arrival, first get a feel for the area, and on Sunday pick up a pilgrim's blessing at the Templo Ecuménico El Salvador. The German Mass is on Sundays at 11:15 am, followed by drinks afterwards.

Then warm up with a beach walk from Playa del Inglés to Maspalomas at sunset. One more night's sleep and then we're off.

Stage 1: Maspalomas – San Bartolomé (Tunte)

Start at the lighthouse. The Canary Way of St James runs between Maspalomas and Gáldar.

It all starts at the Maspalomas lighthouse, the Faro – ideally just before sunrise. That way you can still admire the sunrise before walking along the beach to the first signpost of the S-54, which I followed on this first stage.

It runs – from the Charco de Maspalomas, where the dunes are – along the Barranco de Fataga, which crosses the whole town as a walled riverbed.

Hey, if you're smart, you'll use the morning shade along the riverbed; you'll get more than enough sun over the following almost 30 km.

Through the Barranco de Fataga to Fataga

The Barranco de Fataga runs to the edge of town and turns into wilderness at a roundabout.

Passing under a road bridge with remarkable graffiti, you head out into the desert-like ravine, where you can follow the reliable signposts and the odd yellow arrow. The highlight is an old aqueduct that still carries water. You should carry some too, to cover the 21 kilometres through the ravine to San Bartolomé, alias Tunte, because shade is rare in the barranco and even experienced hikers will hardly escape the midday sun.

Long, relentless climbs sap your strength in the midday sun until, level with Arteara, you reach a turn-off to the Necropolis of Arteara. If you know that the untrained eye will only spot uniform piles of stones there, you'll resist the temptation to descend the rough rubble path into the barranco and stay on the path towards Fataga.

Otherwise, it's over sharp stones down to the bottom of the barranco and then back up to Arteara, and on over some nasty climbs across the other shoulder of the ravine to Fataga, where the village church is the milestone and starting point for the third and final section of the first stage: the path to San Bartolomé, or Tunte, as it was called in the language of the indigenous people.

From Fataga to Tunte

On the way from Fataga to Tunte, you first head down into the barranco, which is green at this point, where palm groves give way to sugar cane thickets.

Then the path winds its way up again on dusty trails and stone-paved paths until Tunte finally comes into view, and your accommodation and a plate of hot estofado aren't far away.

Stage 2: Tunte – Cruz de Tejeda

After more than 30 kilometres and around 1,000 metres of ascent on the first stage, the body first wants some rest before it gives the OK for another stage.

So in the morning the path first leads to the Bar Quatro Esquinas, where you get not only coffee strong enough to wake the dead, but also the stamp for your credential and water for the road.

Back on Tunte's main square, the pilgrim first crosses the commemorative plaque for the Holy Year 2021/22 set into the ground and then enters the village's Church of St James. There, a martial Santiago Matamoros peeks out from behind the columns, while on the other side a banner reminds pilgrims that this pilgrimage is only a symbol of the long journey of life to our merciful Father in heaven.

Then you follow the signposts onto the S-50 trail, past the local cemetery, to the start of the Way of St James near a cement works.

Sixteen kilometres and another good 1,000 metres of ascent now lie ahead of the pilgrim to Cruz de Tejeda – and in my case to Finca La Isa, which nestles a good kilometre further down against the edge of the caldera.

But first it's a steep climb up the Camino Real, the royal road, to the Cruz Grande. The path is paved with rough stones – more to protect it against the occasional downpour than to make life easier for the hiker.

At the Cruz Grande, a signpost announces that you've already climbed 3.5 kilometres and now it's only 12 kilometres to Cruz de Tejeda. But those still have a sting in the tail, because first you have to climb another 500 metres up to the heights of Garañón. In return, your eyes are rewarded with a view over the caldera and barranco all the way to Maspalomas and the sea, and can delight in the blossoms of scattered almond trees.

Finally, it's one more steep climb up the mountain in exposed hairpin bends until at last you reach the top and the pines of Garañón come into view. The hardest part of the route, through desert and crater slopes, is now behind you, and legs and eyes are looking forward to the shady pine forests.

Through the pine forests to Cruz de Tejeda

Once you've made the climb from Tunte to the Cruz Grande and on up to the heights of Garañón, the pine forests between Roque Nublo and Pico de las Nieves lie before you beyond a lava field.

Looking back all the way to the coast, you go over the route so far once more, and soon a signpost in a secluded spot announces that you've done half of this stage.

Along broad, avenue-like forest tracks, you continue to Camp Garañón, a sports and adventure camp for young people. There you can choose to go straight on to Cruz de Tejeda or via Roque Nublo, a landmark of Gran Canaria, to Tejeda.

Here I get lost on one of the many paths, but still end up at the Degollada de Becerra, the last milestone before Cruz de Tejeda, my destination for the day, and one of the most fantastic viewpoints on the whole island: while in the west the golden light of the sun turns Roque Bentayga, a sacred mountain of the indigenous people, into a silhouette, your gaze sweeps on across the panorama, which opens up a view over the entire caldera and Tenerife rising out of the haze.

And so, in the golden evening light, I finally reach Cruz de Tejeda on narrow, dusty paths as the sun sets completely. My lodgings, Finca La Isa, still another 45 minutes away on foot, I reach by hitchhiking thanks to two angels in the form of a couple with a car: not only do they give me a lift part of the way, they're actually staying at the finca too and drive me right to the front door.

Rest day at Finca La Isa

After the second stage I took a rest day. I'd already suspected that doing the whole route in three days would be too much for me. Almost two years of working from home had taken a considerable toll on my fitness.

Besides, I had chosen Finca La Isa as my accommodation. A mountain hostel nestled into the mountainside between the village of Tejeda and the Cruz de Tejeda. Among hikers and mountaineers, there was a wonderful mix of hippie and hostel vibes.

The weather had changed and was no longer hot, but windy and cool. That was a good reason to chill in the finca's “parlour” over coffee and chess – in the glow of a Christmas tree made from an agave flower.

Outside, the gathering clouds kept creating new, magical views of the already breathtaking panorama. When the sun went down and set the clouds aglow, my previously tired legs felt like tackling the remaining 21 kilometres to the Church of St James in Gáldar after all.

Stage 3: Cruz de Tejeda – Gáldar

After my rest day, I set off first thing in the morning, well wrapped up. Forty-five minutes later I was back at the signpost to Cruz de Tejeda, and shortly afterwards at the striking stone cross in front of the Parador there.

Leaving the Parador to the left, the climb began straight away, over a muddy, rocky something that was only recognisable as a path by the arrow and shell.

A gale blowing in from the coast drove first the clouds, then the raindrops horizontally across the ridge at what felt like zero degrees, as the path climbed steeply for just 200 m.

But then I reached the pine forest, the wind was no longer so strong, and I followed the waymarks to a fork where a nativity scene had been set up with a slate and the words Peace and Love, Paz y Amor.

Along the shoulder of the mountain, it went on along narrow, muddy paths and later roads to the first milestone, which announced the good news that I had now covered about a third of the way. A few hours later I came to one of those typical signs that, in the area around Gáldar, warn drivers about pilgrims, the way ours back home warn of deer crossing.

In the village of Hoya de Pineda I briefly returned to civilisation, only to enter a barranco – green this time – shortly afterwards, behind a broken-down car.

I shared the path with a flock of sheep, for whom the narrow, exposed path was better suited than for me. Eventually the path widened, and in the distance the town was already visible, and the sea too.

The rain had stopped by now – it had already soaked me through anyway – and so, slowly drying, I set off on the last few kilometres.

Arriving in Gáldar

Three days earlier I had set off in sunshine and heat; all morning and afternoon I had braved wind and rain, and now – after around 60 kilometres – there at last lay the green barranco before me, with the town of Gáldar in the distance and the sea in the sunshine.

The landscape became even more barren. Soon the path led between abandoned banana plantations. But then I came across the next milestone, which, like a messenger of joy, announced that it was only a good kilometre to the finish.

Not long after, I turned onto the main street of Gáldar, decorated for Christmas. With its dark paving, it reminded me of the streets of Santiago de Compostela. And then I was standing in the square in front of the church, between tree-high weeping figs decorated with big strings of lights: still soaked from the rain, but happy to have reached my goal.

The church itself was locked, and after walking all the way around it, I went to see the town's “nativity scene” in a nearby building, which filled an entire room with lots of oriental scenes.

Then I first refuelled and warmed up in a nearby restaurant with papas arrugadas and pulpo gallego. It was already dark when I returned to the now colourfully lit church square for the Epiphany Mass. The Porta Santa for the Holy Year was open too, and I was able to walk through it joyfully.

Building work was going on in the Church of St James, which also reminded me a little of the cathedral in Santiago. A side altar showed – disconcerting as always – St James as “Moor-slayer”.

Slowly drying, I then stood in the draughty church with feet that were now aching after all and celebrated Mass. On my way out I was given my certificate straight away (which wasn't a real Compostela after all, but never mind), took a selfie in front of the Holy Door and then walked through the colourfully lit streets of Gáldar.

Finally, a taxi took the tired pilgrim to his lodgings in nearby El Agujero, where I stayed another day before boarding the plane home after a week on the island.

Thanks to Michael Stief for this pilgrim's story. You can find out more about Michael at www.michaelstief.com