Maspalomas

Wandering the Dunas de Maspalomas feels like stepping into a surreal, sandy mashup of Lawrence of Arabia and an Ibiza chill-out lounge, minus the camels but plus the occasional topless sunbather. These surreal dunes, stretching improbably across Gran Canaria's southern tip, are the island's whimsical tribute to the Sahara-nature clearly writing fanfiction. Early morning offers cool sand and solitude, ideal for moody Instagram shots or introspective strolls; late afternoon, however, is peak selfie-hour with golden-hour lighting that'll have you questioning your career choices. Plan at least a few hours ahead, pack sunscreen, water, sunglasses (sand in your eyes quickly destroys any poetic desert fantasies), and a towel if spontaneous dips into the nearby ocean seem irresistible. Budget? Free. But consider setting aside a few euros for a cold beer afterward to toast your bravery in conquering miniature desert dunes amid tourist nudity. Sure, they're just piles of sand, but visiting Dunas de Maspalomas is the kind of delightfully eccentric experience that, weeks later, lets you interrupt friends mid-brunch with, "Did I mention the time I got lost in a Spanish mini-desert?"

There's something wonderfully absurd about straddling a camel-an animal whose disdainful glare suggests it's seen humanity's worst life choices-and letting it whisk you (at a leisurely plod) across the surreal landscape of Dunas de Maspalomas. These dunes, sprawling like a misplaced chunk of Sahara plonked onto Gran Canaria's southern shore, have beckoned explorers, beach lovers, and sunburned tourists since the 1960s, a peculiar legacy of windblown sand and whimsical tourism ambition. Book your hump-backed steed at least a day in advance, aim for early morning or late afternoon (unless you prefer sweating like a Hemingway character in midday sun), and set aside around €15-€30 for the privilege. Bring sunscreen, sunglasses, and a camera-this is the selfie you'll cherish, if only for the camel's unmistakable look of judgmental boredom. Practicality aside, there's an irresistible strangeness about camel-riding among sandy waves with the Atlantic glittering just beyond. Even if your thighs protest and your dignity frays, you'll step away with a tan line, a story, and an odd kinship with an animal unimpressed by your life decisions.