Puerto del Rosario

If your idea of a good time involves blending into a seething mass of humanity dressed like glitter-covered parrots, dancing to frenetic drumbeats, and trying desperately to remember how exactly you ended up with feathers glued to your forehead, then Carnival de Puerto del Rosario is your ticket to glory. This exuberant Canarian bash hits the city center each year with an irresistible blend of infectious music, vibrant costumes, and that intoxicating Spanish energy that screams "manana can wait." Historically, these festivities trace their irreverently joyful roots back to pre-Lent blowouts, when islanders squeezed in as much fun as possible before the somber weeks ahead. Today, practicality dictates you dive in around dusk, when the energy reaches peak madness, costume feathers haven't yet wilted, and the local rum hasn't yet erased your memory (bring cash-€20-50 should cover street snacks and potent tropical cocktails to fuel your bravado). Plan your accommodations at least two months ahead, pack absurdly comfortable shoes, and carry water, sunscreen, and a willingness to completely abandon your dignity. Ultimately, embarking on this kaleidoscopic collision of revelry, excess, and cultural immersion is something you'll never quite regret-even if you wake up the next morning covered in glitter, the proud owner of an inflatable unicorn, and with only a hazy memory of conga-lining through the night with deliriously cheerful strangers. After all, how else do great stories begin?

If your idea of fun involves battling Mother Nature in turquoise waters while looking impossibly cool-or more likely, flailing wildly trying to stay upright on a surfboard-then surfing at Corralejo Dunes is your winning ticket. Sprawling dramatically along the northeastern corner of Fuerteventura in Corralejo's natural park, these dunes feel like the Sahara took a sneaky Mediterranean vacation and refused to leave. Surfing here pairs perfectly with a touch of existential reflection, considering you're essentially riding waves beside a landscape shaped by millennia of winds grinding volcanic rocks into silky sand grains. Do yourself a favor and aim to paddle out early in the morning-around sunrise, when the winds behave themselves and the crowds haven't yet cluttered your Instagram backdrop. Plan ahead by booking your surf gear or lessons a couple of days in advance; €40 to €60 should cover board rental and a patient, good-humored instructor who'll pretend you're improving. Bring sunscreen strong enough to withstand nuclear blasts, water to avoid sandy-mouth syndrome, and a towel thick enough to hide your bruised dignity afterward. Even if surfing turns out to be less "Blue Crush" and more face-planting humiliation, the wild beauty of Corralejo's dunes is worth every grain of sand lodged inconveniently in places you won't speak of later. At least you'll walk away with a great story-and perhaps a newfound appreciation for solid ground.

Scaling Mount Tindaya isn't your average glossy brochure day trip-it's more like trespassing respectfully through history itself, a rugged pilgrimage into the spiritual backyard of Fuerteventura's indigenous Maho people. Rising improbably from an otherwise flat, lunar landscape, this sacred peak cuts into the sky like a defiant foreign punctuation mark, its weathered slopes etched with mysterious petroglyphs, symbols whose meanings are now known only to the wind and perhaps the occasional smug archaeologist. Visit early, preferably just after sunrise, when the shadows accentuate the carvings, and the heat hasn't yet turned your adventure into a sweaty existential slog. Plan ahead-at least a week-to snatch up the necessary permit (bureaucracy respects no spirits), and bring sturdy shoes, plenty of water, sunscreen, and humility, because you're stepping onto territory once reserved for rituals you wouldn't understand. Budget little more than the cost of lunch afterwards, preferably at a local haunt eager to serve you a cold beer alongside a sardonic smile. Even if ancient carvings leave you unmoved, even if spiritual awakenings elude you, climbing Tindaya is worth it for the irreverent thrill of saying you've trekked a mountain so revered by ancient islanders, they thought gods would pause their celestial chores to listen.