Tenerife North Coast Guide: Escaping the Resorts for the Anaga Rainforest

The short version: To find the real Tenerife, you have to completely abandon the concrete mega-resorts in the south. Driving up into the island’s extreme north reveals a 20-million-year-old prehistoric rainforest, isolated cliffside villages, and a raw, violent volcanic coastline that looks like the edge of the world.

When most people hear the word “Tenerife,” a very specific, slightly grim image comes to mind. It usually involves sprawling concrete mega-resorts, neon-lit strips offering a “Full English” at three in the afternoon, and beaches where people are actively fighting over plastic sunbeds before the sun has even bothered to rise. It’s the undisputed package holiday capital of Europe, a place built entirely for mass consumption. And to be completely honest with you, I absolutely hate it.

There is nothing appealing to me about flying thousands of miles just to sit in an imitation Irish pub or lie shoulder-to-shoulder on imported Saharan sand, surrounded by the smell of cheap suncream and profound regret. But here is the thing about Tenerife, and it’s a secret that the coastal high-rises manage to hide incredibly well: the island has a severe split personality. The heavily developed south is just a tiny, artificial fraction of what this landmass actually is.

I set out to get as far away from the tourist traps as physically possible. My goal was to drive to the extreme, mountainous north of the island to find a 20-million-year-old living fossil, to explore remote villages clinging desperately to sheer cliff faces, and to stand on a coastline so raw and unforgiving that it feels like the very edge of the map. If you are willing to turn your back on the all-inclusive wristbands, the real, untamed Tenerife is waiting.

Why should you leave the crowded resorts of South Tenerife?

You should leave the southern resorts to escape the manufactured, mass-consumption side of the island. Driving just a few hours north into the Anaga Massif trades crowded imitation pubs for absolute silence and a rugged, 20-million-year-old ecosystem.

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To do this properly, and to save your sanity, you have to beat the crowds. I got out of the south before the sun was even up. Navigating the TF-1 motorway in the dark, watching the garish, illuminated resort towns fade in the rearview mirror, brings a profound sense of relief. At that hour, there are zero crowds, absolute silence, and exactly the kind of isolation I came looking for.

The psychological shift happens long before the geographical one. As you bypass the capital, Santa Cruz, and begin the steep, grinding ascent into the Anaga Massif, the modern world completely falls away. It’s a sensory shock. The temperature plummets by a good ten degrees, and the dry, barren, almost lunar landscape of the south is suddenly replaced by dense, damp, violently green vegetation. The roads narrow from multi-lane motorways into tight, twisting ribbons of tarmac that demand your absolute attention.

What is it like to drive through the Anaga rainforest?

Driving through the Anaga Rural Park feels like entering a completely different, prehistoric world. The temperature plummets by ten degrees as dry lunar landscapes give way to the laurisilva—a damp, ancient laurel forest that predates human existence.

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The Anaga Rural Park isn’t just a forest; it is quite literally a time capsule. When I mentioned setting out to find a “20-million-year-old living fossil,” I wasn’t talking about a dinosaur bone in a museum. I was talking about the laurisilva, or laurel forest.

To give you some straightforward geological and historical context: millions of years ago, during the Tertiary period, this specific type of dense, humid, broadleaf rainforest covered much of southern Europe and North Africa. Then the ice ages came, the global climate drastically changed, and those vast continental forests were wiped off the map. But because the Canary Islands are situated out in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean, their maritime climate remained relatively stable. The laurisilva survived here, and almost nowhere else.

Walking through Anaga today means walking through a prehistoric ecosystem that predates human existence by an unimaginably long stretch of time. The trunks of the trees are twisted and gnarled, thick with hanging moss and ferns. The air smells intensely of damp earth, sweet laurel leaves, and rainfall.

Usually, when you drive up here, you will hit the famous “sea of clouds” (mar de nubes). This is a brilliant local weather phenomenon where the trade winds push heavy moisture against the steep northern mountains, trapping a thick, immovable layer of cloud against the peaks. It usually makes the forest incredibly atmospheric, dark, and dripping with moisture—like stepping onto a film set. But the weather on this island does whatever it wants, regardless of the forecast. By the time I arrived at Mirador Cruz del Carmen, the clouds had broken. It was bright, warm, and sunny, offering startlingly clear views that stretched for miles across the jagged green peaks and down to the ocean.

A Quick Tip for Cruz del Carmen

If you are planning this drive, Cruz del Carmen is the main visitor hub and the starting point for several brilliant, well-marked hiking trails (ranging from 30-minute strolls to grueling all-day treks). However, the car park is notoriously, frustratingly small. If you arrive after 9:30 AM, you will find yourself in a stressful, slow-moving queue of rental cars fighting over a single space. Do yourself a massive favour: set the alarm, get up early, and claim your spot before the massive tour buses inevitably turn up.

Why did the village of Taganana remain isolated until the 1950s?

Taganana remained completely cut off from the rest of Tenerife because it was trapped between plunging mountains and treacherous ocean swells. The village didn’t even get a proper tarmac road connecting it to the island’s modern network until the 1950s.

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The roads up here are… well, they definitely keep you awake. They snake along the very ridgelines of plunging ravines. Looking down into these massive, near-vertical drops from the driver’s seat, you suddenly realise just how extreme the isolation is up here. It is genuinely hard to fathom that just a few hours’ drive away, people are queuing up for a lukewarm buffet breakfast in a concrete tower block.

Following these winding roads eventually brings you to Taganana. This is a properly isolated, working village, its bright white houses seemingly glued to the side of a steep, emerald-green cliff.

The history of Taganana is fascinating and explains a lot about the incredibly slow pace of life here. The name itself comes from the Guanches, the indigenous people of the Canary Islands who lived here long before the Spanish conquest in the 15th century. It roughly translates to “surrounded by mountains.” For centuries, this village was entirely cut off from the rest of the island by land. The only way in or out was by sea, navigating the treacherous northern swells, or by undertaking a brutal, back-breaking trek over the mountains with donkeys.

In fact, they didn’t even have a proper tarmac road connecting them to the rest of Tenerife until the 1950s. Because of that extreme historical isolation, Taganana still operates on a completely different frequency to the tourist hubs. There is zero urgency here. You’ll see elderly locals sitting on the walls in the village squares, and steep, terraced farms growing potatoes and vines just as they have for generations. Historically, they used to grow Malvasia grapes here to make sweet Malmsey wine, which was famously exported to England and beloved by Shakespeare. Today, the only sound you hear is the wind whipping off the Atlantic.

What are the Roques de Anaga at Playa del Roque de las Bodegas?

The Roques de Anaga are massive, jagged volcanic monoliths sitting just off the pitch-black sand beach. They are the hardened inner cores of ancient volcanoes, left behind after millions of years of the Atlantic Ocean violently eroding the softer rock around them.

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Dropping all the way down from the village, following the tight switchbacks to the coast, you finally hit the water at Playa del Roque de las Bodegas.

If you are used to the golden (and often artificially imported) sands of the south coast beaches, this coastline will be a severe shock to the system. The sand here is pitch black, born entirely from crushed volcanic rock. And the ocean isn’t a calm, blue swimming pool gently lapping at the shore; it is an aggressive, churning mass of white water.

Right out there in the water, taking the absolute worst that the Atlantic Ocean can throw at them, are the Roques de Anaga. These massive, jagged pillars of stone rising out of the sea look like something CGI’d into a fantasy film, but their origin is purely, violently geological.

These rocks are the hard inner cores—the volcanic plugs—of ancient volcanoes. Millions of years ago, magma cooled and hardened inside the vertical vents of active volcanoes. Over countless millennia, the sheer force of the sea has relentlessly battered the coast, completely eroding away the softer outer layers of ash, pumice, and loose rock. What is left behind are these stubborn, hardened monoliths standing out there in the waves, flatly refusing to give way.

This coastline is the absolute ultimate anti-resort. There is no calm water to paddle in. There are no beach bars blaring terrible pop music. There are no rows of £10-a-day sunbeds. There is just raw, violent, untamed nature.

Is it safe to swim on Tenerife’s northern coast?

No, swimming on the exposed northern coast is incredibly dangerous and often strictly forbidden. The Atlantic Ocean here is an aggressive, churning mass of white water with severe, unpredictable rip tides that can drag you out in seconds.

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It feels incredibly stark down here. The water isn’t messing about. The currents along the northern coast are notoriously dangerous, and swimming is often completely out of the question due to severe, unpredictable rip tides that can drag you out in seconds. You will see signs warning against bathing, and you should absolutely take them seriously.

When you stand safely on the edge of the black sand and watch the sheer, terrifying force of the waves hitting the volcanic rock—feeling the saltwater mist coat your skin and hearing the deafening roar of the impact—a lot of things suddenly make sense. You understand exactly how these jagged, dramatic mountains behind us got carved out in the first place. The landscape is locked in a constant, endless, violent fight with the ocean.

If you make it down here, skip the pre-packed sandwiches. Find one of the small, unpretentious seafood restaurants perched just slightly back from the beach. Order some locally caught octopus (pulpo) and a plate of papas arrugadas—those brilliant, salty, wrinkly Canarian potatoes served with an aggressive, garlic-heavy green and red mojo sauce. Sitting there, eating honest food and watching the waves smash against the black rock, you get a genuine sense of what the Canary Islands were before mass tourism irrevocably changed them.

What do you need to know before driving in northern Tenerife?

Before exploring the north, you absolutely need to rent a car with enough power to handle extreme gradients, and ensure you have a full tank of fuel before leaving the capital. The Anaga mountains have zero petrol stations, exceptionally narrow roads, and unpredictable microclimates that can drop temperatures by 10 degrees in minutes.

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If you are inspired to escape the sunbed wars and explore Anaga for yourself, you cannot just turn up in flip-flops. Here are a few practical things you need to know:

• Hire a Car with a Decent Engine: The roads (specifically the TF-12 and TF-134) are incredibly steep and winding. A deeply underpowered, base-model rental car will scream in first gear and struggle on the inclines. Pay a fraction more for something that can actually climb.
• Driving Etiquette: The roads are exceptionally narrow with blind corners. If you meet a local bus coming around a hairpin bend, you will be the one reversing. Take it slow, use the passing places, and don’t let impatient drivers rush you into scraping your rental deposit along a rock face.
• Pack Layers (and Real Shoes): Tenerife is an island of microclimates. You might leave the south in 28°C blazing heat, but up in the Anaga cloud forest, it can easily drop to 14°C, with damp fog and rain. Bring a jumper, a light waterproof jacket, and if you plan to walk the trails, wear proper trainers or hiking boots. The laurisilva trails get incredibly slick with mud.
• Fuel Up First: There are zero petrol stations in the Anaga Rural Park. Absolutely none. Make sure you have a full tank before you start the climb from Santa Cruz or San Cristóbal de La Laguna.
• Best Time to Visit: Early morning is essential. Not only do you beat the day-trippers to the limited parking spots, but the soft morning light hitting the deep green ravines and the black sand beaches is vastly superior for photography.

The Real Tenerife

From a prehistoric forest dripping with mist, to a coastline locked in a constant, violent struggle with the ocean, making the effort to escape the package holiday destinations completely changes how you see this island. Tenerife is not just a cheap winter sun destination designed to sell pints of lager. It is a rugged, ancient, and dramatic volcanic landmass with a rich, hard-fought history and ecosystems found nowhere else on earth.

If you are willing to leave the resort, rent a car, and drive up into the clouds, the real Tenerife is waiting for you. And trust me, it is infinitely better than an all-inclusive buffet.

What is your favourite off-the-beaten-path destination that completely surprised you? Are you a fan of the resorts, or do you prefer to escape the crowds? Let me know in the comments below, I’d love to read about your own escapes from the tourist traps.

Where to stay in Anaga, Tenerife

If you are looking for an all-inclusive buffet and a swim-up bar, you have absolutely taken a wrong turn. Up here in the Anaga Massif, the accommodation is entirely dictated by the wild, unforgiving topography. You are trading concrete mega-hotels for intimately sized, locally-owned guesthouses and modest hikers’ retreats tucked away in the damp canopy of the laurel forest. They are simple, dead quiet, and serve as the perfect base camp if you just want to wake up and disappear into the ancient trails.

If you want to step it up, the boutique options out here are genuinely special. You will find beautifully restored historic fincas and independent, design-led rural hotels clinging to the sheer cliffs of the isolated coastal hamlets. They lean heavily into their heritage, offering dramatic, sweeping views of the violent Atlantic without a single neon sign in sight.

Just keep in mind that staying in Anaga means actively embracing the isolation. There is no nightlife out here, and the winding mountain roads demand your full attention to navigate, but that is exactly the point. It is the ultimate antidote to mass tourism, built for travelers who actually want to experience the island rather than just consume it.

Browse my Anaga hotel picks on Expedia →