Why I don't live on the Canary Islands anymore & the Podencos

Falling in love with the islands

I first visited the Canary Islands ten years ago. I went to Tenerife for ten days during my spring break, and I instantly fell in love with the place. There was something about the landscape, the ocean, the climate, and, most of all, the feeling I had when I was there. I felt something special, and as soon as I got back to London, where I was living and working at the time, I planned a one-month summer holiday in Tenerife for August.

That one month eventually turned into a seven-month epic travel adventure. I travelled around all eight Canary Islands, collecting experiences, stories, photographs, and a growing fascination with the energy and spirituality of the islands. That journey eventually gave birth to my island-chakra book. Then I ran out of money and had to leave. But I knew I wasn't finished with the Canaries.

As soon as I had some savings again, I came back. This time, I enriched my travel experience by volunteering and working locally. I started picking up Spanish, mingled more with locals, learned about the culture, and still enjoyed the company of other travellers and expats. Slowly, however, I transitioned from being a traveller to becoming an employee and a resident. And that was when I started to see, hear, and experience things I hadn't encountered before.

When paradise becomes everyday life

When you're travelling, you can overlook a lot. You wake up somewhere beautiful, swim in the ocean, hike through volcanic landscapes, meet interesting people, and move on before the less attractive parts of a place have much chance to affect you. Living somewhere is different. You start dealing with landlords, employers, bureaucracy, contracts, bills, neighbours, and local politics. You start noticing how things actually work.

One of my friends, an expat who had lived in Tenerife for more than 20 years, once told me:

"Spain is very corrupt."

At the time, I didn’t really know what to make of that statement. Eventually, I had my own experiences with the legal and employment systems that helped me understand why she felt that way.

Generally, what I experienced over the past few years—not only on the islands, but elsewhere as well—along with the experiences and stories shared by others, was that people in positions of authority (directors, lawyers, leaders, owners, etc.), who should have been trusted and relied upon, instead exploited the very people who depended on them, their employees.

If they can’t take advantage of or manipulate you, they hate you or fire you. If they can’t fire you, they play mind games with you. They want you to resign because then they don’t have to pay you. According to Spanish employment law, if a company makes you redundant, it may have to pay you compensation. So, in some cases, employers ideally hire people for just one year because they can afford to pay a relatively small amount if the employment ends after a year. But if you stay for many years, the compensation can become much higher. In my experience, some employers try to avoid this by making working conditions so difficult that employees eventually resign themselves, effectively driving them out of their jobs. I witnessed this happening to a coworker at the Montessori elementary school, and I am currently seeing something similar happening to my friend, who works at a travel agency.

The patriarchal system doesn’t look after you—you have to look after yourself. More and more people are beginning to see and experience how our systems are built on lies, control, and self-interest, making it increasingly difficult to know who to trust. The systems are failing. And when you challenge them or speak openly about what you observe and how things can be improved, you become the problem because they want control over trust, and dominance over love. You will be hated simply for refusing to be manipulated. Perhaps my experience has more to do with the collective collapse of the shadow side of masculinity, and the exposure of the secrets and lies of the patriarchal system—a broken system that is now beginning to fall apart.

At one school where I worked, five out of ten employees filed complaints within a single year, relating either to financial issues in their employment contracts or to abusive behaviour. Our narcissistic school director loved playing mind games, using manipulation and intimidation to maintain control. Her dictatorship-like leadership ultimately destroyed the harmony within the Montessori school environment. I was one of those five so, needless to say, goodbye to receiving a work reference! It also helped me understand some of the financial difficulties the school was experiencing—but that's another story. Many children at the school talked back, turned their backs on me, hit, kicked and bullied each other, and threw books down the stairs, damaged tools and learning materials—just to mention a few of the daily challenges we teachers had to deal with. We were dealing with bored, entitled, or emotionally and mentally unstable children, often with parents who blamed the teachers, all within a disorganised environment where maintaining classroom management and good behaviour was extremely challenging. There were times when I genuinely felt that a bodyguard qualification might have been more suitable for the job than an educator's.

It wasn't just this experience but the accumulation of many experiences that changed my perception.

For example, at the language school on La Gomera, I was verbally abused, disrespected, and belittled by the owner. You can read about this experience in detail HERE.

Or the hurtful and disrespectful way my ex-partner got rid of me. You can read the full story in detail HERE.

And then one of my landlords in Tenerife also turned against me after I confronted her about what I felt was unfair behaviour towards us, her tenants, and asked for a more harmonious and transparent relationship. She took my request as a threat and yelled her frustration at me.

Oh, and then there was the time we were stopped from playing beach volleyball because another team’s coach had secretly put a lock on the water access we needed to cool the scorching black sand beneath our feet. Our coaching sessions had to be put on hold until the council intervened and helped my coach get the lock removed.

Anger. Anger. Anger. Control. Control. Control.

Where does this hostility and fear come from?

If you notice, these were all authority figures (along with entitled children, although I don’t want to blame the children, as I understand that their behaviour is connected to their parents and caretakers, who are the authority figures in their lives) who became exposed to the darker truths about themselves. Hello, fellow lightworkers! I recently watched an interview with shadow-work expert Previn Karian, who hit the nail on the head when he said that, today, authority equals sadism rather than morality. You can watch the interview HERE.

I also began feeling that money often mattered more than people. That some businesses and individuals would take advantage of you if they thought they could, or that work wasn't always taken seriously by those who expected you to take it very seriously. I experienced workplace situations where communication was poor and where questioning decisions wasn't particularly welcome.

And then, there seemed to be a fascination with conflict and drama. If there wasn't any, people would create it. People would talk loudly and quickly about things I considered completely irrelevant to the subject I was referring to. Arguments. Conflicts. Personal issues became everyone's business.

Of course, these are my experiences and observations, not a description of every person living on the islands. I met wonderful, generous, kind, and genuine people, too. But after several years, I couldn't ignore the patterns I was experiencing.

The darker side of paradise: Toxic, dirty, and money-centred?

The Canary Islands are incredibly beautiful. That's actually what makes some of the things I witnessed so difficult to reconcile. You can stand in front of a volcanic landscape that looks almost otherworldly and then turn around and see rubbish. At one of the beaches in the north, I had to swim through a layer of rubbish floating on the surface to reach cleaner water. But when I spotted a Libresse pad floating beside me, I immediately got out of the water and called it a day. I saw foreign residents organising beach clean-ups while local men flicked their cigarette butts out of car windows. I witnessed local teenagers leaving their rubbish behind wherever they happened to be—on beaches, at bus stops, in parks—but I never saw a foreigner doing the same.

The nearest beach to where I lived was closed for a year because sewage from the large hotels nearby was leaking through the pipes into the water. And here's the part that really bothered me: instead of closing the hotel to fix the problem, they closed the beach. So the tourists who had booked a hotel because of the charm of having a beach nearby could look out of their hotel windows at the beach—but couldn't actually use it. Of course, there were other beaches further away. You could rent a car and drive there. And that's exactly the point I'm trying to make: an economy and infrastructure that often seems to revolve around money first.

There is an uncomfortable contradiction here.

The islands depend heavily on tourism, while at the same time there is growing resentment towards tourists and foreigners. I understand the frustration. Tourism changes places. It pushes up rents, increases traffic, puts pressure on infrastructure, and contributes to the construction of more hotels and holiday accommodation. But I also think it's worth asking who benefits from tourism and who is actually responsible for the way the islands are being developed? The tourist who rents an apartment isn't necessarily the person who decided to build another hotel. The foreigner who moves to Tenerife isn't necessarily responsible for housing becoming unaffordable. The traveller who arrives with a backpack isn't the person making the decisions about sewage systems, construction, land use, or tourism policy. And yet the foreigner becomes the easy target.

"Go home. This is our water."

The Canary Islands were inhabited by the Guanche people before the Spanish conquest. The Castilian conquest of the Canary Islands took place over approximately 94 years, from 1402 to 1496. The indigenous population was subjected to warfare, displacement, enslavement, and forced labour, and their culture was largely dismantled. They lost their land, their freedom, and many lost their lives.

So when a local surfer once told my surfing friend, "Go home. This is our water!" I couldn't help but wonder: Is it?

*Symbolically, if I want to surf in “your” water, would I have to wipe you out first and make it mine? Is that how they think?

Personally, I don't believe the land or the ocean belongs exclusively to anyone. I believe the planet belongs to all of us—and that borders were created by power-hungry, ego-driven men to create separation, ownership and, eventually, capitalism. And perhaps this is where my own worldview differs quite strongly from the mentality I sometimes encountered.

Where does all this come from?

The Canary Islands are part of Spain and therefore under Spanish government and law. I admit I don't know enough about Spanish history to make any definitive statements about the psychology of an entire nation. But learning more about its history helped me connect some dots in my own mind and understand where certain behaviours might come from.

Spain's colonial expansion began in the late 15th century, following Christopher Columbus's voyage in 1492. Spain subsequently built a vast global empire driven by gold, glory, and the spread of Catholicism. The conquistadors carried out violent military campaigns that toppled indigenous civilisations such as the Aztec and Inca empires, plundered sacred treasures, and established forced-labour and mining systems to enrich themselves and the Crown. European diseases also devastated Indigenous populations, killing millions.

When I learned more about this history, I couldn't help thinking about the patterns of greed, power, fear, domination, and control that appear throughout it. None of the people I met were responsible for what their ancestors did. I know that. But I couldn't help noticing the echoes of power, ownership, control and hostility that I was experiencing in the present.

History leaves traces. Not only in books and monuments, but in culture, habits, family patterns, and ways of thinking.

Will Teide erupt again?

Now that I mentioned history, let's go back all the way to Atlantis. The Canary Islands are sometimes associated with the remnants of Atlantis, the legendary sunken civilisation. Whether you believe this literally, symbolically, or simply enjoy exploring the idea, it is fascinating to consider. If you're interested in this subject, Matías De Stefano's Initiation series on Gaia is worth exploring, particularly season 2 and season 3. He speaks extensively about the rise and fall of Atlantis.

"During the Age of Scorpio, Atlantis was formed as the civilization to unify consciousness with and across the planet. But it failed as this growing empire began using their prevailing cosmic knowledge to assert power and control over the world. Civil war broke out creating disharmony among the disparate colonies disengaging from control by the mother civilization. The leaders of Atlantis then engaged in a last-ditch effort to control the consciousness of the ever-widening diaspora. This act of desperation led to the demise of the once great civilization, sinking it into the ocean..."

The ancient Greek philosopher Plato also described Atlantis as being destroyed by earthquakes and giant tsunamis, sinking beneath the ocean in a single day and night.

I believe there is a connection between the accumulation of what we might call lower-frequency energy—anger, fear, greed, the desire for domination and control—and the conflicts that emerge from it. When the desire for power becomes strong enough, it can lead to division, aggression, exploitation and eventually war. And if everything on this planet is connected through energy, could nature somehow respond to the frequencies we collectively create?

According to the Atlantis story, after conflict and disharmony spread throughout the civilisation, catastrophic earthquakes and floods followed. In this interpretation, Atlantis ultimately experienced the consequences of its own destructive relationship with power. Remember, nature is also power.

So I started wondering: what happens when a place accumulates a particular kind of collective energy for long enough? If people continue to feed anger, hostility, greed and the desire for control, could that energy eventually manifest in some way through the natural environment?

Teide is an active volcano, so of course, the possibility of an eruption exists. However, there were no serious warning signs pointing towards an imminent eruption. People were talking about tremors, and we were also tested for an emergency signal designed to be used in the event of an evacuation or major disaster—a loud, centrally controlled alarm on our phones that can reach everyone on the island simultaneously, residents and tourists alike.

Teide last erupted in 1909. In numerology, 1909 reduces to 10: 1 + 9 + 0 + 9 = 19 → 1 + 9 = 10

And 2026 also reduces to 10: 2 + 0 + 2 + 6 = 10

In numerology, 10 is associated with cycle completion, wholeness and fresh beginnings. I'm not suggesting that this means Teide is destined to erupt again this year. Rather, I see it as an interesting symbolic coincidence—something to contemplate. Perhaps 2026 represents a turning point of some kind, with the possibility of closing one cycle and beginning another.

Then comes 2027, which reduces to the master number 11: 2 + 0 + 2 + 7 = 11

In numerology, 11 is associated with illumination, intuition, spiritual awakening, and higher consciousness. This year would be a great time to start rebuilding from a place of higher consciousness.

I'm not saying that Teide will erupt in 2026. I certainly wouldn't make such a claim without scientific and geological evidence. Volcanoes don't erupt because of numerology or human emotions, and any prediction of an eruption needs to be based on actual scientific monitoring. But I do find the symbolism interesting.

The Podencos

Another thing I learned about while living in the Canary Islands was the Podenco. I accidentally came across these dogs here and there, and their unusual appearance caught my attention. They reminded me of greyhounds with enormous ears. They are high-energy dogs and one of the oldest breeds in the world, believed to descend from ancient hunting dogs associated with Egypt. On the islands, they are commonly used for hunting, particularly rabbits. The more I learned about them, the more disturbed I became.

Here's why:

Podencos are often described by animal welfare organisations as "invisible dogs" or "the great forgotten". Many are kept on chains, in cages, or in inadequate conditions and used primarily as hunting animals rather than treated as companion animals. They are the most abused dog in Spain and these ‘working dogs’ are not protected by Spanish law. "In 2023, there was an overhaul to the Spanish animal rights laws but devastatingly hunting dogs were excluded from these rights as they are viewed as tools and therefore not protected.” But a tool is an object. It's non-existent. It doesn't breathe, feel, or suffer. A dog does.

For me, that raised a much bigger question:

How can a society look at a living, breathing animal and reduce it to a tool?

That way of thinking deeply disturbed me. It reminded me of something I had increasingly noticed elsewhere too—the tendency to value things according to what they can produce, rather than what they are.

*Symbolically, imagine if God created a law stating that every nation in the world (represented by different dog breeds) had to be treated with respect and kindness, except for the Spanish (the “hunting dog breed”). The Spanish would be considered “just” tools, so why care about their rights?

You can read more about Podencos and their situation HERE

The energy changed

There was another shift I noticed during my years in Tenerife. The island seemed to be attracting a new wave of people—not necessarily people who came because they loved the island, but people who saw an opportunity to make money from it. I felt a difference in the atmosphere. More commercialisation. More competition. More aggressive behaviour. More people are trying to extract something from the place rather than connect with it. They take more than they give. Perhaps this is simply what happens when a beautiful place becomes increasingly popular. The irony is that the very thing people come to the islands for—their energy, nature, slower pace, and sense of freedom—can slowly disappear when too many people arrive wanting to monetise it.

You can have a good life in Tenerife, but not work

At some point, my Spanish teacher told me, "You can have a good life in Tenerife, but not work."

I met people who lived on social benefits without working and appeared to have accepted this as a way of life.   

My expat friends and I often discussed how the ideal situation would be to work remotely in another country while living in Tenerife. If you have an income from another country, own your home or have financial security, have a car, and don't depend too heavily on the local employment market, the islands can be an incredible place to live.

You also really need a car. Without one, depending on where exactly you live, your options can be very limited. For example, what would otherwise have been a 30-minute drive took me two hours by bus each morning because of transfers and traffic. Public transport does exist, and it's free for residents, but it isn’t always reliable, and if you want to fully explore and enjoy the island, you probably won’t want to spend hours travelling on a cramped bus. There were also times when a bus wouldn’t even stop to pick you up because it was already full, meaning you’d have to wait for the next one—which could be another hour away. And if you're an empath who is sensitive to AC and the crowd, you'll hate using the bus daily.

So why did I leave?

There is nothing wrong with the Canary Islands. The islands themselves are unique, beautiful, energetically powerful, and healing. There are places where I have felt more connected to myself than almost anywhere else. But places are not just landscapes. They are also the people, systems, cultures, and values operating within them.

I still love the islands and the memories I collected. The islands gave me an incredible chapter of my life. I don't regret living there. Not for a second. In fact, I'm incredibly grateful that I did. But I also don't romanticise it anymore. And after several years, I realised that while the islands still had my heart, they were no longer the place where I wanted to—or could afford to—build my life.

Maybe I'll return one day. Perhaps I'll live there again, but under completely different circumstances—working remotely, with more freedom and fewer dependencies.

It's not the place that makes it difficult for you to belong there. It's the people and the systems.

Sometimes a place can be your teacher, your healer, your inspiration, and even your love story—without being your forever home.

Until next time ♡