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about Los Llanos de Aridane
Economic engine of western La Palma; a modern farming town with access to beaches like Puerto Naos; hit by the recent volcano.
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Los Llanos de Aridane wakes up to the smell of wet banana leaves and coffee strong enough to keep a truck driver awake on the LP-2. At 340 m above the Atlantic, the morning air is cooler than the coast below, and the mist that clings to the Caldera rim is still deciding whether to lift or linger. By eight o’clock, the Plaza de España is already busy: market stallholders dragging crates of papaya the size of rugby balls, office workers queueing for a cortado, and German hikers in telescopic boots asking where to catch the Caldera shuttle. Nobody is here for picture-postcard perfection; they are here because the town works.
The municipal territory stretches from the black-sand sweep of Puerto Naos to the pine forest at the lip of the Taburiente crater, but the centre itself is compact. A ten-minute stroll takes you from the church of Nuestra Señora de Los Remedios—its bell tower patched with volcanic stone after the 1949 eruption—past balconied houses whose peeling paint reveals five centuries of sun, and into the Parque Antonio Gómez Felipe, where grandparents play dominoes under enormous ficus trees. The architecture is Canarian vernacular rather than grand colonial: wooden balconies, internal patios, and the occasional art-deco façade that arrived with the 1950s banana boom. Some mansions are immaculate; others have satellite dishes bolted crookedly above cracked green shutters. Both versions are photogenic if you prefer your history lived-in rather than curated.
Thursday is market day. Stalls radiate from the plaza along Calle Real and the atmosphere is more neighbourhood larder than tourist souvenir hunt. A pound of avocados costs two euros, the cheese lady will vacuum-seal a wedge of goat’s cheese for your hold luggage, and the honey seller offers tastings from plastic spoons that taste faintly of coffee from the previous customer. If you have arrived hoping for fridge-magnet wisdom, you will be disappointed; if you need ingredients for a self-catered dinner, you have struck gold.
Los Llanos is not pretty in the way of honey-stone Cotswold villages. It is flat, low-rise and occasionally scruffy, but it functions as the island’s commercial heart. The big supermarkets, the courthouse, the only cinema on La Palma and the Saturday-night taxi rank are all here. That practicality is precisely why many British winter-sun residents base themselves within the town’s grid rather than along the purpose-built seafront strips. A three-bed apartment three streets back from the plaza rents for around €550 a month—half the price of an identical flat in Puerto Naos ten minutes downhill—and the bus to the beach leaves every hour for €1.40.
Downhill is the operative word. The coast is only 8 km away, yet the road drops 300 m through hair-pin bends scented with eucalyptus. Puerto Naos is a serviceable beach rather than a ravishing one: charcoal-coloured sand, sun-loungers at €4 a day, and a promenade lined with bars that switch effortlessly between German beer standards and BBC World. The water is clear enough for snorkelling when the Atlantic behaves, but swells can turn fierce in winter; red flags go up and surfers replace swimmers. Check access before you set off—landslides following the 2021 eruption periodically close the LP-213, and nothing sours a holiday faster than a two-hour detour back up the valley.
Walkers treat Los Llanos as a dormitory for the Caldera de Taburiente, the 10-km-wide crater that dominates the island’s skyline. The national park headquarters is on the edge of town, and the 4×4 shuttle to the Los Brecitos trailhead leaves from a side street at 07:30 sharp. Places sell out days ahead at Easter and in October half-term; book online or you will end up in the secondary queue hoping for no-shows. Once inside the crater the temperature drops ten degrees, phone reception vanishes, and the path descends through Canary pine and giant ferns to a waterfall that supposedly grants wishes. Even sceptics tend to pocket a coin just in case.
Lower-level hiking is possible without paperwork. From the southern end of town a signposted path follows the irrigation channel into the plataneras—terraced banana plantations that glow emerald under the coastal sun. The route is flat, shaded and punctuated by stone huts whose corrugated roofs are weighted down with old car tyres. Give way to the pickup trucks that rumble past carrying pallets of green bananas to the packing plant; they own the lane and they know it.
Evenings in Los Llanos revolve around food rather than nightlife. British visitors expecting tapas crawls will need to recalibrate; portions are farm-worker sized and restaurants open early. Try conejo en salmorejo (rabbit stewed in garlicky vinegar) at Casa Goyo, or share a churrasco steak the length of a cricket bat at Los Argentinos de los Llanos. Wine comes from the island’s tiny D.O. La Palma cooperative—Listán Negro reds taste faintly of smoked tea thanks to the volcanic soil. A decent bottle costs €12, roughly the price of a single glass back in London. Round off the meal with a barraquito: layers of condensed milk, espresso and Licor 43 that look kitsch and taste like liquid Christmas.
Practicalities are refreshingly straightforward. Fly to La Palma via Madrid or Tenerife North; there are no direct UK flights and the islanders like it that way. From the airport, a shared taxi costs €55 if you pre-book, the public bus is €4.50 and takes seventy minutes, and hire-car desks stay open for incoming flights. Parking in town is free but competitive—head for the underground car park by the sports centre if you dislike parallel-hill starts on 1-in-4 gradients. Cash is still handy for rural cafés; British fintech cards sometimes refuse to play with Canarian card readers, so carry a backup. The medical centre on Calle Adolfo Suárez accepts EHIC/GHIC cards, though anything serious means a helicopter hop to Hospital Nuestra Señora de los Reyes in Santa Cruz.
Weather is a question of altitude. January on the coast can hit 24 °C while the Caldera is wrapped in cloud and 8 °C. Pack a fleece even if you left your rental in blazing sunshine. Conversely, summer brings calima dust storms from the Sahara that turn the sky sepia and leave every balcony gritty; it is the one time locals apologise for their climate.
Los Llanos will never feature on a “prettiest villages” list, and that is precisely its appeal. It is a place where daily life continues alongside the visitors—where teenagers still use the plaza as a skate park, where the priest’s amplified sermon drifts through open windows on Sunday, and where the weekly market smells more of soil than of souvenir glue. Come for the Caldera, stay for the coffee, and leave with a rucksack full of avocados that cost less than a London takeaway coffee.
