I’m reading my Brown’s Guide to the Canary Islands published in 1913. Its cover, once a steely sky blue, is lovingly worn and I imagine its previous owners. It tells me that my route from Las Palmas de Gran Canaria to the nearby town of Arucas will take me at least 2.5 hours by horse and carriage.

More than a century later and I’m in my air-conditioned hire car, leaving the capital city by motorway, in a journey that should take no longer than 20 minutes. But my trip is not about speed, rather, taking my time circumnavigating the island via its coastal roads.

I’ve left my shore-hugging digs on Las Canteras – probably in the running for the world’s best city beach – and as the Alfredo Kraus opera house disappears over my right shoulder, I find myself sweeping along the north coast road. I’m driving close to the sea’s edge and catch glimpses of enthusiastic spray jumping off the jagged rocks below.

Food for thought

I’ve been to Arucas many times – I used to live on the island 20 years ago and have visited countless times since – and I adore its neogothic church that opened in 1917, which is why it’s not mentioned in my antiquarian guidebook. But today, I’ve taken the turning for Hacienda La Rekompensa, an events venue and refurbished farmhouse, where I’m going to wander through the banana plantation.

Bananas have been a staple industry on the island for more than 100 years and my enthusiastic guide JC (Juan Carlos) reminds me that due to the countless Canary Fruit Lines ships that arrived in London, the dock was renamed Canary Wharf. I adore being in among the gently rustling banana plants and I’m told the estate has more than 50 varieties of banana.

I idle back to my car after trying a host of banana products including jams and wine, and head west and slightly into the mountains to the ornate town of Firgas. Known for being home to a natural spring – where most of the island’s bottled water originates – the town has tiled streets with cascading water.

As well as the handsome surroundings, I also want to take in the local delicacy: potaje de berros. I head to an unassuming little restaurant called El Rincón de Marcos, grab a seat on the terrace and order their special – watercress soup.

Markets and myths

The town of Gáldar was one of two indigenous capitals before the Spanish conquistadors came. It houses a famous 1,000-year-old painted cave, but I’ve decided to stroll around the other sights, including the indoor market. It’s loud from both the culinary percussion of fishmongers and butchers but also from locals trading conversations and hard-earned cash for fresh ingredients.

I see a bakery stall and spot one of my favourites, pan de huevo – a sweet, round loaf with a sugared top, and I greedily tear off chunks. I buy a gooey wedge of the famous Flor de Guía cheese that’s made with thistle flowers. A local has tipped me off about a famous Canarian dragon tree (Dracaena draco) in the grounds of the town hall, so I stop by to see the intriguingly stubby branches and spiky fronds.

This one is more than 300 years old and is said to contain the spirit of a woman accused of being a witch because she used to drain the red sap from the tree as a remedy – something done by the island’s original inhabitants for millennia.

My hotel for the night, the Occidental Roca Negra, is in the small fishing village of Agaete. It’s from here that you can catch the fast boat to neighbouring Tenerife, and the area around the port is a picture of blue and white houses and fish restaurants and I feast on fresh cherne (local wreckfish that tastes a bit like cod).

I check into the hotel and soak for a while in the warm spa pools to prepare me for a satisfying slumber.

Sleeping dragons

After a leisurely start, I’m on the winding road to La Aldea de San Nicolás – one of the most remote areas of the island. There are new tunnels that make the journey quicker, but I stick to the coastal route and try to keep one eye on the hairpin bends and another on the glistening Atlantic.

It’s time to pay homage to the dragon, so I stop at the Mirador del Balcón. It’s changed somewhat since I was last here with a gravity-defying glass platform to allow you to get better views of the protruding rock formations that look like scaly humps.

The legend goes that this is the back of a sleeping dragon whose tail reaches into the punishing ocean. I reason not to make too much noise in case it wakes, and get back on the road to see another geological wonder.

About halfway along the road between La Aldea and Maspalomas is a surreal sight. The soaring rock face to my left is a rainbow of colours from ochre to purple to green. Known as Los Azulejos (the tiles), these are naturally occurring minerals that have been released from the rocks due to erosion creating a glittering abstract painting.

Moving mountains

I arrive at Meloneras and the Faro de Maspalomas at 2pm and after a languid lunch, I head into the famous dunes. The government has put restrictions in place over recent years to help preserve this natural undulating wonder, and I’m pleased to see that visitors are sticking to the dedicated paths.

The charco (oasis) is full thanks to recent rains and I spot several birds supping and wading. The shifting sands are hypnotic, and I spend some time at the beach watching the lapping tide.

I check into the chic Bohemia Suites & Spa, and immediately hotfoot it up to the bar to sip local wine and get a front-row seat of the sunset panorama over the dunes.

Time and tide

Not many people visit the eastern side of the island but there are plenty of charming towns and villages. I’m off to Arinaga, a port town where I’m hoping to while away the morning sunbathing and swimming.

Like many places around the island, it’s home to impressive natural sea pools that come and go with the tides, and I take a bracing dip. It’s the Atlantic, so it’s always chilly but I emerge from the water to blazing sunshine and warm up on the wooden sun decks dotted on the rocky shore – and pop to a café for an energy-enhancing café leche y leche (milky coffee with condensed milk).

My bed tonight is back in the Canarian capital, so I head up the motorway and wait for the particular bend in the road when the city comes back into view. I gaze over Las Palmas de Gran Canaria, sprawling along the isthmus of Guanarteme, and I imagine the owners of my guidebook marvelling like me at this city by the sea.