Dark rock frames the blue
Splashing water greets the white
Orange glows with joy
Haiku’s Video
The story behind the haiku
I wrote this haiku after visiting César Manrique’s former home in Tahíche, Lanzarote. It is an attempt to keep hold of a very small moment: the dark volcanic stone, the clear blue water, the white surfaces, and the sudden flash of orange furniture.
The place itself is much bigger than those three lines. But the haiku is how I remember it first: as a composition of colours, light, and materials that somehow feels both designed and completely inevitable.
Between jobs and between islands
I visited on 21 July 2021, when I was between two jobs and had a couple of weeks available. Therefore, I decided to travel through three of the Canary Islands: Gran Canaria, Tenerife, and finally Lanzarote.
I was travelling with my girlfriend at the time (and now partner in crime) as well as some friends. By the time we reached Lanzarote, I had already seen plenty of beautiful places, each island having its own vibe and charm. Still, that island felt different from the beginning. The volcanic landscape was not simply a backdrop to the holiday. It seemed to organise everything: the shapes of the land, the colours of the buildings, the food, and the way people had learned to live with an environment that can look almost otherworldly.
That relationship becomes especially clear at Manrique’s house.
Architecture that listens
What fascinated me most was the way Manrique worked around the natural elements of the island. Many architectural projects seem to begin with the desire to build something grand, and then try to fit the surrounding territory around it. This house works in the opposite direction.
Manrique studied the way traditional houses have been built on the island, as well as the materials and the components of Lanzarote, then shaped his house around those. The rooms seem to be built into volcanic bubbles and connected through whitewashed spaces, stairways, courtyards, and openings toward the sky. The result does not feel like nature has been cleared away to make room for architecture. Nature and the work of art seem to complete one another.
The subterranean courtyards are the clearest expression of that idea. You move through dark, rounded volcanic spaces and then arrive at a pool, where the light changes everything. Water pours over black stone. The sky opens above you. White walls sharpen the scene, while the orange furniture adds a warm, almost playful note.
The colours are not exaggerated by memory. They really are that bright, vivid, and contrasted. The house has the visual clarity of a painting, but it doesn’t feel artificial. The materials belong to the island, and the design makes their character more visible.
That was the moment when I fell in love with Manrique’s work and decided to buy his book Lanzarote: arquitectura inédita, hoping to understand more about his research into the island and its roots. The visit had made me curious about the thinking behind all that beauty.
Why I would return to Lanzarote
If you like both architecture and nature, Lanzarote is probably my favourite of the Canary Islands that I have visited. It offers a particularly good combination: striking landscapes, thoughtful architecture, good food, and excellent surf spots.
Caleta de Famara was another highlight for me. You can surf there with the mountains rising behind you, which gives the whole experience a scale that is difficult to find elsewhere. It feels wild without being inaccessible.
I would also make time for the local wine. The volcanic Malvasía from Bodega El Grifo was incredibly fresh and made a memorable white wine to drink in the heat. It is one of those details that completes a sense of place: the same volcanic ground that shapes the landscape also gives the vines their character.
For a visit to Manrique’s house, I would set aside enough time to move slowly rather than treating it as another stop to tick off. Look at how the rooms connect, notice where the light comes from, and pay attention to the points where the volcanic rock remains visible. Check the current opening times and ticket arrangements before travelling, as those details can change.
Small pleasures
I wrote the haiku later, not while I was standing beside the pool. That is usually how these poems arrive for me. They are a way of being attentive to something that made me happy in the past, then reducing the memory to a few small pleasures.
I became particularly interested in that idea after reading Small Pleasures by The School of Life. A good day does not always stay with us because of one spectacular event. Sometimes it survives as a sequence of colours, a sound of water, a glass of wine, or a room that makes us see a familiar material differently.
In Tahíche, those small pleasures came together: dark rock, blue water, white walls, and orange light. Lanzarote gave them somewhere to live.
Different islands, different escapes
Since that trip, my travel stories have moved in very different directions. In Djerba Island: A Family Adventure That Changed My Mind, the luxury was having meals and chores taken care of while travelling with young children. In My First Camping Trip with My Three-Year-Old Son, the adventure came from a river, a firepit, and a night that turned out to be much colder than expected.
Lanzarote sits somewhere else again: a place where the landscape itself becomes part of the architecture, and where a few carefully chosen colours can stay with you for years.