What do you think of when you think of the Canary Islands?

A sub-tropical paradise named after the native yellow birds? A volcanic archipelago, so raw and rugged it provided the backdrop for several Hollywood sci-fi movies? A mass tourism destination with crowded beaches, rowdy Irish pubs and fish-and-chips shops?

These Spanish islands situated off the Atlantic coast of Morocco are burdened with preconceptions of varying degrees of accuracy. First, the birds. Yes, you will find plenty of indigenous canaries here, but they did not give their name to the islands; it was the other way around. The Romans dubbed the territory Canariae Insulae, which actually translates as “Islands of Dogs.”

Yes, the islands are volcanic in origin, with primeval landscapes formed by lava flows. Yet they also boast a rich patchwork of habitats, ranging from stark desert to luxuriant rainforest.

And yes, the Canaries have long been a cheap destination for millions of European tourists. But beyond the seaside resorts, there are hinterlands beautifully sculpted by centuries of agriculture, and there is an abundance of charmingly authentic local villages.

I flew into Tenerife South Airport on one of the many winter charter flights from northern Europe. The majority of passengers boarded tour buses that turned left onto the main highway, taking them to popular resorts such as Los Cristianos, Playa de las Americas and Costa Adeje. My vehicle branched right, heading 50 minutes up the island’s arid southeast coast to the capital, Santa Cruz.

The view from the highway revealed the geological fundamentals of this, the largest of the Canary Islands. On one side the terrain sloped sharply down to the sea. On the other, it climbed inexorably into the clouds. Somewhere up there was the summit of Mount Teide, the highest point in Spain. Almost every vehicle journey I would make during my stay in Tenerife would involve going either around Teide’s littoral base or up and down its flanks on switchback roads.

Santa Cruz was not at all what I expected. Imagining a sleepy port, I in fact arrived in a bustling city of more than 200,000 people. In common with other Spanish cities prior to the financial crash, the municipality sought to put itself on the global map by investing in iconic architecture — in this case, the breathtaking Auditorio de Tenerife, designed by Santiago Calatrava.

It was my first stop when I explored the city on foot that afternoon. Situated on the waterfront, the building resembled a deconstructed version of Sydney Opera House. As I circled it, it appeared to shape-shift. One moment the huge curved roof looked like a billowing sail; the next it was transformed into a striking cobra.

Later, I sat on the balcony of my room at the luxurious Grand Hotel Mencey, looking out on a city that appeared to be as sophisticated and cosmopolitan as any in Spain. Looming above the rooftops, however, the severe side of a volcanic hill was fleetingly revealed behind drifting shrouds of mist. On Tenerife, the ambitions of man are dwarfed by nature.

On a rainy morning, I drove inland with a group of traveling companions, guided by an Anglo-Spaniard who answered to two Christian names, Carlos or Miles. Although we were all English-speaking, we opted to call him Carlos.

“Tenerife has many microclimates,” he told us. “Just because it’s raining here, it doesn’t mean the whole island is wet.”

Rain drummed on the roof of the vehicle. Through the fogged-up windows, the scenery outside looked like a watercolor. We skirted Tenerife North Airport (which, in 1977, was the scene of the world’s worst aviation disaster, when a KLM Boeing 747 collided with a Pan Am 747 on the runway), then we began the long ascent of Mount Teide.

On most days, the slopes of the mountain are draped with a ruffle of cloud. “Once we drive high enough, we should see the sun,” Carlos promised. Up and up we went. The dank gloom was unrelenting.

At 7,841 feet above sea level, we stopped at Teide Observatory, a futuristic cluster of buildings housing powerful telescopes. The location was chosen for its clear skies. We stepped out into drizzle. “Usually we have a great view of Teide from here,” said Carlos. We nodded skeptically.

But then we got the call that the  to Teide’s upper slopes was operating normally, which meant there was better weather just around the corner. On the short drive from the observatory to the cable station, the clouds parted. We shuffled into the cable car and ascended steeply to the upper station at 11,663 feet. The sun dazzled in the high, thin air, providing a startling contrast to the volcanic blackness of the mountain.

From the cable station, if we had a pre-booked permit, it would have been a short, sharp hike up to the summit. Without the necessary paperwork, we were content to follow a precipitous path around Teide’s circumference. Clouds scudded beneath us, revealing then concealing the remnants of a vast crater far below. To the south, the shifting chinks of clear sky offered glimpses of the Atlantic Ocean.

That night we stayed at the Parador Canadas del Teide (a parador is a state-run hotel), situated within the crater. After dinner, wrapped up against the bitter cold, we clustered outside around a local astronomer and his telescope, taking turns to peer through space to Jupiter and far-flung constellations.

Roques de Garcia, Teide National Park © Richard Newton

As dawn broke behind Teide, we prepared to make a remarkable little journey that would take us through the seasons in less than an hour. Here at altitude, our surroundings were in the frosty grip of winter. Our bus traversed the crater and then began a descent that quickly brought about a thaw. We reached the tree line, where the vegetation was dappled with spring-like blossom. There was now a hint of warmth in the early-morning sunshine.

Down we went, switchbacking toward the resort of Los Cristianos. Off came our winter coats. On with our sunglasses. By the time we reached the harbor, Teide’s winter transformed to seaside summer.

Here we boarded the express ferry for the 40-minute crossing from Tenerife to the smaller island of La Gomera. The Canaries consist of seven main islands, each with a distinct physical and cultural character. The change of pace between lively Tenerife and laidback La Gomera was apparent as soon as we disembarked.

Waiting for us was our guide, Roberto Durante, a Frenchman of Italian origin. His gray hair was pulled pack into a ponytail, and there was something instantly familiar about his profile. That nose, that surname … surely not. “Yes. Jimmy Durante was my grandpa’s brother’s son.”

For a sense of the geography of La Gomera, scrunch up a sheet of paper and place it on a tabletop in front of you. Rising sheer from the sea, the island is crumpled with deep gorges and razor-sharp ridges. Roads are etched into the mountainsides, worming from valley to valley through tunnels. With a shortage of flat land, farmers literally carved out their living by terracing the island’s steep contours.

Distances here are relative. The island is small, but every journey involves convoluted twists and turns. You see your destination long before you reach it. To communicate across the valleys, the people evolved a unique whistling language, El Silbo. Recently on the verge of dying out, the language is now compulsorily taught in local schools.

Outside Doña Efigenia’s wonderful vegetarian restaurant in the hinterland, her friend, 69-year-old Placido Chinea Mendoza, gave us a demonstration. The advantages of a whistle were immediately apparent. The sound pierced the wind, which would carry away even the loudest shout.

“That whistle means, ‘Get the red wine ready,’ ” he said. “And this, ‘Get the white wine ready.’ And this, ‘I’ll have beer.’ ” For all their forced isolation, La Gomerans seem to be a gregarious bunch.

Swathes of the island still bore the scars of a major fire that raged for several weeks in 2012, destroying part of a priceless laurel rainforest. But nature is resilient, and the charred landscape was already tinted with fresh green shoots.

Hiking on La Gomera © Laws1964 | Dreamstime.com

With more time, I would have loved to lose myself on La Gomera’s extensive network of hiking trails. Departing the following day, I was happy to have a reason to return to this spellbinding island.

We made the return crossing under an unblemished blue sky. Teide rose ahead of us in hazy silhouette. The 17th-century poet John Donne encapsulated its imposing presence in these lines: “Doth not a Tenerife, or higher hill/Rise so high like a rock, that one might think/The floating moon would shipwreck there, and sink?”

We drove along Tenerife’s highly developed southwest coast. This is where my prejudice always resided. I imagined Tenerife as little more than a conglomeration of tacky tourist resorts. My preconceptions overturned, and I discovered the island to be endlessly surprising.

Beyond Costa Adeje, tourist development was interspersed with banana plantations and stretches of open land pitching down to the Atlantic breakers. Eventually we reached the town of Los Gigantes, where the coastal road ends abruptly, halted by a formidable stretch of high cliffs.

We boarded a small boat and headed back out into the strait between Tenerife and La Gomera. We weren’t going far. Just a few miles offshore lie the feeding grounds of a host of resident and seasonally migrating whales. In the past 20 years, Tenerife has become Europe’s top whale-watching destination.

Depending on the time of year, it is possible to view sperm whales, sei whales, minke whales, killer whales and several species of dolphin. For us, the main goal was the resident population of more than 600 dolphin-sized pilot whales. It didn’t take long to find some of them. A pod of around a dozen flanked our boat, surfing the waves.

Looking landward, we could see the thin ribbon of tourist development clinging to the shoreline, comprehensively overshadowed by the bulk of Teide. It was easy to imagine the island prior to its discovery by Europeans, when the native people known as the Guanches inhabited it.

History tells us the Guanches were wiped out following the 15th-century Spanish invasion. Recent DNA research suggests they are still here. A significant proportion of Canarians have Guanche genes.

The strands of human history come together in the picturesque town of Candelaria, not far from Santa Cruz. The shoreline is pocked with caves which once served as the tombs of the Guanches. It was in this haunting place, according to legend, that an image of the Virgin Mary appeared to some Guanche cattle herders in 1392.

Consequently, this seaside town became an important Catholic shrine for the early Spanish settlers, who built churches and monasteries. Pride of place goes to the imposing Basilica of Candelaria.

I arrived on a Sunday morning and mingled with the hundreds of Canarians who flock here to make a leisurely tour of the town’s sacred sites. People mingled in the large plaza in front of the Basilica, which is lined on the waterfront side by statues of nine half-naked men. They represent the nine Guanche kings who ruled Tenerife at the time of the Virgin Mary’s appearance.

Guanche statues of Tenerife kings on the waterfront in Candelaria © Arsty | Dreamstime.com

Candelaria is far removed from the island’s tourist centers. Here, the souvenir shops cater mainly to pilgrims, selling statuettes of Jesus and an array of saints. To one side of the town center, the stormy Atlantic smashed against the sea wall, throwing up sheets of spray. On the other, Teide loomed broodingly. In between, I gained an authentic insight into Canarian life.

Later that day, I rejoined the tourist throng at the airport. After take-off, the plane flew along Tenerife’s east coast. I could see the tiny dot of the Teide cable station. And the red rooftops of Candelaria. And there was Santa Cruz, with its landmark Auditorio.

Finally the plane banked north, and Tenerife receded. My week-long trip had a lasting impact, transforming what I think of when I think of the Canary Islands.

Where to Stay in Tenerife

Gran Meliá Palacio de Isora At this award-winning 579-room resort, an on-the-hour fountain displays in the main courtyard. For additional luxury, opt for RedLevel: private villas, butler service, in-room aromatherapy. Ave. Los Océanos, Alcalá, Tenerife $$$–$$$$

Iberostar Grand Hotel Mencey The recently renovated palatial hotel is located in the heart of Santa Cruz. Get hands-on with local cuisine in the hotel’s kitchen classroom. Calle Doctor José Naveiras 38, Santa Cruz, Tenerife $$$

Parador La Gomera The Parador occupies a rambling historic building situated amid beautiful gardens on a hilltop overlooking the island’s capital, San Sebastian. San Sebastian de la Gomera $$

Restaurants in Tenerife

Anturium Restaurant Located in the north coast fishing village of Garachico, this excellent restaurant in a boutique hotel serves a memorable mojito sorbet. Hotel San Roque, Esteban de Ponte 32, Garachico, Tenerife $$$

M.B. Tenerife’s only Michelin-starred restaurant bears the initials of renowned Basque chef Martin Berasategui and is headed by rising star Erlantz Gorostiza. Abama Golf & Spa Resort, Guía de Isora, Tenerife $$$$

La Montana–Casa Efigenia At this unpretentious vegetarian restaurant in the backwoods of La Gomera, the food is simple, hearty and full of flavor. Las Hayas, La Gomera $$

Tenerife Info to Go

If you’re traveling via mainland Spain, most flights arrive at Tenerife North Airport (TFN), which is convenient for Santa Cruz and north coast resorts such as Puerto de la Cruz. The international gateway is Tenerife South Airport (TFS), with daily flights from many European cities.