Tenerife's housing crisis has reached boiling point, with residents allegedly forced to squat in shacks under a derelict hotel, living in constant fear of being crushed if it collapses, reports the Express.
The cost of living on the island is skyrocketing, pushing locals to the brink. On April 20, Canary Islanders took to the streets in droves, protesting the devastating effects of overtourism.
They spoke about their fears of "extinction" if the invasion of outsiders continues unchecked and many said that they have been forced into difficult living situations as well as complaining about low pay and environmental issues caused by tourism.
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The soaring housing costs have driven many Tenerife locals to abandon their homes for camper vans on the fringes of towns. Yet, this isn't the first time islanders have resorted to extreme measures to keep a roof over their heads. In a remote corner of Tenerife, a community has been living in makeshift shacks for decades. Candelaria Fernandez, 70, has called her humble concrete abode by the Atlantic home for almost 30 years.
Speaking to the Express, she expressed her deep affection for her unique dwelling: "The sea is close by. You can swim there. You jump in and swim. There's a little beach over there. You can also go fishing." In addition to battling the relentless waves that threaten her doorstep, one pensioner also lives under the looming presence of the Anaza Hotel – a haunting concrete carcass left over from a doomed 1970s bid to create a massive tourist hotspot.
Should the teetering structure give way, it could crush her home beneath it. "We don't know if they're going to knock it down or not," she confessed. "They say there's no budget for it. They want to demolish it. But it's been like that for more than 40 years. We will stay here as long as we can".
Tucked into the cliffs, the Hernandez family has fashioned another dwelling. Moises Alberto Hernandez has a rooftop tank that supplies water and a generator that powers their seaside retreat for weekend getaways. He shared that, unlike Candelaria, this spot offers an affordable escape rather than a full-time home.
"This is a second home for me. For others it is their only home. I come from the north on weekends," he revealed. "We don't have papers for these shacks, we don't have anything. Everything was done little by little. The police sometimes come to threaten us with fines, but in the end nothing happens."
Moises and his spouse Maria Vanesa live with the dread that their makeshift haven could be razed at any moment. "They can demolish it tomorrow and we have to leave. We will stay here as long as we can. If it's 10 years, we will enjoy that with the family, with the children," he declared.
In a property market skewed by years of foreign cash splashing, these makeshift shacks are a steal for locals craving a slice of their homeland. Moises Alberto reckons he'd let go of his DIY abode for just €300 (£257) if push comes to shove. "Some people moved here 40 years ago, others 30, 20 [and] 15," he spilled the beans.
Maria Vanesa chimed in: "They didn't come all together. Some people have left, they have sold their shacks. There are new people." Despite the couple's only option to squat illegally on the lava plane to keep their fishing traditions alive, they're not entirely knocking tourism.
"It is true that tourists make housing more expensive," he admitted. "Before we used to find flats for €300, now rents are €700 to €900. You can't earn €1,000 and pay €700 for housing – which leaves no money to eat. But tourism makes us richer. It generates money and we work."
His other half, Maria Vanesa, was even more gung-ho about visitors. "I love tourism, I love that they come to our island to get to know it. I think it's great," she enthused. Yet, they didn't mince words about their neighbours who've had to bunk down in the shacks permanently deserving a leg up. "This is not a good solution for housing. This is illegal," Moises Alberto laid it bare. "There is no water here, no electricity," Maria Vanesa pointed out.
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