Lanzarote: Notes from a Brief Botanical Infatuation

Two Worlds, Two Climates ~ Group 1: Plants Seen Out and About ~ 

Group 2: Patterns from the Jardín de Cactus ~ Why These Plants Stayed with Us

Left: Plants we saw out and about on Lanzarote.

Right: Plants we saw in the Jardín de Cactus.

We can’t help it. Plants call to us to have their photos taken. You could call it travel-induced plant euphoria. I guess changing your biome wakes up one’s senses. And Lanzarote certainly counts as a biome change. A big one.

The last time we felt this moved by plants was in Japan in May 2025. We wrote about those in Temples and Shrines, Gardens and Connection to Nature in Japan.

A few days on this volcanic island and suddenly we had enough plant photos to justify at least one composite image of plants. But then we stepped foot in the beautiful Jardín de Cactus | CACT Lanzarote where we proceeded to snap hundreds of more photos. The best of the cactus garden photos are in the second composite image.

Two Worlds, Two Climates

For the climate nerds (we see you, because we are you):

• Lanzarote → BWh hot desert climate + dry Macaronesian ecoregion
• Bergamo → Cfa humid subtropical climate + temperate mixed forest ecoregion

We had to look up Macaronesia. Didn’t even know the term. The Canary Islands, Madeira, Azores, and Cape Verde are all part of this biogeographical region. Naturally, our first reaction seeing the word Macaronesian was to confuse it with the country Micronesia. How ignorant we are in geography! But now we’re obsessed, because this little chain of islands out in the Atlantic is home to plants you simply don’t see elsewhere.

While standing on Lanzarote, you can almost feel the ecological isolation. The island is small — only about 50 km by 20 km — and dry. Very dry. Depending on where you are, annual rainfall averages somewhere around 100–200 mm a year. Bergamo gets five to six times that without even trying. No wonder the plants have attitude.

The island of Lanzarote doesn’t have the kind of tall peaks—think 1500 meters and above—that force moist trade-wind air upward to form clouds and rain. Without that orographic lift, most of the moisture simply passes by, leaving Lanzarote in its famously dry state while neighboring Canary Islands with higher mountains capture far more precipitation. For more about Lanzarote, see Lanzarote - In the Layers.

Group 1: Plants Seen Out and About

In this category, we include plants you can easily see in gardens, along roadsides, and even on beaches.


Phoenix canariensis

The Canary Island date palm. Native, iconic, and everywhere — and if you’re from a place where palms are landscaping luxuries, seeing them casually lining roads feels like cheating.


Euphorbiaceae Running the Show

By far, the family we saw the most — both in the wild and later in the cactus garden — was Euphorbiaceae. Lanzarote seems determined to make sure you notice this. Two members of this family:

• Tabaiba dulce (Euphorbia balsamifera) The official plant symbol of Lanzarote. It’s an endemic shrub perfectly suited to the island’s dry slopes and lava fields. Knobby looking, architectural, and somehow both tough and delicate. A sort of botanical embodiment of the island itself.
• Poinsettias (Euphorbia pulcherrima) It amazes us to see these grown outside while I struggle to keep ours alive through January. Some people vacation to relax; we apparently vacation to be humbled by horticulture.

When "Weeds" Go International

Some plants we saw are not native at all — but show up so often that you start thinking they belong there.

• Rumex lunaria (family Polygonaceae) A known invasive on Lanzarote — though the story is more complicated. Recent genetic work shows that most individuals on the island descend from plants originating on El Hierro, suggesting a human‑mediated introduction rather than natural dispersion (2023 phylogeographic study). Local oral history claims it was brought to northern Lanzarote in the early 20th century, possibly the 1930s, as a drought‑tolerant forage plant (Bernardos et al.). Botanists didn’t formally record the species on Lanzarote until 1970 (Per Sunding) (research summary), but by the 1980s it was already spreading across disturbed volcanic slopes, including inside Timanfaya. Today it is often treated as a “translocated native” — a plant native to the Canary Islands but introduced to this particular island by people, now behaving invasively in fragile terrain.
• Nicotiana glauca (family Solanaceae) Tree tobacco — a plant we spotted in abandoned lots, roadside edges, and dry ravines. It isn’t native to the Canary Islands; N. glauca originates from South America. It was introduced globally in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, often as an ornamental shrub, and quickly naturalized in warm, arid climates where it thrives on disturbance. In the Canary Islands it is considered an alien, naturalized species, spreading easily through volcanic soils and human-altered landscapes (GBIF). Fast-growing and drought-tolerant, it has become a familiar presence on roadsides and in the forgotten corners of Lanzarote.

Lichens in a Desert?

Yep. Lanzarote has surprising lichen diversity. In Timanfaya we were especially struck by pale crusts and branching gray forms. One of the species associated with volcanic substrates in Macaronesian islands is Stereocaulon vesuvianum, a lichen well adapted to harsh, mineral-rich lava fields. It looks ghostly and delicate, yet survives where most plants never would.

The lichens are pioneers. They begin the long, slow process of turning rock into something resembling soil. By breaking down volcanic surfaces through chemical weathering, trapping dust, and building up tiny bits of organic matter, they quietly prepare the ground for whatever comes next.

They’re the first hint of what might someday become something lush. Not soon, not quickly, not on any human schedule — but lichens are the patient opening act that makes future plant life possible.

Names of plants in the composite image:

• Row 1
• Foliose form of lichen on lava perhaps Ramalina.
• [Amaranthaceae] Suadea vera
• [Anacardiaceae] Schinus molle
• [Apocynaceae] Stephanotis floribunda
• [Araucariaceae] Araucaria heterophylla
• Row 2
• [Arecaceae] Phoenix canariensis
• [Asparagaceae] Agave americana
• [Asparagaceae] Dracaena drago
• [Asteraceae] Launaea arborescens
• [Boraginaceae] Cordia sebestena
• Row 3
• [Crassulaceae] Sedum morganianum
• [Euphorbiaceae] Codiaeum variegatum
• [Euphorbiaceae] Euphorbia balsamifera
• [Euphorbiaceae] Euphorbia pulcherrima
• [Moraceae] Ficus macrophylla
• Row 4
• [Myrtaceae] Psidium sp.
• [Polygonaceae] Rumex lunaria
• [Solanaceae] Nicotiana glauca
• [Vitaceae] Vitis vinifera - Malvasia volcanica
• [Zygophyllaceae] Zygophyllum fontanessii

Group 2: Patterns from the Jardín de Cactus

The cactus garden is a lesson in geometry. It’s also a lesson in humility: you think you’re photographing a plant, but what you’re actually photographing is the pattern it creates. Spirals, ribs, shadows, and repeating forms. Barrel cacti arranged like green dominos. Opuntia pads making accidental abstract art.

A few favorites:

• The bumpy, reptilian clusters — like the tight tubercled mounds in our composite — where each stem looks cobbled together from beads. These structures feel less like plants and more like geological textures that decided to grow.
• The snowy white domes dotted with bright pink fruits. Up close, they look like frosted pastries decorated by a color-obsessed pastry chef.
• The radial rosettes with dried flower remnants spiraling outward. Some look engineered with a compass; others look like they’re slowly winding themselves into the next Fibonacci number.
• The cresting, brain-like forms (the monstrose and cristate shapes) that ripple in waves. These were hypnotic — a plant behaving like a topographic map.
• And everywhere, that stark contrast: bright green against black volcanic lapilli.

The garden is curated, sure, but still very much in conversation with the wild landscape around it. Stand in the right spot and you see a cactus rib echoing a terraced volcanic slope behind it. Or vice versa.

Why These Plants Stayed with Us

Lanzarote overwhelmed us with its scenery. After the initial wow moment(s), you start to slow pick out plants and understand their niche. Each plant showing you how life adapts to dryness, salt winds, and volcanic dust. And once you start noticing, you can’t stop. The layers of Lanzarote are discussed in the post, Lanzarote – In they Layers.

It’s a kind of travel shift: suddenly, we’re comparing our own region’s plants to those here, thinking about ecoregions and rainfall, and remembering that the planet arranges itself in patterns we barely pay attention to.

And maybe that’s the joy of travel: you leave home for a few days, you come back with too many plant photos and a renewed respect for humidity.

If we ever get our poinsettia to survive winter in Bergamo, we’ll consider it a victory. But Lanzarote? Lanzarote doesn’t even break a sweat.

For more plant-related wanderings, see:

• Temples and Shrines, Gardens and Connection to Nature in Japan
• Sintra in Three Days - Plants and Patterns
• Selected Plants from Our Iceland Trip