There are journeys you make with your feet, and others you make with your heart. The one to La Palma in August is a bit of both. It’s not just a place to visit—it’s an experience to live with your gaze turned skyward.
Every year around August 10, the island readies itself for an ancient, silent appointment: the Night of Saint Lawrence, when the Perseids—the most famous meteor shower—erupt across the heavens. But unlike anywhere else, here everything is amplified: the darkness, the silence, the sky.
Because La Palma is a different kind of island. Wild, green, volcanic… and certified as a Starlight Reserve. Which simply means that here the sky is protected like a precious treasure. And it truly is.
Climbing to Roque de los Muchachos, the island’s highest point, is like traversing the layers of a dream: you start at sea level, ascend through laurel forests, cross valleys of black lava, and then arrive there, at 2,426 meters, above the clouds. You never forget it. I guide groups every year, and each time it’s different. Some arrive thrilled, some skeptical, some thinking, “Yeah, sure—stars…” And then, after sunset—when the sky fills with the deepest blue—a single streak of light changes everything. You lie back on mats, someone unfolds a blanket, others uncork a bottle of Malvasía, the island’s sweet, volcanic wine. Guides use lasers to point out the summer constellations: Vega, Cygnus, Lyra, the Milky Way slicing across the sky like a path of light. And in the meantime, the shooting stars begin to appear. One, two, five… twenty. And with each, a whispered wish.
There’s no music, no fireworks. Just wind, stars, and silence. A silence full of thoughts, hopes, memories. And then there are the stories. Guanche legends, agricultural rituals tied to the stars, the way the ancients used the sky to navigate and tell time. Today, the guides share these tales between tastings of local sweets—bienmesabe or almond truchas—and sips of hot tea.
Every now and then, someone is moved to tears. Someone else falls asleep under the stars. But everyone returns down the mountain with something extra. Because watching the Perseids from La Palma isn’t just an astronomical event—it’s a small journey into the soul. And August here isn’t merely summer—it’s an open door to the sky