The other south: a village frozen in time
The south, as Mario Benedetti wrote, also exists. But it is not always the place of mass sun-and-beach tourism that occupies the collective imagination. There are also places like Vicácaro, one of the 13 neighbourhoods of Granadilla de Abona. Located in the municipality’s mid-altitude highlands, yet close to the historic town centre, this village-within-a-village is one of those traditional, self-built settlements on the island, created for self-sufficiency. Its character has been shaped by emigration from other islands, especially La Gomera, and seasoned by settled foreign residents. “Here we can go from five degrees in winter to 42 in summer,” says local resident José Martín, succinctly describing how the climate—including the biting wind, icy during our visit this week despite the clear sky—defines life here.
A sanctuary of agriculture and ‘jable’ culture
Vicácaro was once a seedbed for potatoes, “although fewer and fewer people work the land,” confirms Pepe Martín. It was a base for agricultural self-sufficiency and a sanctuary of the ‘culture of jable’—that wind-blown, yellowish-white volcanic sand. This sand was traditionally spread over crops to conserve soil moisture and has become an eternal part of the landscape. Looking at the smallholdings around our reference house, it’s clear that what was once cultivated is now mostly fallow land. It yielded potatoes, but also onions, garlic, coriander, parsley, beans, peas… “Everything we need to make a stew,” our hosts point out. All this was grown on three small plots around the house for their own consumption, because “farming is very hard work and not profitable; you can’t make a living from it.”
Quality of life in a semi-frozen census
Pepe insists this is “the best place in the world to live” due to the “tranquillity” and “given what’s out there.” He emphasises the “quality of life,” citing his mother Carmen, who is in excellent health at nearly 92. His wife, Ángeles, agrees. Both state the population has grown little in the last five years, largely because practically no new building is possible as the settlement is on rustic land. They note that “many people, especially foreigners, have come to buy houses, but the locals don’t want to leave.” This semi-frozen census contrasts with the exponential growth of the municipality, which has 59,000 inhabitants according to Spain’s National Statistics Institute (INE) and 72,000 on the local council’s register.
A self-built home and a historic treasure
Ángeles and Pepe have shared their life since 1986. The couple have two children, a boy and a girl, aged 26 and 23 respectively, who still live in the family home. Built by their own hands, brick by brick, through arduous work that began on the plot in 1990 and is still not entirely finished, the two-storey house with a large lounge is typical of self-built properties. It is one of six or seven homes scattered around the area. The couple’s dream is to restore the old house near their main home, which they also acquired. Dating from 1867, it is one of many properties over 200 years old that remain in the area. Stepping inside is like travelling back two centuries, with its red clay floor (no longer made), the typical water cistern in the patio, and traditional roof tiles. Restoration isn’t easy, not least because it requires permission and technical oversight from Tenerife Island Council’s Historical Heritage department.
The origins of a name and modern improvements
Vicácaro, or ‘Bicácaro’ (though this neighbourhood uses a ‘V’), takes its name from a small native plant, though residents don’t know why. Perhaps it carries the sense of ‘tiny’, as the endemic berry is referred to in rural areas, which fits this zone relative to the whole of Granadilla de Abona (164 square kilometres). Pepe and Ángeles agree that accessibility and services have improved. He recalls as a child when even light rain would flood the path and cut off access to his house. Now, “we have almost everything in that sense.” Leisure and sport are provided by the social centre and adjacent sports complex, inaugurated in 2011 under Mayor Carmen Nieves Gaspar, alongside the nearby hermitage which acts as the heart of this village-within-a-village.
Defined by ravines and a changing economy
Vicácaro is bounded by the southern main road and the ravines of Usasa and Perico. The latter is named after ‘Perico’s shop’ that once stood in the upper area, “the father of Pepe Casanova, the schoolteacher,” locals add. Within this perimeter lie just over 70 self-built homes housing about a hundred families and nearly 400 residents. Situated 1.5 kilometres from the town centre, with a maximum altitude of 620 metres, it holds its fiestas in May in honour of the Holy Cross. It forms part of the municipality’s highlands alongside other population centres like La Higuera, Las Palomas, Las Vegas, Los Blanquitos, Chimiche and Los Llanos.
The highway that changed everything
By the Perico bridge, another resident, Domingo, and local councillor Marcos Antonio Rodríguez recall the shift in the municipality’s economic axis from the highlands to the coast following the construction of the TF-1 motorway. This year marks half a century since its construction began in 1976. His conclusion is stark: “Business moved because people stopped passing through here,” referring to the old southern main road. That meant “the death of businesses.” The conversation recalls the parallel shift in the area’s sustenance from the primary sector to tourism-related services, from extensive greenhouse cultivation—referencing estates like that of the Bonis family—to the tertiary sector. This brought exponential growth in population and business, particularly in San Isidro (a dormitory town with room to grow) and El Médano, with its increasing mix of Spanish and foreign residents. Vicácaro, meanwhile, was left not so much emptied as frozen in terms of demography and way of life.
Enduring life in the highlands
The highlands also exist, even if they are far removed from the coastal tourist zones by the island’s complicated topography. They represent two very different realities, sometimes opposing and other times complementary, but they are always there. Just like life itself in the highlands of that ‘other’ south of Tenerife. Pepe Martín has lived in Vicácaro for all of his 58 years. His children represent at least the fourth generation in the village. Currently on sick leave from his maintenance job with Granadilla council, he remembers the hard task of breaking up the ‘jable’ during summers, extracting the culture of what was once a thriving industry from the stone “with pick and shovel.” “We planted everything ourselves,” says this motorbike enthusiast with pride. Ángeles’s smile fills the room following her country hospitality in treating a visitor to a small cup of coffee, much appreciated on a cold morning. More relaxed now, she shares that she was born 55 years ago in neighbouring San Miguel de Abona, a product of the traditional Gomero diaspora in the south of Tenerife. Six months ago, she left behind decades of work in hospitality as a cook to dedicate herself fully to being a homemaker. She doesn’t eat meat herself, but they say she cooks the best goat stew in the entire region.
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