A day in the life at Lapoint Fuerteventura

The alarm goes off before sunrise. Outside, the air is cool enough to make me pull the blanket tighter for a moment. It feels impossible that in just half an hour I’ll be zipped into a wetsuit, paddling into the Atlantic. 

But then, I walk into the kitchen. The smell of coffee, the buzz of the toaster, the chatter of sleepy voices. Overnight oats with fresh fruit, mugs of steaming coffee, and those half-mumbled, half-laughed conversations about the stories from the night before. It’s the kind of breakfast that feels more like a ritual than a meal, the gentle transition from night into day, from tired into ready.

And the best part? My surf coaches. I’d already met them on my last trip, so seeing them again felt like reuniting with old friends. There’s something comforting about that familiar smile, that shared joke, that coach who knows exactly when to challenge you and when to reassure you. We huddled around the forecast, talking tides and wind, pointing out different spots on the map.

That’s the beauty of Fuerteventura. The camp is perfectly located right in the middle of the island’s northern coast, with quick access to a dozen world-class surf spots in the span of 10 to 20 minutes. Beach breaks, reef breaks, point breaks: It doesn’t matter what the conditions are, there’s always a wave waiting for you.

Pro tip for early birds: Set your alarm and head up the volcano just across from camp. The walk takes about 20 minutes, and the reward is unreal: watching the sun rise from behind Lobos Island, turning the ocean and the island golden.

By the time you’re back, breakfast is waiting and then it’s straight to the surf. Honestly, there’s no better way to start the day.

On the road to the waves

Most mornings, we chose the reef breaks in the north. As Level 2 surfers, we were hungry for that challenge. Ready to leave the whitewater behind and ride green waves.

We strapped the boards to the roof of the van, rolled the windows down, and cranked the music up. The salty wind tangled my hair, and I felt that unmistakable surf-trip freedom bubbling up. It’s the kind of freedom you can’t fake. The mix of anticipation, sunshine, and the thrill of chasing waves.

We parked the van and scoped out the break. The view always takes my breath away. In front of us: the ocean, with Lanzarote shimmering in the distance. Behind us: barren volcanic hills, raw and timeless. There were no crowds, no big hotels – just a few vans and a handful of surfers waxing boards, stretching, getting ready to dance with the ocean.

From fear to stoke

And then it was our turn. Paddling out felt like crossing a threshold. The first wave crashing in my face woke me up more than the coffee had. My arms burned, but in the best way. Out in the line-up, I could feel the rhythm of the sea beneath me. Calm and patient, yet full of power.

The reef breaks here are something special. The waves rolled in smooth and steady, giving us space to practice, to breathe, to try again. I remember one session where the sets were bigger than I was comfortable with. I told my coach I was nervous. He laughed, splashed into the water beside me, and said: “Look, it’s just water. Don’t be scared.” That line has stuck with me ever since.

And he was right. With every wave I caught, my fear melted into excitement. My pop-ups got sharper, my turns more fluid. The coaches shouted encouragement, paddled alongside us, and gave tips right there in the water. We cheered for each other, clapped for strangers, and laughed hard at every wipeout.

It wasn’t just about technique. It was about community, about pushing through fear, about that deep joy that comes from riding a wave all the way to shore and looking back to see your friends celebrating like you’d just won the world title. 

Surfing taught me to never give up, to believe in myself, and to rise again after every wipeout – only to be rewarded with the greatest joy.

By the time we paddled back in, my arms were jelly. My skin salty, my eyes squinting against the bright sun. We piled into the van, cranking the music again, singing along with the windows down.

Almost every day, we made the same pit stop: Amiga Mia Café in Lajares. It became our ritual. Iced lattes, little snacks, sandy feet still in flip-flops. Sitting there with surfboards strapped to the van outside, it felt like the definition of surf-trip happiness.

Back at the camp, lunch was waiting: Colorful salads, pasta, fresh bread. We ate under the sun, swapping stories about waves we’d caught (or missed), replaying the funniest wipeouts, already buzzing for tomorrow.

And then: downtime. Some stretched out by the pool with a book, others dozed off in hammocks. I loved lying in the sun, headphones in, eyes closed, feeling that heavy, satisfied tiredness that only comes after surfing.

Later in the afternoon, we tried the surfskate bowl at the camp. At first, I was nervous. Concrete doesn’t forgive like water does. But soon I was carving down the bowl, shifting weight, practicing turns. And just like that, something clicked. The next day in the water, those same turns came naturally. Surfskating gave me a new kind of confidence. It's like a bridge between land and sea.

After a long siesta (longer than planned, most days), we often drove to El Cotillo. That little town is just about 10 minutes away from camp and has a charm that’s hard to describe. Narrow streets, whitewashed walls, ocean views.

We wandered through boutique shops selling handmade jewelry, woven bags, and postcards with watercolor waves. Things you don’t find in big chain stores, things that feel like memories you can take home.

Of course, we couldn’t leave without smoothies. Strawberry-banana was my forever choice, and when paired with a rich chocolate brownie… let’s just say, happiness in a cup.

Evenings at Lapoint have their own rhythm. Dinner first. Always fresh, always delicious. My favorite night was paella night, when the smell of saffron filled the air and we all lined up with plates, hungry from hours in the water. The best thing about camp dinners isn’t just the food,  it’s how quickly strangers turn into friends.

That night, we headed out to El Cotillo with a couple of bottles of wine. We climbed onto the rocks by the ocean and sat there together, watching the sun sink into the Atlantic. The whole sky turned orange, the waves sparkled, and we just sat there sipping wine, cracking jokes, and soaking it all in.

Afterward, we made our way to Canela Café in Lajares. Live music, barefoot dancing, locals mixing with surfers from all over the world. The vibe was unbeatable. Hours flew by without us noticing.

The walk back to camp was just as good: cool night air, a sky full of stars, and the whole group laughing the entire way. By the time I flopped into bed, I was happily exhausted: Salty, smiling, and already excited for the next surf.

That one day was just a snapshot but it captures the rhythm of an entire week. Sunrise alarms, ocean sessions, coffee stops, long siestas, evening laughter. A cycle that never got old, because every day brought something new.

What I love most about Lapoint Fuerteventura isn’t just the waves or the weather. It’s the way life slows down and fills up at the same time. The way fear turns into joy, strangers turn into friends, and everyday worries turn into background noise.

Fuerteventura isn’t just a place I visit anymore. It’s a place I return to. A place that feels like freedom, like community, like possibility. And I already know: the next time I come back, it will feel just as fresh, just as magical, and just as unforgettable.