Walking Through Ilusiones Perdidas — The Ghost of Parque Tívoli, Las Palmas

Today we went to Parque Tívoli Las Palmas — or rather, to the place where the dream once stood.

There is nothing left now.

Nothing but a wide open space, a barren mountain of gravel, dust, and broken illusions. What was meant to become a kingdom of fun, excitement, and family joy has been demolished right down to the ground, erased almost completely from the surface of Gran Canaria. Only the faint shape of the terrain hints that something was once planned here… something big, something magical.

We parked the car and stepped out into the warm air. The wind moved softly over the empty lot, carrying the feeling of a forgotten story — one written in hopeful ink, then abandoned mid-page. The silence was heavy, but not unfriendly. More like a book waiting for someone to open it again.

Walking across the uneven ground, we tried to imagine what this place was supposed to be.

A rollercoaster towering above the city.

A Ferris wheel turning slowly toward the sky.

Families laughing, children running, couples holding hands, and the joyful noise of a park alive with the energy of dreams.

But none of that happened.

Construction problems, financial troubles, and years of delay turned promise into disappointment. The park never truly opened, never filled with the memories it was built to create. Instead, it became a monument to what could have been — a vision frozen in time, forgotten by many but still lingering like a shadow.

Now, as we walked across the open esplanade, we tried to fill the silence with imagination.

We pictured the rollercoaster tracks rattling with excitement, the screams of happy families echoing in the air. We imagined the Ferris wheel lifting people above the city, giving couples a beautiful view of Las Palmas as the sun set behind them. We tried to place Minilandia, the temple, the bumper cars, and the entrance gate — all of them now reduced to dust beneath our shoes.

There were moments when the wind seemed to carry distant laughter, not real of course, but a feeling… like the land itself remembered the dream even if the world moved on.

And yet, in all this absence, there was something strangely beautiful.

The open space gave us a view that stretched far, clear and uninterrupted — a reminder that even when dreams collapse, the world around them keeps shining. The sky looked enormous. The city in the distance glowed with calm. Even the silence felt peaceful, as if the land was finally resting after decades of waiting.

We stood there for a long time, not saying much. Just absorbing the story beneath our feet.

Parque Tívoli never became the wonderland it was meant to be.

But today, walking across the ground where imagination once tried to take flight, we felt connected to a forgotten chapter of Gran Canaria’s history. A chapter filled with ambition, hope, and ultimately, illusions that faded away.

All that remains now is dust, gravel… and the beautiful view.

But perhaps that is enough.

Perhaps some stories are meant to stay unfinished — so people like us can discover them again, piece by piece, and keep the memory alive.