Beyond Ibiza: 7 Best Spanish Islands to Visit in 2026 (Hidden Gems)

There is a specific scent to the Mediterranean that I’ve spent half my life chasing. It isn’t the cloying sweetness of coconut sunscreen or the sharp sting of chlorine from a resort pool. It is the smell of salt baking on hot volcanic rock, the dusty perfume of wild fennel growing in the cracks of dry stone walls, and the unmistakable brine of the sea itself.

For years, the world has fixated on the big names—Mallorca, Tenerife, Ibiza. And don’t get me wrong, they are magnificent in their own right. But in 2026, as the world continues to spin a little faster and the crowds at the usual hotspots reach a fever pitch, I find myself looking sideways. I’m looking for the Spain that whispers rather than shouts.

I’m looking for the islands where the goat still outranks the tourist, where the ferry is a Rickety wooden affair rather than a floating skyscraper, and where the sunset is a communal, silent ritual rather than a DJ’s cue. If you are tired of the "balcony-shouting" parties and want to sink your toes into something real, something that feels discovered rather than manufactured, you are in the right place. Pack your sense of adventure and leave the glitz at the port. Here are the seven Spanish islands that are quietly stealing my heart, and will surely steal yours in 2026.

1. La Graciosa, The Island That Forgot Asphalt

I remember the first time I stepped off the ferry onto La Graciosa. There was a moment of disorientation. I looked down at my feet, expecting the crunch of gravel or the slap of pavement. Instead, I felt the yielding give of fine, ochre dust. La Graciosa, the smallest of the Canary Islands, sits just a few hundred meters north of Lanzarote, yet it feels like a world apart. It is the only inhabited island in the Canaries without paved roads. That is not a typo. There is no asphalt here. The primary modes of transport are your own two legs, a bicycle, or a sputtering, dust-churning 4x4 taxi that costs a few euros to rattle you across the sand.

This is an island of raw, geological minimalism. The landscape is a dramatic interplay of black volcanic rock (specifically, the Timanfaya range's little brother) and the blindingly white sand of its beaches. The main village, Caleta de Sebo, is a cluster of low-rise, white-washed buildings with blue accents that look like they’ve been bleached by the sun and seasoned by the salt spray. It feels distinctly Caribbean, yet the tapas bar on the corner serves papas arrugadas with mojo picón that bites back.

For the traveler in 2026, La Graciosa offers the rare commodity of silence. There are no high-rises to block the horizon. My favorite days here are renting a rusty mountain bike and wobbling my way toward the Playa de las Conchas. The ride is a jarring, rhythmic affair over volcanic soil. The beach itself is a wild, wind-whipped crescent of sand facing the open Atlantic. The waves here are powerful, hypnotic, and terrifyingly beautiful. I’ve spent hours just watching the surf crash, feeling the spray on my face, knowing that the only thing between me and the coast of Africa is three thousand kilometers of open water.

Why 2026? The Canaries are tightening regulations to protect their delicate ecosystems. La Graciosa is the crown jewel of the Chinijo Archipelago National Park. Visit in 2026 to see sustainable tourism in action, but do it with respect. Leave no trace. This place is fragile.

Where to Eat: Restaurante La Cocina de Lalo. It’s unpretentious and the seafood is pulled from the waters you can see from your table. Order the vieja (parrot fish) with papas arrugadas. It’s a meal that tastes like the ocean.

2. Isla de Arousa, The Green Paradise of Galicia

If you head north, the Spain you know vanishes, replaced by a greener, wetter, fiercely proud land. Galicia is the emerald cape of the Iberian Peninsula, and the Isla de Arousa is its aquatic garden. This isn't a desert island; it’s a water-world. To get there, you board a small ferry that winds through the Ría de Arousa (the estuary), passing under high bridges and alongside floating mussel rafts. The air here is different—it smells of rain, eucalyptus, and woodsmoke.

I have a soft spot for Arousa because it feels like a place where time has been suspended in a pleasant loop of eating and strolling. The island is connected to the mainland by a long bridge, but the feeling of isolation is profound once you are on the narrow lanes. The Camino de Santiago passes through here, specifically the Camino Portugués de la Costa. You will see pilgrims, weary but happy, trudging along the coastal path.

The island is a tangle of pine forests and vineyards. Yes, vineyards! The Albariño grape thrives here. I recall one afternoon, stumbling upon a small adega (winery) where an elderly man, with hands stained purple, poured me a glass of wine that tasted of green apples and sea breeze. He didn’t speak a word of English, and my Galician is non-existent, but we communicated through the universal language of a raised glass.

The beaches are tucked into coves, protected from the open ocean. They are intimate, often empty even in August if you walk ten minutes past the main access points. The water is cold—this is the Atlantic, after all—but the shock of it is invigorating. It clears the head.

Why 2026? The "Rías Baixas" region is finally getting the international recognition it deserves for gastronomy. Arousa is the gateway to this. It is also a haven for slow travel—cycling and walking are the best ways to see it.

Where to Eat: O Muíño do Poeta. It’s a mill-turned-restaurant overlooking the water. The pulpo a feira (octopus) here is some of the tenderest I’ve ever had, served on wooden plates with a dust of paprika and olive oil.

3. La Gomera, The Island of the Whistling Language

La Gomera is shaped like a heart, or perhaps a kidney, and it is the greenest thing I have ever seen. It rises out of the sea like a sponge soaked in mist. You approach it from Tenerife, and as the ferry churns through the water, the island looms, vertical and imposing. It is a place of deep ravines (barrancos) and prehistoric forests.

But the true magic of La Gomera isn't just the scenery; it’s the sound. This is the home of Silbo Gomero, a whistled language that was developed to communicate across the deep ravines. I heard it for the first time at a demonstration in a village square. Two men stood on opposite hillsides and whistled complex melodies back and forth. It sounded like birdsong, but it was pure information—greetings, warnings, news. It is a haunting, beautiful reminder of human ingenuity.

Hiking in La Gomera is a spiritual experience. The trails in the Garajonay National Park take you through cloud forests where the trees are draped in moss and ferns the size of small trees. The air is cool and damp. You walk through the Laurisilva, a relic of the Tertiary period, and you feel very small.

However, be warned: the roads are terrifyingly narrow, winding ribbons of asphalt that cling to cliffsides. If you get motion sickness, sit in the back of the bus and close your eyes. But if you have a strong stomach, renting a car and driving down to the village of Valle Gran Rey is worth it. The sunset there, over the banana plantations and the black sand beach, is a slow, golden affair.

Why 2026? La Gomera is positioning itself as a top destination for wellness and ecotourism. It’s the antidote to the burnout culture of 2025. It demands that you slow down.

Where to Eat: Restaurante El Cineco in San Sebastián. It serves modern Canarian cuisine with a twist. Try the churros de pescado (fish churros) with a spicy dipping sauce. It’s a local favorite and fills up fast.

4. Isla de Tabarca, The Mediterranean’s Open-Air Aquarium

Tabarca is the smallest inhabited island in the Valencian Community. It is a sliver of rock and sand that you can walk across in twenty minutes. But what it lacks in size, it makes up for in the clarity of its water. We are talking about water so transparent that it looks like glass.

I took a glass-bottom boat trip around the island, but honestly, the best view is when you jump in. This is a marine reserve, and the biodiversity is staggering. I strapped on a snorkel mask near the northern tip, slipped into the water, and immediately found myself surrounded by schools of bream and wrasse. Below me, meadows of Posidonia oceanica swayed. It felt like floating in an aquarium, except the fish weren't watching me; I was watching them.

The island village is a cluster of fortified stone houses painted in sun-faded yellows and pinks. It has a fascinating history—it was a haven for corsairs and pirates before being repopulated by Genoese settlers in the 18th century. You can still see the Genoese influence in the dialect and the architecture.

Lunch on Tabarca is a ritual. The specialty is Caldero Tabarquino, a rich fish stew made with rice, garoupa (grouper), and the essential ingredient: ñora peppers. It is cooked in a huge metal pot over an open fire. The rice absorbs all the fish stock and becomes a crunchy, toasted layer at the bottom called socarrat. It is pure comfort food, eaten at a plastic table overlooking the harbor, with the smell of frying garlic in the air.

Why 2026? As the Mediterranean warms and marine life shifts, Tabarca remains a protected sanctuary. It’s a living lesson in marine conservation, perfect for families and eco-conscious travelers.

Where to Eat: Restaurante Casa Pascual. It’s been there forever. The waiters are efficient and brusque, but the arroz a banda is legendary. Don’t let the lack of niceties fool you; the food is the star.

5. Isla de La Toja, The Aristocratic Spa Island

If La Graciosa is rugged and wild, La Toja is the exact opposite. It is refined, manicured, and smells faintly of sulfur. Known as the "Galician Maldives" (a bit of a stretch, but the sentiment is there), La Toja is famous for its thermal waters and natural springs. The island is tiny—barely 1.5 kilometers long—and is connected to the mainland by a short bridge.

The architecture here is distinct: buildings are clad in shells. The Casino de La Toja, the hotels, and even the kiosks are decorated with millions of scallop shells. It’s a bit kitsch, but undeniably charming.

I visited La Toja on a gray, drizzly day, which is the default setting for Galicia. It felt perfect. I spent the morning at the Termas de La Toja, a thermal spa complex. The water is rich in minerals and is piped directly into the treatment rooms. There is something deeply satisfying about soaking in hot, sulfurous water while looking out at the mist rolling over the Ría de Arousa. It feels like a 19th-century novel come to life.

The island is popular with wealthy Spaniards from Madrid and Vigo, who have been coming here for generations to "take the waters." It has a sleepy, almost nostalgic atmosphere. There are no nightclubs, no loud parties. Just long walks along the promenade, seafood lunches, and a pervasive sense of calm.

Why 2026? Wellness travel is exploding. People are looking for restorative experiences, not just Instagram backdrops. La Toja is the original wellness retreat.

Where to Eat: Restaurante El Camarote. It sits right on the water. The centollo (spider crab) is the thing to order here. They crack it open for you at the table, and the meat is sweet and delicate.

6. Isla de Ons, The Wild Atlantic Sister

Just south of La Toja lie the Ons Islands: Ons and Onza. They are the southern gatekeepers of the Atlantic Islands National Park. To get there, you take a catamaran from the lively town of Sanxenxo. The ride is bouncy and fun, and the anticipation builds as the islands appear on the horizon.

Ons feels wilder than its neighbors. The wind whips through the Toxo (gorse) bushes. The beaches—Playa de Ons and the more secluded Playa de Melide—are vast stretches of golden sand backed by dunes and pine trees. The water is shockingly cold, but the beauty of the landscape is worth the shiver.

I walked the coastal path to the lighthouse at the western tip of the island. The views of the open Atlantic are staggering. It feels like the edge of the world. Along the way, I met a local fisherman mending a net. He told me that in the spring, the island is carpeted in wildflowers, and in the summer, it smells of pine resin and salt.

There is a small village on Ons, but most of the island is protected nature. It is a paradise for hikers and birdwatchers. If you are lucky, you might spot a sea eagle or a monk seal (though the latter is incredibly rare). It’s a place to disconnect. The signal is spotty, the vibe is laid-back, and the nights are dark enough to see the Milky Way.

Why 2026? National Park status means strict limits on visitor numbers. Book your ferry tickets well in advance for the 2026 season. This is nature tourism done right.

Where to Eat: O Muíño do Poeta. The grilled sardines here are legendary. Eat them with your fingers, squeezed with lemon, and a slice of bread underneath to catch the juices.

7. Isla de San Pedro, The Island That Time Forgot

This is the wildcard. The smallest of the "islands" on this list, Isla de San Pedro isn't really an island for half the day. It is a peninsula connected to the mainland by a wooden walkway that crossing the sand dunes. But at high tide, the water rushes in, and it becomes a distinct, isolated blob of land.

I spent a day here camping (there is a designated area) and it remains one of my fondest travel memories. The island is dominated by a 16th-century stone watchtower, the Torre de San Pedro, which stands guard over the Ría de Arousa. Climbing it gives you a 360-degree view of the surrounding salt marshes and sea.

The ecosystem here is unique—salt marshes are vital nurseries for marine life. At dusk, the sky turns a bruised purple and orange, and the sound of the marsh comes alive with the croaking of frogs and the call of wading birds. It feels prehistoric.

There are no shops, no restaurants on the island itself. You have to bring everything with you. It is a place for picnics, for reading books in a hammock strung between two pines, for watching the tide come in and cut you off from the world. It’s a tiny, temporary Robinson Crusoe experience.

Why 2026? It’s a lesson in tidal rhythms. It forces you to pay attention to nature’s clock. It’s the ultimate "off-grid" spot for a day trip without needing a boat.

Where to Eat: You bring your own! But the closest spot on the mainland is O Recreo in O Grove. Go there before you cross the walkway for a hearty breakfast of tostada con tomate and coffee to fuel your castaway adventure.

Final Thoughts: The Soul of the Islands

Traveling to these islands in 2026 isn't just about ticking a box on a bucket list. It’s about a shift in mindset. It’s choosing the grit of La Graciosa’s dust over the polished floors of a hotel lobby. It’s choosing the whistled language of La Gomera over the thumping bass of a beach club.

When I look back at my travels, the moments that stick with me aren't the most luxurious ones. They are the ones where I felt a little lost, a little vulnerable, and entirely alive. They are the taste of a fish caught an hour ago, the burn in my legs climbing a hill, the sound of a whistle echoing across a ravine.

These islands are not easy. They require ferries, patience, and a willingness to embrace the unexpected. But that is precisely why they are perfect for 2026. They offer a reward that the mainstream cannot: the feeling of having found something secret, something precious. They remind us that Spain is more than flamenco and paella; it is a complex, rugged, and deeply beautiful archipelago of stories waiting to be heard.

So, when you plan your trip, look beyond the obvious. Look for the places where the roads end, where the language is whistled, and where the water is clear enough to see your reflection. That is where the real Spain lives.