In Gran Canaria, water is never in short supply on supermarket shelves, but you only have to go through airport security to discover an indecent paradox: a half-liter bottle costs €1,50. The same equation, applied to the volume of one cubic meter—one thousand liters—shoots up the bill to €3.000.
It's the price of kidnapping because for security reasons they say you can't bring your own water. Not from a clueless tourist, but from the people of Gran Canaria themselves, who, in order to travel from their island to the Peninsula, Europe, or Africa, must accept this imposed surcharge. Water, an essential and basic necessity, becomes a luxury item in an area that should be a public service.
The contrast is obscene: in any Canarian home, a cubic meter of tap water costs between 1 and 2 euros, depending on the municipality. In other words, a resident can fill their cistern, wash dishes, cook, and shower for weeks for less than what it costs to stay hydrated in the departure lounge during a two-hour wait.
The grievance is not anecdotal. Every year, more than ten million passengers pass through Gando's terminals. Among them, hundreds of thousands of islanders who pay, time and again, this hidden tax on their mobility. The bottled water business in airports is not a whim; it's a monopoly regulated by concessions where margins are shamelessly inflated, protected by the lack of alternatives.
This kidnapping has two dimensions: economic and symbolic. Economic, because it directly hits the pockets of residents, who are forced to pay exorbitant fares in their own territory. Symbolic, because it conveys the idea that, in order to travel, Canarians must accept an invisible toll that makes them hostage to airport logistics.
In times of pride of territorial cohesion and mobility rights, the detail of a bottle of water exposes a structural contradiction: living on an island means paying a constant surcharge, even for the most basic needs. The airport, which should be the worthy gateway to and from a tricontinental territory, becomes a showcase for consensual abuse.
In the end, the numbers are stubborn: 3.000 euros per cubic meter. It's not water, it's a kidnapping with a public contract and an official seal.
