Once a thriving holiday resort in Callao Salvaje in Costa Adeje, the Grand Hotel Callao Sport has become a symbol of legal impotence in the face of property occupation in, not just the Canary Islands, but all of Spain, as the owners are powerless to do anything about the squatters who have destroyed it.
Nearly five years after it was forced to close due to the economic fallout of the COVID-19 pandemic, the 92-room resort remains shuttered, not by choice, but by the presence of the squatters who have taken control of the property.
The hotel's closure in October 2020 marked the beginning of a long and frustrating ordeal for its owners. Despite repeated attempts to relaunch the business, mounting financial pressure eventually led the family-run firm Domasa SA to put the property up for sale. Yet, the hotel remains unsold, deteriorating with each passing day under unauthorised occupation.
A visit to the premises reveals the extent of the damage. Piles of rubbish block the entrance, tennis courts and other sports facilities lie in disrepair, and overgrown vegetation chokes the grounds. What was once envisioned as a sports retreat for active holidaymakers is now a derelict site, stripped of its identity and overrun by lawlessness.
"The hotel is completely destroyed," the administrator of Domasa SA, Carmen Margarita, told Diario de Avisos. “They’ve sold the furniture, built rooms where there were none. It’s horrific.”
According to her account, the ordeal began in February 2020 with a failed robbery attempt that resulted in a Guardia Civil officer being injured. Of the twelve people involved, three were detained, though one managed to escape. Just 48 hours later, Margarita says, around fifty people had already entered the hotel. “It was all perfectly organised,” she claims.
Since then, the owners have lost all control over the site. What initially appeared to be a squat has since morphed into something more structured and illicit. Margarita alleges that ringleaders are now running a clandestine business inside the hotel, selling or renting out rooms, charging more for those with bathrooms, and even converting kitchens into makeshift accommodation. These unauthorised modifications pose serious safety risks. "Ambulances have had to come in," she says. "Even the rubbish trucks don’t go there anymore."
“This isn’t about a family in need, it’s something else entirely,” she adds. “They tried to blackmail us. They demanded a large sum of money and that we find them alternative housing. We couldn’t believe it."
Despite having no access to their property, the owners continue to foot the bill for electricity, with costs reportedly tripling. Water supply was officially cut off in 2021, but the squatters somehow still have access to it, most likely through illegal connections, possibly even siphoning from public sources.
The family’s sense of injustice is only deepened by the perceived inaction of the legal system. "We've filed civil and criminal complaints, made numerous reports, but nothing. The courts remain silent." Margarita is particularly dismayed by the wider consequences, noting that international websites are circulating misleading messages suggesting it is possible to live in Tenerife rent-free for a year, complete with utilities.
"We pay taxes so that public services can help people in need, not to allow others to live in our properties for free while we lose everything,” she says. “And the worst part? We can’t do a thing. The laws are made by people who aren’t affected by this.”
The family’s legacy, built on decades of hard work, now hangs in the balance. “My father emigrated to America and came back to build a life and a business here. After everything we’ve paid in taxes, social security and wages, we’re left with a closed, destroyed hotel and no legal recourse,” Margarita explains.
When asked when they might regain possession of the property, she doesn’t dare to speculate. “This place was never abandoned, just closed temporarily while we waited for a buyer. How can the law allow this to happen and leave one party so defenceless?” With a heavy sense of resignation, she sums up the family's plight: “We feel completely abandoned by the system.”
