Some days are easy, some days are not so easy, and some days are just weird. So it goes with traveling. We pulled up stakes in Barbate and navigated the local bus from Barbate out to Vejer de la Blanca, Vejer on the Bridge. There was a three hour wait for the main bus, but the Travel Gods smilied on us. There was a great Meson right next to the bus stop. It was cafe time!
Hanging out in style in the tiny hamlet of Vejer de la Blanca.
Tuna burger, calamari, all the good things that make waiting bearable.
Eventually we piled onto the crowded Cadiz-Algeciras bus. Barbate is about halfway between the two. This was a busy travel day so we were lucky to get seats anywhere close to each other. Our destination was Tarifa, the southernmost point on the European continent. We knew a bit about Tarifa, but we were about to learn a lot more.
For forty-five minutes, the bus climbed over steeper and steeper grades. There were higher slopes on both sides of our route. Strung across the ridges of the mountains were giant wind turbines. Huge modern versions of Quixote's windmills swung above the Spanish rock. On this part of the coast, the wind howls off of the Atlantic. Clue Number One: Tarifa is windy, hence its fame as one of the wind-sport capitals of Europe.
Modern Main Street, Tarifa, Spain.
The bus pulled into the modern streets of Tarifa. Every other storefront was a wind-surfing or wind-kiting business. Thee were gear shops, wind-kiting schools and rentals, mountain bike shops, and signs for vegan food. It was like landing in Boulder, Colorado, or Moab. "We are here to sell you the gear."
Kawabunga, Dood! Surf's Up!
I have been to lots of ski towns, lots of climbing towns, and lots of trekking towns. I get the vibe, the vegan goodness, the pushing of limits. The thing is, this is still the coldest spring the Spanish can remember. We had a nice break in Barbate, with two days of sun and relative warmth. Here in Tarifa, however, the Atlantic gale was slamming into the coast, with huge grey clouds along for the ride. If I was riding a kite-board, snug in my wetsuit, I would care less. But we are walking down a grey street, on a grey day, getting blown backwards by a cold wind.
Here is where the identity crisis begins. The first impression of Tarifa is a moderately successful sports-tourism town suffering from a slow start to the boom season. The wind-kiters and surfers must be somewhere, but they aren't on the streets of the town. But venture a bit further downhill, and one is suddenly at the archway of the old city. Hey, this is cool, and it's out of the wind. Inside the old city, there are the typical labyrinths of narrow streets and smaller passageways. There are also a plethora of trendy shops and restaurants, each geared towards the well-heeled sports crowd. If you want to get your healthy-yoga-organic-new-age Thang going, this is the place to do it.
Old town, just before the rains cut loose.
I can see Africa!
Tarifa is also a transit town. Ferries sail the straits between Spain and Africa, carrying cars and travelers across the windy gap. This is the end of the Atlantic and the beginning of the Mediterranean. Gibraltar lies not far to the northeast. This was why we were here, to make the jump to Morocco.
Clouds above the ferry terminal.
We were fleeing Spain ahead of the Easter Holiday crowds. Tangier, Morocco, that's going to be our new hideaway. A simple one hour ferry ride across the straits and we would be back in the land of cheap hotels and cheap street food.
See the little pointiy bit where Europe and Africa almost slip each other the tongue? That's where Tarifa is.
Isla de Tarifa, the Southernmost point in Europe.
Did I mention that it is windy as hell here? And cold? And Rainy?
This guy is having fun. Here is where the town makes their money.
Okay, time to say something nice about the town. The food is really good here. Not cheap, but good. This is a tourist town that aims at the folks who can afford expensive sports gear. There are a huge number of trendy cafes and bars, most of which seem to be of a high level of quality. Our place was a busy, family-run restaurant. The food was great, the service was great, and it was fun to watch the people show.
All that's left of my poor, dead fish.
First, to be fair, the weather in Tarifa sucked. This always colors my impressions. The modern town is cheerless and bleak. The old town reminds me of a medieval ski-resort. Not a bad place to spend one night, unless the streets are sheeted with cold-ass rain driven on a biting wind. So, yeah, there was that. I just didn't connect with Tarifa.
In summer weather, there is a lot to do here. There are Roman ruins up the coast, hiking trails in the hills, and birdwatching in the nearby national park. And there are all the water-sports one could want. When it's grey and nasty, get a wetsuit and maybe it will be fun.
So, is Tarifa a sports town, a transit town, or an historic town? I suppose the answer is all three, maybe, but I am going to be glad to climb onto the ferry and get the hell out of here. The weather forecast for Tangier is good, sunny and warmer. And hey, it's Africa! How cool is that? We have our ferry tickets in hand and we are ready to go.
From windy, Not-My-Favorite-Town, Tarifa, Spain: "Ciao for Now!"
No comments:
Post a Comment