Andalusia road trip, part 1
My Berlin-Spain road trip now takes me through Andalusia.
Because I stayed longer in El Gor than planned, my time at the southern tip of Spain has been shortened. I only have three days to see what I want to see: the port city of Cadiz, Tarifa, and Gibraltar. And, of course, an animal welfare project.
Route two-day trip no. 1 ©Rebecca Hillauer
For the first two and a half hours, I drive westward on the highway through the mountains toward Granada. To my surprise, I see almond trees along the road in white or pale pink bloom, whereas in El Gor they have already shed their blossoms. Here, however, the trees grow at a higher and cooler elevation, so they bloom a little later. I’m delighted by the sight. It forms a charming contrast to the barren, sand-colored hills in the background. At times, the vastness of the plateau and the road that seems to stretch into infinity remind me of highways in the southwestern United States.
Around noon, the Sierra Nevada mountain range comes into view in the distance, its snow-capped peaks glistening white. This is where the water comes from that I filled into plastic bottles at the spring in a rock in El Gor. It’s the drinking water reservoir for the entire region. It now lies before me, majestically and coolly-icy, covering the mountain ridge, while the blazing midday sun beats down on the roof of my old VW Polo, which has no air conditioning. The car’s interior is getting hotter and hotter; I can feel myself getting tired. I have to be careful not to doze off! I crank the side window down a bit to let the breeze in. It doesn’t cool the car, but it does refresh the air inside.
Relief comes as I exit the highway about half an hour past Granada. From here on, I wind my way along single-lane country roads. Finally. This is how I want to experience the countryside. Now things are getting really exciting—and breathtakingly beautiful. Plus, I have to concentrate on steering the car, which takes away my tiredness and invigorates my mind. Driving from point A to point B turns into a little adventure after all. At least that’s how I see it; otherwise, it would just be too boring. The hills, meadows, fields, and trees lining the roads glow in an incredible array of rich, lush shades of green after the winter’s abundant rains. Unfortunately, my photos don’t do justice to this splendor of color. For anyone who wants to follow in my footsteps: I’m in the region around Olvera. Every now and then, I spot sprawling solar farms scattered here and there, just like the ones I’ve seen in the province of Almería over the past few weeks.
In high spirits, I arrive in Cádiz in the late afternoon after taking a detour. As I approach the city, a monumental, gently curving cable-stayed bridge suddenly looms ahead of me. It carries me across the Bay of Cádiz into the city center. In a modern, “delicate and airy” architectural style, the gigantic metal cables converge at the top of the bridge girders, resembling a pointed hood.
The Puente de la Constitución de 1812 (“Constitution of 1812 Bridge”) has the longest span of any cable-stayed bridge in Spain and the third-longest span in Europe. At 600 yards, it is also the longest bridge in Spain. I feel intoxicated as I “glide” into the city in my old Volkswagen Fox at dusk, driving along the curved roadway beneath the illuminated metal cables. The next day—my only one in the city—I make sure to take a walk to the bridge and snap some photos. As expected, the experience is far less spectacular than the night before, but I can still feel the excitement of that drive.
I stroll along the beach promenade. Cádiz is situated on a narrow peninsula surrounded by the Atlantic Ocean. An ancient city wall encloses the historic center, which is characterized by winding alleys and squares.
Cádiz is considered one of the oldest continuously inhabited settlements in Western Europe. Founded over 3,000 years ago by the Phoenicians as a trading post, it later developed into a major maritime and economic center under Carthaginian, Roman, and Spanish rule. The typical Andalusian character, as well as the local dialect, reflect the city’s location at the crossroads of Mediterranean and Atlantic civilizations.
As I say goodbye to my host, Trini, she suggests I stop by the town of Vejer. Vejer de la Frontera is about 30 miles southeast and on my way, so I drive up the winding road to the high plateau. The settlement of whitewashed cottages is known as one of the most beautiful villages in Spain and the best-preserved “Pueblo Blanco” (“White Town”) in the region. The historic city wall features four gates and three towers, including a former Moorish castle from the 10th/11th century, which was expanded by the Christians in the 14th/15th century. The next day, I’ll get some news that will make me see this picturesque village in a whole new light, but I don’t know that yet.
I continue on my way. It takes about an hour before I reach a unique place—the beach at Tarifa. To be precise, Playa de los Lances. “Beach of the Lances.” The exact origin of the name is not documented. However, several sources suggest that it refers to the region’s geographical location and historical characteristics: The region, with its strong winds, was a strategically important point for navigation and defense, which could explain the “lances.” The beach is located at the southern tip of the European continent on the Atlantic coast and borders the Strait of Gibraltar. A headland extends toward Africa—a geographical feature that could be described as a “lance.”
What makes this place unique—and the reason why I simply “had” to come here—is that the nearby town of Tarifa lies at the narrowest point of the Strait of Gibraltar, where the Mediterranean Sea and the Atlantic Ocean meet—and thus where the warm, mild Mediterranean climate meets the cooler, harsher Atlantic climate. A watershed of a special kind.
The beach is very popular with kiteboarders and windsurfers. Along the road, I see signs advertising accommodations for them. There are several camper vans in the parking lot. It’s still early in the season, so there are only about thirty people on the beach. A few men are trudging barefoot through the fine sand, letting their kites soar into the sky. Out on the water, a lone windsurfer dances with the waves. On the opposite shore, I can make out the foothills of Morocco’s Atlas Mountains. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to Africa.
The town of Tarifa itself, just a few miles away, is considered one of the “world capitals” of windsurfing and kitesurfing thanks to its nearby beach. Ferries, including high-speed catamarans, also run several times a day to and from Tangier, Morocco. “That over there is Africa,” a passerby says to me, pointing to the range of hills on the opposite shore. Just under 20,000 people live in the town. On its western edge lies “Punta de Tarifa” (Punta, Spanish for “point” or “cape”), the southernmost point of the European mainland, on Isla de Las Palomas, which is connected to the mainland by a causeway. It is only nine miles to Morocco on the other side of the strait. Nowhere else are Europe and Africa closer together. The meeting of the Atlantic and Mediterranean waters creates a unique ecosystem, making Tarifa an excellent place to observe whales, dolphins, and bird migrations. That’s news to me—and a good reason to come back sometime.
Toward evening, I reach my actual destination, marking the start of the second part of my trip through Andalusia: the dog sanctuary in Los Barillos. A group of women has been running it under the most challenging conditions. More in my next travelogue.
This text was originally published on my German website and translated by me.