Monday, March 18, 2002 18:32
Location: Playa de los Lances (beach), Tarifa, Spain
Weather: Warm and sunny, finally! Windy...

Today was a total triumph. I finally feel as though I'm beginning to understand and appreciate Spain. There's a certain rhythm: a quick breakfast around 8:30, busy morning, lunch from 12:30 to 2:00, slow afternoon of work until 5:00, 2-3 hours of serious people watching from a café, leisurely dinner, then party from 11 to 2am. (Well, Fridays and Saturdays, anyway.) I could get used to that schedule!

I had a number of things to do this morning, but knew nothing would open before 8 at the earliest, so that's when I checked out of the hostal. The weather had warmed up somewhat, but was still very humid. With all my belongings, I trekked through the narrow alleys for the umpteenth time, down to the cathedral and the post office. I was one of the first through the doors when the post office opened at 8:30. Then, back up to the Barrio for breakfast next door to the hostal (I suppose I could have left my bags there to save the weight), followed by walking downtown again (only 5-10 minutes each way, b.t.w., not an excessive distance) to find the laundromat and drop off my dirty clothes as well as the heavier pack.

Now lightly laden, I set off on my secondary tasks. I went back to a foreign language bookstore I'd passed earlier that morning, and was pleased to find in the English section a new novel by Lisa Jewell, exactly the kind of lightweight book to read while travelling. (See the book reviews section for reviews of other books by her.)

Then, the first check of the day: I had hoped to go see the Alcázar, but it turned out that it was closed on Mondays. (This is normal for museums in Spain.) However, the Lonely Planet assured me that there were interesting tours to be had at the bullfighting arena, so I walked down there.

I'd always had a pretty naive romantic view of bullfighting, and the tour was presented to support such a view, with museum exhibits highlighting paintings of famous bullfighters of the past and trophies. However, I was disturbed to learn (and yes, maybe I have been hiding under a rock all these years) that the bulls hardly ever survive their encounters with the Torreadores. Apparently, only the president of the bullfighters association--who has a reserved box next to the royal box in the arena--may decide to grant leniency to a bull which has fought particularly well. This happens less than 1% of the time... and bad luck to any bulls that may fight without the president in attendance. Fox hunting in England is one thing--at least there's a good chance the fox will escape, and foxes do pose a legitimate threat to henhouses--but bullfighting seems like an obviously outdated blood sport that should at least be reformed to a non-lethal state. Guess I'm joining the animal rights activists on this one.

After leaving the arena I had about half an hour to kill before I should pick up my laundry. I stopped in at another Internet café and dumped yet more through Blogger to my web page. On the way, I also managed to pick up a copy of the Herald Tribune, assuring myself yet more precious reading time.

My laundry was neatly folded and bagged when I got to the laundromat, so I paid, shouldered my combined pack again, and started up towards the train station. I passed a store selling the current issue of the Economist. Truly it was a wonderous threefold literary day for me.

The train down to Cadiz was one of Spanish Rail's Talgo 200 trains, in the luxury class with the AVE (alta velocidade--TGV) trains through not as fast. I had booked a seat in 1st class, and the reservation alone cost €16.50. I found out why: there was a constant airline-styled service, a light lunch, wine, coffee and soft drinks. So I passed a very pleasant 100 minutes down to Cadiz.

There, I finally found sunshine and almost gave up my plan to press on to Tarifa. But knowing that I wanted to be at Algeciras as early as possible tomorrow to get a good start into Morocco, I dragged myself over to the bus station and bought a ticket. What a pleasant surprise: the bus was only €6.56!

As we drove along I watched the landscape change. The flat coastline around Cadiz became hilly, the low scrubland picked up trees, horses and cows, and the wind rose. At one point, we passed a very strange sight: an open mine pit on the left (inland) side of the road was apparently being used as a graveyard for small fishing boats. Further on, the hills grew steeper and rockier as we approached Tarifa, the southernmost town in Europe. The tops of the hills were covered in windmills, spinning furiously.

Tarifa at last, and I had finally found the Mediterranean. Warm, sunny, and above all, laid back. The town is quite ancient, but I wasn't here to sightsee but to rest and prepare for Morocco, only 14km away, clearly visible on the other side of the strait. I checked into a lovely Pensão (Hostal Africa) for a mere €13, and headed down to the beach.
posted by Tom at 6:32 PM | link |