Coasting into Tarifa

November 3, 2009

Driving south to Tarifa we stopped off in the dusk to enjoy a deep crimson sunset over the ocean from high above in the hills. To get a better view we walked down a darkening lane next to one of those ramshackle roadside bars that are everywhere in the countryside here, made it seems, of corrugated iron, tin and pieces of litter. I happened to glance to the right and saw, in the fading light, several mules and donkeys, and to my astonishment noticed a baby lamb rise up on its hind legs, stretching to suckle from one of the donkeys, which just stood there placidly and seemed to actually enjoy the role it was cast in. You wouldn't believe a donkey can smile, but that's what it seemed to do! And all set against a deep red setting sun. Ah! Luckily my camera is very good in low light and I reached up, aimed it at the touching scene, and remember thinking: this picture will earn me the respect of professional wildlife photographers everywhere. I clicked - and got the message: "Memory card full". Aaaaaaahhhhh! I stuck a new memory card in, but by now we were in near blackness. I snapped two shots totally in the dark, aiming my camera at what, if I were lucky, might have been an animal or two. Here are the results - well, at least I have some proof, but you'll have to believe me on the details.



We drove down into Tarifa at sunset, smugly exploiting the street knowledge we had acquired on our last visit to navigate effortlessly through the old town and pulled in to a space where we parked (illegally) just in front of the hotel, opposite the groovy cafe where just everything seems to happen. It was raining warmly and softly, so with some speed we moved into our cute alternative-styled apartment in a groovy street, picking our way with our luggage through the dogs and the dog shit.



This time we don't have one balcony overlooking the action, we have two! I stepped out onto one wet balcony and photographed the nightlife of the street below, the rainy surfaces reflecting colours and lights that were picked out by streetlights.



Across the street the main cafe was still open, and I was glad to see people still sitting out at tables under the awning, in groups and alone, just hanging out. We looked forward to breakfast here tomorrow, at a table by the road, just enjoying the street life.



The apartment isn't quite of the same stunning design as the one next door that we got last time - that one has Moorish arches in the room itself. But this one also shares a very attractive feature: very high ceilings. My happiness was complete when I went to a small cafe a few houses down which offered free internet access. Outside as I write dogs are barking extremely loudly in the road - I believe I can empirically defend my statement: every Spanish family has at least one dog and they all bark like crazy, and they shit everywhere and no-one really minds. When you love an animal you'll overlook all its sins. Only cats have none.



After unpacking we set out on a determined journey through the side streets opposite the hotel. We were on the lookout for a particular Italian restaurant that my wife remembered from last time, and eventually discovered it was shut up for the winter. We walked on, and had the good fortune, as it was so late, to come across a vegetarian restaurant still open, a Moroccan-style cupboard-sized place squeezed in among the rows of tiny white buildings in a narrow street. We ordered a take-away as the place was almost too tiny to eat in comfortably. The language used to describe the food on the menu, itself a work of art, was impressive, the items exotic.

While waiting for our order we passed the time by strolling through the back streets trying to recall which restaurants we had ate in last time, and where exactly the open courtyard market place was located. These are streets where a bigger man than I am might be able to stretch out and just about, if he were exaggerating as I am now, touch the white walls of the buildings across from each other. That's narrow. Especially as these streets are open to traffic.



Walking down one street not far from the hotel we came upon a couple of catholic shrines, one built into the corner of a street the other into the wall of the old city gate at the north of the enclosure of streets. What interested me more than the shrine contents themselves was the fact that they were beautifully maintained, and untouched by graffiti. No-one had broken bits off or vandalised them in any other way we could see.



We ate the meal in our apartment, dog-tired now. The food was disappointing. All cute evocative vocabulary on the menu, but it failed to deliver on essentials like taste.

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Castillo de Guzman

November 4, 2009

Just before breakfast down at the groovy cafe I wandered around the landing outside our room, looking down onto the reception on the first floor landing through a kaleidoscope of coloured glass framed in wrought iron. Highly impressive. This is a beautiful building - a bit shabby outside, wonderfully maintained and styled inside.



Even the hallways and staircases featured lead window mosaics, and the morning sunlight streamed through onto elaborate hanging lampshades.



My wife had headed off to the courtyard market place whose architecture was Moorish in its influences. I hurried along afterwards to take another look on my own.



Strolling back through the narrow streets I couldn't help but stick my tourist's nose into many of the courtyards, but this one impressed me with the simplicity of its style and the juxtaposition of ochre and blue - colours I suppose we associate with northern African countries.



We had a relaxed breakfast at the cafe opposite the apartment, and it was great! Sinful - toasted panini and jam, wonderfully strong coffee, watching the world go by, and even recognising some faces from 2006. Looking up to our apartment building we admired the tiled facades of the buildings, the balconies, the wrought-iron railings. I particularly liked the curved outer windows that enclosed the inner apartment windows on the balconies.



Small wonder the local world gathers to sit here and chat and smoke while their dogs bark and chase poor stray cats. Very picturesque, and mostly all Spanish, it seemed. Loved it, and looking forward to our last breakfast there tomorrow morning before driving up to Malaga for the flight home. Maybe, if the weather plays along, we'll be able to stop at the pull-in on the road between Tarifa and Algeciras for a stunning view over the Straits to Morocco - easily my favourite view of all time.

After breakfast we toured the Castillo de Guzman, which served as the main defense position for the city for long centuries. The name comes from a Christian commander who threw down a knife for the Muslims to slaughter his son whom they had captured, rather than surrender the fortress. And they cut the son's head off in front of the commander's eyes. The attacking Muslim forces were in collaboration with a Christian army that was a rival to Guzman. Men and power, eh?



The castle offers impressive views over to the coast of Morocco from the ramparts - more impressive than the photos manage to show, which is another way of saying I took a few lousy shots of a grey sea under a lowering sky. Even so, if I look really carefully I can see small coastal towns picked out by shafts of sun. If I look really carefully.



However, equally interesting were the cats, and there were many of them, which relaxed casually inside a small courtyard at the base of one of the towers. They demonstrated through their unhurried stroll up and down the various staircases that this was their territory, and that sightseers are welcome only in so far as they do not disturb their peace.



On the other side of the castle, looking over to the roofs of Tarifa new town, it was hard not to believe we were not looking onto any modern Arab town, so much has the architecture benefited from its proximity to North Africa. Here the dark sky provided an emphatic backdrop against which the colours of the roofs of the modern high-rise apartment blocks stood out prominently, almost glowing. The question occurred to me, as it often does when I see successfully executed modern architecture abroad - why are there so few new towns in England (read: none) where any real consideration has been given to pure functionality?




Click here for my Flickr photos of Andalusia