The city where the wind is at home

#28 Tarifa

What value do words, vacation reports have in a situation like this? On a day when a fire has been ignited that can set the whole world on fire. What sense does a blog about a trip across Andalusia make in that case?

I asked myself this question. I sat in our motorhome overlooking the open sea and there was only emptiness. Meaninglessness. Maybe also a touch of fear. What if the situation worsens quickly, if NATO intervenes in the conflict? We are 3000 kilometers away from our home...

"Hey, look at this radiant blue sky! What are we going to do today? Do you want a coffee?" Icke - there he was, the first ray of sunshine this morning. I told her about my concerns about the blog. "Oh," she said, "should there only be murder and manslaughter in the world? People still need something else - especially now!"

Yes, that was a good argument. A convincing one. So today I want to tell you about our trip to Tarifa, the southernmost point of Europe.

It's only about 40 kilometers from Gibraltar. A stone's throw away. The town with about 20,000 inhabitants marks the beginning of the approximately 60-kilometer-long waterway to Gibraltar on the European side. So this is where the Atlantic Ocean begins - or ends.

When we reached the city, we could already see a Lidl advertisement shining from a distance. We had to replenish our supplies. We were amazed when we arrived there. There were a dozen motorhomes in the parking lot. And not only here: we have never seen so many motorhomes in any city like in Tarifa.

After finding a nice spot on the edge of a sports complex - we could park freely because thanks to our new super-duper battery, we no longer need a power connection - we plunged into the old town and - right away - landed in a café. Small, inconspicuous, three small tables in front of the door, one of which was still free. We sat down and waited. And waited. And waited. About 15 minutes. Then a middle-aged man sneaked up to our table, full beard, sandals, soft voice. He asked us in English what he could bring us. Coffee and tea. And two toasted rolls - that's what it said on the menu. After half an hour, the rolls arrived first. They were two hamburgers that melted on the tongue! I have never eaten such good hamburgers - and I have eaten many hamburgers in my life! The coffee and tea were of the highest quality as well. No question, the wait was worth it!

And it had given us a first impression of Tarifa, a very decisive one: time doesn't matter here! Not even for the tourists who are visiting here, mostly young, relaxed people who want to enjoy their life in the flair of this very special city.

Many of them are wave hunters, mostly kite surfers who come here because of the extraordinary wind. Since the Strait of Gibraltar is lined with mountains on both sides, the wind has to literally squeeze through here. That's why it's windy, often stormy, at Tarifa's beaches almost all year round. Icke's pictures can tell more about these water artists than any of my words.

But: not everyone enjoys these almost tornadoes ... We were just at the beach, watching the kite artists, when Icke's bladder alerted her. It usually does that when there is no toilet in sight for miles. Icke is an artist in peeing in the great outdoors. She always finds a spot, it's quick as lightning, and no one notices. That's how it was here too. She sneaked down into a small gorge and suddenly disappeared. But this time it took longer ... She came back with a remorseful expression on her face. "Do you know what helicopter peeing is?" she asked me. I just shrugged my shoulders. "The wind comes from all directions here," she explained. "And it changes its direction suddenly. Do you understand?" Yes, I understood. We didn't go and eat something small. We went back to the motorhome. To change clothes.