ALLAN ROGERS TAKES THE ROAD TO CÁDIZ

At this time of the year, driving through the almost deserted roads of South West Spain is a real pleasure.

It seemed untouched by time and I almost expected to see Don Quixote riding on a donkey and tilting his lance to battle with windmills.

Well a donkey did look mournfully at us as we drove past, and, as we crested a hill we did see windmills!

A whole battalion of sinister looking wind generators lined the mountains.

There were hundreds of them, it suddenly seemed rather futuristic, but this intrusion was soon left behind.


As we rounded the tip of Spain, at Tarifa, we smelt the fresh salt air of the Atlantic and the waves washed in on mile after mile of glorious sandy beach. Behind enormous sand dunes lay campsites and palm tees lined the gardens of, the not too cleverly named, ‘Hurricane Hotel’

Out on the bay a lone windsurfer scudded across the water and at Camping Tora de la Pena , wild yellow flowers like buttercups filled a field that come the summer would be full of Spanish families.

If you want to escape the commerce the Costas and bustle of the Brits it seems a good place to go.

We drove down an avenue of stringy barked gum trees on a pot-holed road through bushy pine trees. The scent in the air was magnificent and it was great to find in February wild yellow orchids, amid bamboo, budding bushes. and tea trees

Further up the coast we located Cape Trafalgar and looked out from an ancient light house to that bit of sea where ‘every man did his duty’ and Nelson had his great and final victory before the remnants of the Spanish fleet limped home to Cadiz.

The nearest town was Vejer de La Frontera. It positively sparkled in the strong sunlight. It’s gleaming white buildings crowned a mountain with a maze of narrow little undulating streets. hills, punctuated here and there, with little cafes.



In these smartly dressed men played cards noisily, stomping them on the table with a passion when winning.

We wandered through alleys peeping in open doorways to admire the beautiful wrought iron work, blue tiles and cool marble.

At the edge of town oranges grew on the trees in the Esplanade Vejer d la Frontera and stepping around a dog lazing in the sun, we looked over to see an eagle hovering high above the valley. With feathered wing tips he hung almost motionless in the air.

Far below lay the main highway that we eventually followed up towards Cádiz, travelling over hills and plains with enormous flat flooded paddy fields, where they grow the rice for all that paella.

Occasionally we passed little homesteads fenced off with hedges of prickly pear cactus the teddy bear ears sticking up. Then there were groves, where yellow lemons on the trees put me in the mood for a gin and tonic.

Near the port of San Fernado an ancient fort seemed to be sinking into a bog and an old man fishing off the bridge waved as we passed.

Cadiz, when we arrived, was preparing for festival and illuminations strung across the narrow streets depicted faces with gaping smiles.



Cádiz stands on a little peninsula, that used to be the island of León, and is the oldest city of the west. It was founded around 1100 BC by the Phoenicians.

It later became Carthaginian, then Roman, always prosperous. It reached great splendour on the discovery of America. It was plundered by the English in 1596 and It resisted a siege by Napoleon's army.

There are many buildings worth visiting including the Cathedral and churches like Santa Cruz, San Felipe Neri where the first Spanish constitution was proclaimed

Most towns and village have a Carnival but Cádiz is the biggest in Andalucía
and happens every February.

The city which at 3pm seemed to be closing, came to life after dark and the sound of flamenco music drifted from the bars. At every street corner lottery tickets were being sold and overhead amid the lanterns, pots of flowers hung from even the oldest building.

Little old ladies with bow legs carried plastic bags of shopping up the hills and teenagers on mopeds zipped and roared noisily over the cobbles.

The place was vibrant and alive.

We walked through elegant colonnades and sipped coffee beneath the beige colour balconies and fluttering flags in Plaza de San Juan de Dios.


We followed the crowds at flowed and chattered along the narrow streets savoured the smells of freshly baked tortillas, and apple pie, enjoyed the glittering lights in the swanky shops where quality products were made desirable by the good rate of exchange.

There was pleasure in the sound of children playing, up (late by our standards) and part of the community and always round the next corner, the unexpected, like the flower sellers in Telegraph Square.

It was the first night in Spain and when I woke up next morning and looked from my balcony on The Playa Victoria Hotel out onto the Atlantic rolling in on the expanse of Cadiz’s Victoria beach I began to realise just how varied a fly drive holiday in Andalusia might be.

We hadn’t even begun to look at the land of sherry, vineyards, bull fights and white mountain villages.

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