Cádiz and the end of Spain

Miss TomTom navigated us out of Granada and on our merry way down the highway to Cadiz. Just so you know, it's actually Cádiz (KAH-dith). The accent tells you the emphasis is on the first syllable, the 'z' is pronounced somewhere between an 's' and a 'th' sound – 'th' is close enough. But you can just say Kah-DIZ. I know you will anyway.

The route was very straight. According to Miss TomTom, it was about 370 km and would take us three and a half hours. But the road signs were saying it was more like 450 km. It took us awhile to figure out the signs were giving us the distance if we went all the way on divided highways, which would mean going north to Seville, then back down the coast to Cadiz. Miss TomTom knew a shortcut.

                                                         

Our much more direct route took us partly on two-lane highways, about which I had some concerns. But the roads were fine and, as it was Sunday, virtually empty. About an hour from Cadiz, we picked up an expressway again, and found our way into the city without any problem, passing over a fabulous modern bridge. 

La Pepa bridge (from Torre Tavira - about which see below)

Old Cadiz is on a peninsula, surrounded on three sides by the Atlantic. You can get to it by driving up the peninsula, but there are also two bridges from the mainland. We never got close to our bridge again while we were there, but often saw it off in the distance. It’s called the Puente de La Pepa, named after the Spanish constitution, the first liberal – i.e. more or less democratic – constitution in Europe, signed in Cadiz in 1812. The bridge opened last year.

We had arranged with Ana, the English-based owner, that we would turn up at the apartment at 6 p.m. We were to text Alejandra, the onsite caretaker, when we were near, and she would meet us there. We arrived a bit early, a little after 5. We had timed it deliberately so we could find an open El Corte Ingles – the only major supermarkets open on Sunday in Spain. But that ended up seeming a bit complicated, so we just texted Alejandra that we were there early. No response. I finally texted Ana in England, who texted right back that Alejandra was waiting for us at the apartment. (So why hadn’t she responded?!)

We found our way down narrow little streets to the apartment, and Alejandra was indeed waiting on the street. She guided me onto a parking elevator – it took a little backing and turning – and down we went to our exorbitantly expensive parking spot. The car elevator was a first for us. We’d seen the sliding doors on the streets often enough in Spain, but never had occasion to use one. The parking spaces were a little tight, but perfectly manageable.

Alejandra seemed a nice young woman, but with little or no English. We got along fine in broken Spanglish. The apartment is in an old building (18th century at a guess, as is much of the architecture here) that has been gutted fairly recently and rebuilt with very modern apartments. Ours is surprisingly bright and airy (considering that the windows give on a street no more than 12 feet wide with apartment blocks on the other side.) The rooms are a good size, all furnished in Ikea. Even the kitchen appliances are Ikea. Typical holiday rental.

We unpacked and freshened up, then set out to find a restaurant. TripAdvisor showed some highly-rated ones on Calle Zorilla, only a few blocks away, which I realized was the street Alejandra had recommended for restaurants. So we headed there. The route took us to a lovely square, Plaza de Mina, with giant floodlit fig trees, cafes, kids playing ball, folks chatting on park benches. It was evening, time for the paseo. Calle Zorilla was just off the square.

The restaurant we decided on, Menos Cumbries, is an atmospheric pub-like place that specializes in Iberico pork. It was fairly expensive. Karen and I justified it by saying it was for my birthday. The food was tasty, but nothing to write home about (hmmm, except I am). The service, from our suitably ham-faced, pot-bellied waiter was not exactly churlish, but perfunctory. He did smile – once. The place was full of Brits, possibly the reason for our waiter’s sour expression. Total for the four of us for starters, very meaty mains and six drinks: just under 110€. Not great value for Spain. But what can you do? And so home.

Menos Cumbries restaurant - bar area

The plan for Monday was to circumnavigate the old city along the highly-rated coastal walkway. But first we walked across the middle of the peninsula, through the sunny Plaza San Antonio and along one of the principal shopping streets, to the central market. Most of the stalls were closed because it was Monday, and the produce didn’t seem particularly cheap. Also, there was a large Carrefour across the street. We shopped there, and headed home, laden.

Plaza San Antonio

We made a good start on the coastal walk. It was a beautiful day by the time we got out again, sunny and mild. Some of the best of the walk is just outside our door: the Jardines de Alameda Apodaca. It’s one of a couple of places along the coastal walk planted with exotic trees, including, here, some fabulous old fig trees. (The other is the Parque Genoves, the next green space along, which we somehow managed to walk past without realizing it was there; we discovered it the next day.) The city has done a nice job sign-posting places of interest. There are also four historical walks, well-documented with brochures and booklets, although we were not following one this day.

Church of Our Lady of Carmen (across the street from Jardines de Alameda Apodaca)

Jardines de Alameda Apodaca

We walked around to La Caleta beach, the only beach in the old city. (There are eight kilometers of beach along the front of the new city, which stretches down the isthmus to the mainland.) The other three, who were all wearing sandals, doffed them and walked down to the water to dip their tootsies in. Karen reported it was colder than the Med in Valencia. Pat said it wasn’t bad at all. Who to believe? We later learned that the Atlantic, where it meets the Mediterranean at the Straits of Gibraltar – a hop skip and jump down the coast – is actually the warmer body of water, because it's shallower. Very counter-intuitive.

La Caleta beach

There were kids sunbathing and larking on the beach, pretending it was 15 degrees warmer than it was. We also saw fishermen working on their boats, which were mostly mired in mud as the tide was out.

La Caleta beach

Across the street from La Caleta beach

We walked on a little further, past the Castillo San Sebastian, which is out along a causeway. We would visit it the next day. From this point, we could see ahead to the cathedral and, beyond, off to the right, the new city with its endless beach. But rather than walk on along the coastal walkway, we turned inland and went by a somewhat circuitous route home for a lunch break.

Cádiz Cathedral in background

In the late afternoon, Pat and Ralph went shopping and Karen and I went for a walk on our own, following the coastal walk in the other direction for some way, and then across the corner by the isthmus to the cathedral, which was very pretty in the slanting rays of the late sun – although the front was in fact shaded. We walked home across town.

Doorways of Cádiz

Cádiz Cathedral

Pat made a sausage dinner with Carrefour longanzina sausages, left-over potatoes from the previous night’s restaurant doggy-bag, cauliflower, carrots and a salad. After dinner, as I was doing the dishes, I heard what sounded like a Semana Santa (Holy Week) procession – the familiar high-pitched, screechy brass music. We all hurriedly dressed and went out in search of it. By the time we got outside, I couldn’t hear a thing. We walked up to Plaza San Antonio, around the block and back. Never heard a peep. Maybe it was a band rehearsing at some nearby church. Judging by the displays in shop windows and posters around the city, Semana Santa and the processing of holy statues is a big thing here, as it is in Sevilla.

Shortly after we got back, I heard the music again. We didn’t go out this time.

The next day, the Tuesday, we set out for the Castillo, going around the coastal walk and then across town – similar to the route Karen and I had gone the afternoon before. We stopped in Constitution Square and read about El Pepa, which was written and passed here in 1812. The city at the time was the last place in Western Europe holding out against Napoleon. It harboured many liberals from other parts of the country that had been overrun. We also dipped in to San Juan de Dios Square, the City Hall Square, and checked out a small ornate chapel there, and had a quick drink at a bar (mainly to use the toilets.)

Plaza San Juan de Dios

Plaza San Juan de Dios

La Pepa Constitution monument, detail - note the men are dressed pretty much as northern Europeans  of the period would be, except they're wearing slippers instead of boots

The day was lovely and sunny – unexpectedly – with little wind. By the time we walked out along the causeway to the Castillo, it was hot, or the sun was. There were people on the adjacent La Caleta beach, and men fishing from the rocks between the beach and the Castillo. The tide was out, but starting to come in.

From the causeway to Castillo San Sebastian: new city in background

The castle, built in the early 18th century, was evidently at one time a tourist attraction with interpretive displays about its history, and an entry fee. Now, there is nothing you can go into, except one building housing a “research centre” studying the marine biology and hydrography of the area between the Med and the Atlantic. I don’t think scientists are using it, it’s just for school visits. The displays appear to be pitched at school kids. They feature, for example, a series of boards explaining the possible origins of mythical sea creatures in somewhat similar real ones found in these waters.

Pat taking photos of the rocks and waves

The wide Atlantic

Castle and city

The main attraction of the Castillo is the modernized ramparts. They’re walk-able, although fencing keeps you from the edge. Still, it was a a nice sunny stroll, with lovely views over the wide Atlantic. You can’t quite see North America, but you can imagine it just over the horizon.

Causeway back to the city

Incan gold lies that way

We stopped at a little bar near the beach for beer (and a wine and a water) and then walked home through the lovely Parque Genovés, a botanical garden with exotic trees and English topiaries – an odd but charming juxtaposition. We had gone right by it the day before on the coastal path, but couldn’t see it.

Derelict Port Authority building near La Caleta beach

Parque Genovés

Can’t remember why now, but we stayed in that night. Too old and weary from walking and sun, I suppose. Karen made a chicken dinner with the pre-cooked roast chickens we had bought at Carrefour.

On Wednesday, we resolved to stop being cheapskates and see more of the city’s paid attractions. We started out walking across town to the Torre Tavira, one of many watchtowers in the city’s old defensive system. This one has been restored, and a periscopic camera obscura installed.

Ralph and Pat emerge from No. 14 Calle Calderón de la Barca

Shop window with Semana Santa accessories

Near our apartment: the grafitti stencil reads: "Warning. Police in action," with icon of cop hitting protester with billy club

Along the way, though, we happened on the 18th century Women’s Hospital, which now houses church offices. You can go into the pretty, if dilapidated, courtyard, and pay 1.50€ to enter the gorgeous Chapel of Our Lady of Carmen. The big deal in the chapel is an el Greco painting of St Francis's Vision of the Flaming Torch. It’s a good painting, but not the best el Greco I’ve seen.

Women's Hospital, The Chapel of Our Lady of Carmen

Women's Hospital cloister (the tile panels around the cloister are stations of the cross)

Women's Hospital cloister: main staircase

The real deal for me was the insanely ornate, and gorgeous, rococo chapel with its carved stucco and gilt decorations and figures. Keep in mind this was in a charity hospital. I took a bunch of pics, but later read that photos were forbidden. (I think that rule must have changed; the dour attendant saw me shooting and said nothing.)

Women's Hospital, Chapel of Our Lady of Carmen, various views

The Torre Tavira, which cost 5€, is very cool. You can climb to the top and see fabulous views of the city in all directions, which we did. At each landing there are displays with information boards about the history of the tower, which was built as part of the home a wealthy trader, but at some point designated by the city an official watchtower.

Torre Tavira views

Near the top is the camera obscura, with its periscopic lens system. You stand around a 10-foot, white-painted concave bowl in the dark. The periscope and pinhole camera system above project live panoramic images of the city on the bowl. The attendant can swivel the periscope 360° and adjust the lens to bring different parts of the image into focus. The image is surprisingly big, and amazingly sharp and clear – and of course, it's full motion. You see birds swooping and people and vehicles moving on the streets below. The attendant gave us a rapid-fire periscopic tour of the city in Spanish and English.

Torre Tavira: La Pepa bridge, left of centre; cathedral to right (click to see detail)

We went home, briefly, after the tower, then out again almost immediately for a restaurant lunch. We found a place quite close to the apartment, in Plaza San Francisco in front of the Convent church of San Francisco. It was pretty basic food, but cheap. I chose the wrong thing for mains – a dish that was mostly habas, which we’ve figured out is the Spanish name for what we call fava beans, served with Iberico ham bits. It was a little greasy and unusually spicy for Spanish food, and light on meat.

Near apartment

Pat at lunch near Convent of San Francisco

We walked from lunch to the cathedral and paid to enter. It’s a tremendously impressive structure, both inside and out – especially out – but the decorations and art inside are gloomy and boring. The audio guide included with our entrance was stultifying, a dry recitation of the names of never-heard-of-‘em artists responsible for third-rate statues and decorations. The circular crypt was mildly interesting for the odd architectural design, which created an echo chamber in the middle. If you stamped your feet, the sound seemed to echo endlessly.

Cádiz Cathedral, gaudy silver altar piece

Cádiz Cathedral

'Old' Cathedral (near current cathedral)

We walked home via part of the coast path.

Coastal walk near cathedral - new city extending to right

Coastal walk, near Constitution Square

The next day, we left Cadiz. We were out by 10 a.m. Getting the car out of the garage with the car elevator wasn’t as difficult as I feared. We had finally made the decision to head for Albufeira, in the Portuguese Algarve (the south coast). My brilliant idea, though, was to make a small detour to one of Andalucia’s so-called white villages, towns built down the sides of hills or mountains, with a castle or church at the apex. Very picturesque. Supposedly.

We chose Arcos de la Frontera, a town of a reasonable size, billed as one of the most dramatically situated. Getting there was no problem with directions from Miss TomTom. But the approach from the Cadiz side – the town is to the east of the main highway between Cadiz and Sevilla – turned out to be not picturesque at all. So I kept following Miss TomTom’s directions, right into the centre of the medieval town, thinking we would go through to the other side, and be able to look back and see the good view.

Big mistake.

We first went up one wrong, very narrow, very steep street and got stuck having to back down. A woman in one of the shops came out, flapping her arms to warn us not to try and go any further up the street, which was obstructed by construction mess. A young fellow came and moved his scooter out of my way and helped Ralph direct me to get turned around and pointing back down to where were supposed to have gone.

At another point, near the cathedral at the top, we came to a place where there was room for only one car to pass, and there was another car coming towards us. I stopped, expecting the fellow to back up to a wider section just behind him. He wouldn’t budge. Ralph got out and tried to reason with him, to no avail. In the meantime, there was a train of cars piling up behind me. I finally backed a little way down to where there was just room for the other car to get by. We continued on, thinking that at any moment we’d emerge into wider streets, but it was quite a while before we did. I eventually found a place where I could pull over to let the train behind me get by. Some of the drivers gave us dirty looks.

In the end, we did come out the other side and went over a river bridge and up a short hill to a lookout spot where there was a good view, though perhaps not quite as spectacular as I had imagined.

Arcos de la Frontera

After some wrong turns and Miss TomTom nonsense, we got going in the right direction for Sevilla. We had to go by the city on our way to the Portuguese border – it’s the only route you can go on decent highways. We were surprised to see container ports on what I took to be the Guadalquiver River. In the city, as we know from our time there in 2010, the river isn’t navigable by anything much bigger than a rowboat, and we understood that Sevilla had lost its ascendancy in colonial times because the river had silted up, making it impossible for cargo ships to reach the city from the sea. Except there they seemingly were.

The rest of the route was on divided highways. We stopped once for a picnic lunch in a service centre parking lot, and not long afterwards, passed into Portugal. 

Adios Espana.