Los Troños to Cadiz to Conil de la Frontera - 54 miles

I reached Cadiz, that '…scribble of white on a sheet of blue glass.' before 9am after setting out in darkness to cover the three sides of a square and reach this city sitting on the end of its thin peninsula. Those three sides on the one side outline a shallow bay with remnants of evaporation ponds from a long history of salt production going back to the Phoenicians, rugged plant life and plenty of bird wildlife. On the other side sit the modern arteries that feed the city: the main road and the rail line. As I cycled the final leg, a thin four mile stretch that connects old Cadiz to the mainland, the promenade was quiet and the sandy beach stood mostly empty. Ahead, the blur of white that is the old town slowly resolved itself into buildings, not really white but sun bleached stone reflecting the brightness of the southern Spain morning, a sparkling scar against the blue of sea and sky.

I had intended to spend the night in Cadiz but as I drank coffee in the main square in the shadow of the city hall a combination of things persuaded me to move on. Cadiz was the start of a walking trip two years ago and I had spent time here exhausting the sights before setting out. Now, with a bike that was loaded with all my belongings, I was finding it difficult to get through the pedestrian-busy, narrow streets of the old town and with check in times not until mid afternoon it limited my freedom for a large part of the day. By then I could have cycled the main sights, savoured the atmosphere of the city and made a dent in the section of the EuroVelo 8 cycle route that would take me from Cadiz to Almuñécar. 

City Hall

Cathedral 

The decision having been made to leave, there followed two stand-out sections of the day. The first when I set off from Cadiz following a sandy path raised above the shallows of the Cadiz bay area. The pooled water and the mud around were sun-bright shades of greys and browns and greens, colours that might normally be associated with an unhealthy and dying landscape. Yet in its own way it was beautiful, bright and alive with hundreds of small black crabs scuttling on the grey silts and wading birds feeding far out in the waters. On one occasion I saw a group of strutting flamingos and was reminded that here I am so much closer to Africa than I am to the end of my trip in Almuñécar. The second was a beautiful and long section of path at the back end of the day through a forest of stone pine providing much appreciated shade from the hot afternoon sun and a riot of colour from the wild flowers growing among the trees. 

There are flamingos out there….

I am now heading east on the final part of my journey where my route takes me close to or alongside the coast. And here it is a coastline that seems to have clung to its character. The towns are small and white and the buildings are not closely packed and without a high rise block to be seen. The land between them is wooded or farmed and often extends right down to seas that sparkle with the blue-green sheen of some precious stone. Yes it is a holiday destination, there are signs in towns for the many sandy beaches along this coast and a couple of isolated resorts I passed had an air of exclusivity with names like 'Royal Hideaway' and green grass and trees extending down to the road, clearly the result of extensive irrigation. Yet whether by accident or design the area seems to have missed out on the building boom of the 1970s and I felt I was in a Spain where local people happened to holiday rather than a holiday destination that could be anywhere and which was swamped by cheap flight tourism. 

My planned night in Cadiz has been swapped for a night in Conil de la Frontera, a small growth of white on the coast. Even though it is Friday evening it is not too busy, although even at 9pm I am considered an early diner. There is something about it that reminds me of north Africa only sixty miles south - maybe it is the gentle babble of people carried on the night air, the sound of the occasional car horn or the closeness of the heat. Also, like some of the places I have been to in north Africa, as a foreign visitor I seem to be the exception here: I have yet to hear a non Spanish voice amongst the sounds coming from the street. As I eat my local clams in this not-yet busy bar I am drawn to the relaxed nature of this town and what it seems to offer and I have a pang of regret that I am not staying longer.