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[…] a fitness kick I swap my power walk in the sanctuary for a stroll through the old town and out to the island. I see a bit less of the waterside and the port nowadays and there have been changes; as I pass […]
[…] To my left, the Mediterranean is almost mirror smooth, a gleaming boulevard of sun-on-water stretching all the way across the strait, from my feet to the black Moroccan mountains. No birds or noise, just the saint who overlooks the mouth of the harbour and the graffiti depiction of a defecating man on the wall that backs Tarifa’s tiny little family beach. At the end of the tarmac I turn around – the rest of the island serves these days as a detention centre for the brave souls who try to make i… […]
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