In Plenary, Production on January 18, 2012 at 12:20 pm
There is some evidence, or so they say, that Tarifa is as old as Cádiz. When you consider that Cádiz is a front runner for the western world’s oldest city, that would make this little town on the southern tip of the Costa de la Luz pretty old. Phoenician, to add a little precision; or even pre-Phoenician.
The town I’m looking at now though, from up on the roof, as it sprawls around me in all directions, is largely an eighteenth century creation.
On my left, where we hang our washing, is Calle Castelar and the stately building opposite ours. From street level it looks like a bank but I think it must have been a merchant’s house; a glimpse can be had of a verdant inner courtyard. It is no doubt divided into private apartments these days and someone has laid out a magnificent patio and conservatory on the roof. I could lazily leap the narrow gap between it and our roof, so tightly are the streets and alleys squeezed between buildings in the casco.
Behind it, the heights of old Tarifa. Like a cubist painting roofs sit on roofs beneath a clutter of solar panels, water tanks and laundry lines. The whole thing tumbles down as my gaze shifts rightward. In the distance some newer apartment blocks and the green hills that separate us from Algeciras. More
In Presentation on September 28, 2011 at 9:39 am
We both go into the weekend exhausted. K because she is working very hard at the moment, and I because I’ve been busy winding myself up again about time, now that I’m in front of the kids and out of the house for eight hours a day. I spend a self-defeating proportion of my time worrying about how little time I have. As a result of course I have less. When I’m not worrying about how little time there is I’m worrying about how little I’m doing with the time that I have. As a result of course I do less. It’s exhausting.
Still, I don’t want to vegetate so I pitch K on a day trip to nearby Castillo de Castellar, a place we’ve heard about from several sources but have never been to; we usually head west and north west when we travel these days, to the likes of Jerez, Sevilla and Cadiz – so it makes a change to go north east to Algeciras and then briefly north to Castellar de la Frontera. As we near it we take the tiny road that winds up to the old Moorish fortification– the castillo – that sits on a height overlooking the town on one side and a lake on the other.
The road is of the kind that K would refuse to drive if forewarned – steep and winding and precipitous – so I don’t warn her, despite having been advised by a colleague. I’m just not up for the walk today. More