Arcos de la Frontera to Cádiz, Spain

After breakfast, which features coffee, toast drizzled with rich cloudy olive oil, and inadvertent entertainment from the zany hotel manager (I can’t help but politely suggest that putting a metal teapot in the microwave isn’t a great idea), we set off early on a quiet Sunday morning.


Following the narrow “Antigua Carretera” towards Jerez, we see dozens of walkers, runners and especially cyclists. This is a cycling-mad country and there are all types, from spandex-clad pelatons to older gentlemen in slacks and wool flat caps. Without fail, everyone waves or yells “buen dia!”

We are out of the Sierra Nevada foothills now and headed east, towards the Atlantic, and we feel the humidity and wind. The flora changes too, blossoming almond trees replaced by umbrella pines and beautiful smelling white flowered broom plants lining the route. Eventually we join a gravel path that takes us beside farms, into the suburbs and eventually to a large protected estuary south of Càdiz.


We follow the path beside the estuary and along a narrow spit until the city comes into view.

Càdiz is an ancient naval and trade city, continuously inhabited for over 3,000 years, and sits on a narrow peninsula prominently facing the Atlantic Ocean.

As we cycle towards the city, we see a number of trains arrive full and depart empty. Closer in, busses and cars jam the streets and we navigate through crowds of people in costumes walking towards the historic city center. By the time we near our hotel, we simply walk our bikes because the streets and sidewalks are so full. It’s a real mix of people; young and old, families and groups of friends. The common denominators are creative costumes, exuberant singing and enthusiastic alcohol consumption.

The Carnival de Andalucia celebration seems to be following us and we realize that what we experienced last night in Arcos was a modest block party compared to the party Càdiz is throwing this weekend. In the late afternoon, we join the festive crowds in the narrow streets of the historic quarter. Every block there seems to be a different amateur musical group, many very good, wearing elaborate costumes and singing funny songs which generally seem to be about breaking Catholic taboos (lots of nun jokes) or the joy of Carnival. It’s a delightful and entirely unexpected way to spend the afternoon.

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