We took the scenic route to La Linea de la Conception. This is the Spanish town on the border of Gibraltar, which was where we really wanted to go, but $500AUD per night for a hotel room was not something we could readily twist, or even break our arms for. This could be avoided with some advance planning and booking, who would have thought.
We may have made more pit stops if Matisse wasn't asleep in the back seat. Thankfully she began stirring by the time we reached the outskirts of Tarifa, a world famous spot for kitesurfing. You would never guess to look at the place.
When we pulled in, a butt naked man was changin into his gear in the carpark. We got the biggest brown eye as he bent over to pull on his wet suit. It didn't come on easily, as you can expect with wetsuit Lycra. There was a carpark right behind him, but for some reason Karl didn't see it and we drove the length of the beach before finding another.
Tarifa is the southern most point of Spain, so it bears the brunt of the Atlantic Ocean breezes. For this reason it is not only attractive to kite surfers, but investors in wind farming, without entering into the fully fledged debate on this industry, I will just say that... The whirring noise is a right drone that ruins the tranquility of the place... And there is NO WAY you would see an oil and gas company getting away with that kind of impact on the landscape. They stretched for atleast 50km that we drove and lined the tops of all the mountains.
We wandered down the pier at Tarifa, Mediterranean on one side, Atlantic on the other. The contrast between these two oceans is evident in the two pictures below. What you don't see is the sandblast we were receiving from the Atlantic side. If you are sick of me talking about the Atlantic, this is the last time we were on it, so your up chuck reflexes can rest momentarily.
The day had somehow vanished so we ate dinner in Tarifa, then bypassed the actual township of La Linea de la Conception to get to our hotel on the "outskirts of town." The listing for it seemed slightly tacky, with its personal golf course and hostage resort feel. In order to forfeit the Gibraltar bankruptcy, we had booked it in. When I consulted the address to put it in the GPS, I got more concerned. "Urbanisation Alcaidesia." My worst fears were confirmed were the resort had its own exit from the motorway, and worse, a guard manning the entrance. Then... Beverly Hills eat your heart out, we had a 4km "drive way" lined with Palm trees either side to reach the "township." It was all too much.
Truth be told, our apartment was fine, and there are probably three different resorts amalgamated together with a bunch of residential mansions on the side. Spanish Marsha Brady checked us in and tried to charge us €7 per load of washing, self service. No thanks. The place had a very abstract kind of realty, quite surreal. The wifi didn't work from the room, and I didn't want to sit on the step and get stuck talking to other weird resort hostages, so there was a distinct hiatus from travelling documentary. We only paused in the room long enough to sleep the two nights, and used the middle day to explore Gibraltar.