Vejer de la Frontera

The only giveaway to the pueblo blanco nestled on the crest was the white barricade snaking around the hill.

“Did you know that this town has one of the highest suicide rates in all of Spain?” Kike asked as we climbed. “They say the wind drives you mad.”
Nice introduction.

As part of our agreement, I would go to the base with him on Saturday to do nothing more than watch TV and sleep if he took me somewhere on Sunday. I chose Vejer de la Frontera, one of the oldest white villages along the Cadíz coast. Sitting at about 150km from Sevilla, it was a two-hour drive from Morón to Sevilla and down to Vejer.
As the village sits in between two twin peaks just six miles from the Atlantic, but it remains hidden until you drive around the very last curve in the highway. After a barrage of advertisements of rural apartments and supermarkets, it sits quiet upon entering the Plaza de España. The whole village is white, save for the iron gates on windows and doors and the multitude of flowers covering doorways and slinking up walls.
But Kike was right – despite the beautiful views of Cabo del Trafalgar and the picturesque white walls, the old Moorish castle and ramparts and the quiet still of a Sunday afternoon, it was easy to see that anyone could go crazy here. There isn´t much to the village. The streets were dead. We even saw a funeral procession of about 15 people. And the wind was piercingly cold, exacerbated by our sweaty bodies from climbing up and down do many alleyways (and all of the streets in this town seemed to be called Callejón de something).
So we climbed down towards the coast, passing through Barbate and onto Zahara de los Atunes, one of Kike´s favorite beaches. We stopped at a chiringuito to eat atún a la plancha, puntillitas, and calamares with our feet in the sand, watching the Germans in swimsuits (it was about 60 degrees, mind you). “Esto sí que es vida,” Kike commented.

The wind in Vejer may kill you, but the tuna from Trafalgar can bring you back to life.
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About Cat Gaa

As a beef-loving Chicago girl living amongst pigs, bullfighters, and a whole lotta canis, Cat Gaa writes about expat life in Seville, Spain. When not cavorting with adorable Spanish grandpas or struggling with Spanish prepositions, she works in higher education at an American university in Madrid and freelances with other publications, like Rough Guides and The Spain Scoop.

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