classic Poinente: Europe and Africa in one shot

Five years ago I wrote an article on Tarifa which begun "If I was an alien cruising passed planet earth, I'd see Tarifa as a uniquely interesting place. The meeting of two oceans and two continents as tantelisingly close as Michelangelo's painting; The Creation Of Adam," (you know the one with a couple of old men pointing their limp wristed fingers at eachother.) Well, despite no longer frequenting Tarifa for the mind bending lifestyle (which inspired the far-out comment above) I stand by my original statement that Tarifa is still unique and extroadinery, for aliens, aging hippies, entrepournerial businessmen, suicide jumpers and windsurfers alike.

Si, Tarifa has the highest suicide rate in Spain. Not just because many years ago it was so rural that some people's brothers were their fathers (comprende?), but because it's extremely, annoyingly windy. So windy that it has a reputation to annoy even the most laid back of you, that sand find's it's way into everything and shrill whistles and rattling shutters wreck your sleep. The pressure changes from the high Levante to the low Poinente are so extreme and so fast, that even the most sensible people go round the twist. At least that's my excuse.

Likewise windsurfing has a reputation of being so extreme that the sea is a boiling froth of terrified spray and the winds tough enough to tear booms, masts and sails to shreds. So windy in fact that windsurfers and suiciders would die for it.

"Reputacion Extrema!"

We all know how gossip spreads like the branches of a tree to create this trunk of a reputation, and there is a twig of truth behind it. Or maybe a branch in extreme times of year, like summer or winter. But spring and autumn are mellow months, only full of exciting anticipation. Spring because the locals are looking forward to summer and the boost the tourism brings, then autumn when they want everyone to leave. These are also the mellow seasons for the wind.

Tarifa's reputation as the 'extremely' windy city of Europe is because of the fearsome Levante, which often blows it's tits off in the summer and winter, but rarely appears at all in the spring or autumn. In fact in all of April and May last year we sailed in force fours to fives, with only a few days of force five to six Levante (which is reassurungly mild compared with those force tens you may have heard about).

A couple of years ago we went in the summer which is prime time tourist and Levante season which sucked. Shawna loathed it and took some convincing that Tarifa would ever be worth returning to. However the persuasion paid off as we re-visited in Spring last year for a few months. A truely inspiring time of year to be there, as wonderful in the off season as it is undescribably crap in the summer, like comparing a class Rioja with a carton of tinto vino. Same place, different juice.

Unless of course you like to have rocking parties all night long (literally) and sail in crowds under a scorching sun, (doubley scorching if you enjoyed the forementioned all night parties). Ok, I admit, I loved Tarifa in my early twenties for those exact reasons. Partying so hard and for so long we begun sleeping all day and living crazed tequilla nightmares for nights on end.

Tarifa is also the spiritual homeland of bearded German windsurfing hippies in monster vans with grinning teeth like the gleaming Singapore skyline. It's where the biggest beach parties were ever held, where if you went to a bar with face paint on you could get free drinks (hence my addiction to face paints). Where the wierdest carnival atmosphere exsists; in February and April the locals go nuts and the whole town is buzzing with fancy dress costumes bouncing from wall to wall down the narrow peublo streets, as though they were drunks on a rocking ship.

Where the Guarda Civil all where mirror sunglasses, where the world cup organisers would line the speed course with speakers blasting out Pink Floyd to the competitors; I remember listening to the Dogs of War whilst slalom racing on a four metre! Where campsites fill with like minded windsurfers making friends and creating month long communes. It's the birth place of the aptly named Not Normal clothing, The Spin Out Bar, Viagra sails, and without question, still the windsurfing mecca of Europe. Make the pilgrimage by van, charter flight or as some of my mates once did, by train!

The maze of Tarifa's unspoilt walled town

A multiple of extroadinery life changing events have taken place between those described above and now, responsible for shaping new opinions and creating this new perspective on Tarifa, where I no longer visit for the suicidal lifestyle.

Tarifa, Open To Normal People As Well.

Hotels and appartmentos, car hire and restaurants. No where near Malaga, but only ninety minutes away, Tarifa can now cater for even the most normal or conservative of people, as individuals or in groups.

The main street of Tarifa probably is the single largest concentration of windsurfing shops in Europe, possibly even the world. There's not more than a few cubic metres of space where you can't reach out and buy a new fin, sail, t-shirt, G-string or even one of about ten board manufacturers flashy custom shapes. Even families can co-exsist in peace here as the windsurfer does their thing whilst the others shop for swimming togs, coffees, erm, watch bull fights, erm.

We run tuition weeks there to co-incide with the fantastic Easter carnival, so call Planet Windsurf for details.