Cadiz

Le samedi, 3 octobre 2009

Le bus pour aller à Cadiz passe à 9h ou…16h. Donc faut pas le manquer hein ! Ah puis il passe parfois un peu tôt, parfois un peu en retard… y’a pas non plus un arrêt officiel, c’est plutôt «en face du resto La Parada, où la rue devient plus large». Ne sachant pas si Cadiz c’est le dernier arrêt ou pas, je tiens au bord de mon siège à chaque entrée de ville (village) les yeux rivés sur les pancartes pour pas manquer mon arrêt. Comme de raison, c’est le dernier, et il faudrait être vraiment sans-dessein pour le manquer, vous voyez, Cadiz est bâtie sur une presqu’île, donc pour s’y rendre on doit prendre une route entourée d’eau, littéralement construite sur une strippe de terre. Déconcertant et magnifique en même temps !

Bienvenue à Cadiz !!! Ahhhhhh... l’océan de tous les côtés… du bleu à perte de vue, une architecture aux couleurs arabes, et des tourisssstes. Eh oui, je ne suis plus à Alcalá! Je ne suis qu’une parmi tant d’autres qui empestent la crème solaire et se promènent avec un bon backpack et un papier plié en douze à la main. Au moins je prends la peine de cacher ma caméra dans une poche. Ce n’est cependant pas suffisant pour éviter de me faire approcher en anglais, oui oui, TROIS FOIS en une journée!

Avant tout, la Catedral de Cadiz. Quel contraste avec tout ce que j’ai pu voir en France, en Belgique, en Allemagne… la façade en pierres blanches donne l’impression qu’il fait encore PLUS soleil (si possible) et le dôme doré reflète aussi la lumière comme un flash de caméra. Ensuite, visite de ruines romaines d’un amphithéâtre où je pogne une jasette avec 3 vieilles Québecoises. Je me rend compte immédiatement combien ça me manque de parler en français.

Catedral de Cadiz

Ruines romaines...

Puis, je décide qu’il fait trop chaud pour ne pas aller à l’eau donc je marche marche marche jusqu’à la plage la plus proche : Playa de la Caleta, qui est entre deux château. Par curiosité, je prends le petit sentier de pierres bâti sur l’eau qui mène au Castillo de San Sebastián, mais le château est fermé. Ben oui toi, les visites arrêtaient le 30 septembre, it's the "low season"... Playa it is then!

The tricky part when you travel alone is… who will watch your stuff while you swim? («Ay! Je vais les surrrveiller vos affairrrres moi! Rrrra-ra-ra-ra-rah !» - Pérusse) So I find a group of old Spanish ladies and ask them politely if they can watch it while I swim, and they did! I mean, old ladies can be robbers to, but I had a good feeling about them. Warm water, fun waves, seashells, sand… ahhh, how nice. Too bad I have no one to share the fun with…

I then find a grocery store to buy my typical “picnic in a park” food, minus the cheese as it’s bad and expensive here. And minus the wine because I don’t drink alone. El Parque Genoves turns out to be a great spot to snack on a bench while watching kids running and yelling in Spanish. I notice that there are a LOT of a-good-a-lookin, young... dads. Must be the tan. AND the fact that they don’t mind at all carrying a little pink bike in one hand and a baby in the other muscular, tattooed arm. There’s something charming about that! I make my way to the Mercado Central, a rather big, covered fresh market, to pretend to buy things (I did get dates!). In the Plaza de las Flores, where they sell flowers and plants galore, I buy basil seeds. Only to decide after that I’d rather buy the plant itself than try to make it grow from a seed…

I meet three randoms in Plaza de las Flores: one Irish sleeping on a bench next to one French who looks like a combination of many actors including Mel Gibson in Braveheart, and one Brit, who is the first one to talk to me. Interesting fellow! He’s lived here there and everywhere, worked for the military, been in Iraq and JUST arrived from Morocco via boat with the little money he had left (he actually had to beg for pennies at the port so he could buy his ticket). The guy had big plans to go to South America and work as a security person for the wealthy, then open a center to get kids and teenagers out of the streets… Great plans, no money. I suggest he start teaching English in Cadiz, you know, put up posters with your number or… well if you don’t have a phone number (or an address for that matter…) you can write “everyday at 2 o’clock in la Plaza de la Flores” and see who shows up!

Curious looking blocks

Wow... this picture is so crooked... you'd think I sneezed as I took it.

I move on to buy a cool drink in a grocery store, and some girl smiles to me as I think “zut, how do you say “do I know you” in Spanish…”… but then she says “So! Where are YOU from!”. Whaaaa? I ask her if I have tourist on my forhead and she says “Girl, you got hiking sandals and a comfortable backpack, you are so not from here.” Fine! I’ll get new sandals! So her name is Rihannan and she is, guess what, and language assistant in Cadiz! We walk towards her place as she tells me about trying to teach English to a class of forty 3 yr olds. FORTY! She lives in a great flat in the center with four other Spanish girls and pays a big 140 euros a month (twice less… huh, half! of what I pay in Alcalá).

We end up going to the beach together before I head back towards the bus station. Old ladies watch our bags again as we crash in the waves and try not to lose our bathing suits (I reeaaally need something more solid for those waves… or go topless like most women do... young ones to actually!). I cook in the sun long enough to dry a bit and run off to the station after exchanging numbers with Rihannan. Goodbye, nice to know ya!

Well, I completely missed my goal to strike up random conversations with Spaniards, but I sure did meet a lot of people! With all that sun and wave jumping, I’m rather sleepy. Then I receive a message from Jenny “going to the beach tomorrow with the boys, wanna tag along?”… suuuuuure!