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We parked up in the Ibaeta city service area, a functional spot tucked away in a quiet enclave. Stepping out into the crisp Donostia air, I felt that familiar contrast — the warmth of the sun against my skin. It was mid-December, 15°C, mild by any standard I was used to, yet all around me, locals were bundled in coats and scarves, hands buried in pockets, collars turned up against a chill I couldn’t quite feel.
It took a moment to realise: I was the only one in a t-shirt and shorts.
At first, I shrugged it off. Maybe I’d just acclimated to colder climates back home in England. But just as I was about to dismiss the thought, I saw him — another lone figure, a little way down the street, arms crossed, wearing much the same expression I had. Then, as if fate had staged a little private joke for me, he walked toward a car — a British license plate glinting in the afternoon sun.
I laughed quietly to myself. Some things never change. Wherever we go in the world, the English will always be the first to shed their layers at the slightest hint of warmth.
…Then came the final descent. Tarifa unfolded before us—the last outpost of mainland Spain—where the road met the wind, the waves, and the endless call of the ocean.
Tarifa is not just a town; it’s a frontier. A place that feels raw, restless, and alive, shaped by the powerful forces that surround it. The wind’s playground at the edge of Europe. It’s where Europe leans over the Strait of Gibraltar, peering toward Africa, just 14 kilometres away.
Stepping into Tarifa, you feel the pull of the elements—the gusting winds, the roaring waves, the unrelenting energy of the place. And yet, amidst this wildness, there is a magnetic charm: a mix of bohemian surf culture, ancient history, and a freedom-seeking spirit that draws travellers from all over the world.
We arrived at Tarifa Beach, and what awaited us was nothing short of exhilarating—a long, golden expanse lined with motorhomes, campervans, and vans of every kind, all parked facing the ocean as if paying homage to the power of the sea. We had never seen so many freedom spirits in one place, all huddled up next to one another.
This wasn’t just a stop—it was a temporary home for wanderers, a gathering of travellers drawn to Tarifa’s wind, its freedom, its untamed energy. The sight of so many like-minded souls, some living on the road, others pausing before the next adventure, made it feel like a moving community, bound by a shared love for the open road and the open sea.
