I parked the car, looked at my watch. It was early still but there was a long drive ahead. I could spend, say, an hour max in Vejer de la Frontera.
I checked my notes – incredibly pretty white village, typical of Andalusia. Maze of narrow streets. Built on the top of the hill, on old castle ruins. A love at first sight kind of place.
They were right. I did. I marvelled at the tiny white buildings, waves after waves of them, a tsunami of cubism architecture. At how beautifully streets could frame a scene – a lone palmtree, balconies overflowing with bougainvillea, a patch of blue sky. Wander a little further in Vejer de la Frontera and you will stumble on the cutest house, its walls covered with flower pots. On the side, donkeys, enjoying the sunshine, their hair being brushed shiny by their master. Right behind them, 4 windmills, their wings constructed from looked like the most improbable balance of branches. The first one, open, revealed little tokens from the past – tools, paintings, pictures. Up the stairs, the machinery is still intact, just a little dusty. From the window, on a clear day, you can even see the silhouette of Morocco on the horizon.
Vejer de la Frontera felt straight out of a fairy tale.
Back at my car, I couldn’t help wondering whether I had dreamt it all…