Golf de Roses

We’re hardly here before we’re gone again. A month is like a day. We set off from Tarifa at sunset. We head into the hinterland via Malaga on empty roads. A graduation ball is raging behind a lonely petrol station in the middle of nowhere. In the café next door, people are getting married on posh chalets over plastic chairs.

The lights of Granada pass by in the dark. Up into the desert and always follow the central reservation through the night. Lost Highway. The coffee fizzles out after midnight. After three o’clock we change every hour. Squalls at sunrise in the Ebro Delta. Barcelona in the morning.

After travelling 1,300 km and 13 hours almost non-stop through the night, we arrive at the Gulf of Roses in the morning. Our hosts honour the family’s brave performance with a super early check-in. The wind forecast has been excellent for days.

Unloading the coach in Spain one last time. Unpacking and off to the beach. A marathon that is currently taking place is blocking the beach for miles around. 20 kilometres later, I finally reach my destination. The Gulf of Roses is one of those kite destinations that you absolutely have to visit.

The Tramontana from the Pyrenees is blowing at a divine laminar 18 to 27 knots today. After a month of bull riding in Tarifa and an hour’s sleep at night, I can only smile wearily at the kind local comment “your kite is too big for such a stubborn wind”.

The choppy waves are far too close together to be able to do anything with them. But the wind is blowing just right at nine metres. I try to rescue a surfer with a broken mast foot far out in the sideoff wind. The rope is too short, however, and the resistance when towing is too high for my arms, which are pretty worn out after two hours. I crawl ashore with two karma points…

In the low season, like now, kiters have all the space in the world on the beach and in the water. In the high season from June to the end of August, there are only very narrow corridors to get onto the water.