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. (more…)
One month in Tarifa
There are 360 windy days a year written on Tarifa’s flag. After many years of visits, I know all the winds of Europe’s southernmost city. Or so I thought. Our April here begins with two weeks of almost non-stop Levante gales of 22 to 52 knots. Exhausted from the 2,800 kilometre journey, I don’t move on to known alternative spots with less wind.
I look for work. I analyse dozens of kite school websites. I give detailed advice on window vents that whistle in a storm. Then the wind is gone. After a few days in the doldrums, the forecast promises another non-stop Levante storm for our entire stay until the end of April. I forget the number one Bavarian rule for kiters: “When the wind blows, use it!”. (more…)
Caños de Meca
The Levante in Tarifa is once again blasting at a stubborn 20 to 45 knots today. There really isn’t a single kiter out on 12 kilometres of beach. Even the big air pro riders in the Balneario are taking a break today. We drive to Getares, the next kiteable beach in the direction of Algeciras. Just 16 kilometres from Tarifa as the crow flies, we once again find ourselves on another planet in terms of wind. A light kiteboarder is bobbing through small waves in just under 12 knots on his 13.
We head back to Tarifa and check the wind at Valdevaqueros. It doesn’t actually feel all that strong and bucking. But that’s typical. The nasty wind doesn’t come all the way down to the beach, especially on the first Levante day. It only bucks a few metres further up – and then extremely. Even Liam Whaley advises us to move on today. (more…)
Levante Nemesis @ Tarifa
I have been travelling the world with my kites for 24 years. The wind is my life. Among the more than 200 kitespots I’ve visited in over 50 countries are some of the world’s most stubbornly strong wind areas: Bavarian lakes in front of a thick western front. Kalpitiya, Sri Lanka. Cape Town. The Cuesta del Viento high in the Argentinian Andes. The Philippines. Bahia Salinas in Costa Rica. Fiji. Or River Gorge, Oregon USA.
In all these places, I’ve always had a few days with too much wind for the smallest kite. According to the anemometer, my nose recognises 50 knots pretty accurately. The Levante storms we are experiencing in Tarifa for a month this April are simply blowing the bottom out of every barrel. By the end of the month it will probably be > 50% Levante with 22 to 52 knots at the top. (more…)
Al Andalus
The good travelling friends have long since returned home. Gratitude opens your eyes. Magic cannot be planned. It happens. After five hours, I arrive in Almeria. Check-in in a pitch-black, air-conditioned high-rise flat behind three closed doors per metre of corridor. It smells of incense sticks, and even on the second contact, the dense landlord can barely find his trousers behind the door.
Off to the first beach, Costacabana, a cruel urbanisation in the middle of nowhere before the airport. The wind is right. The only family on the beach helps with the take-off. Three young daughters comment on every jump, no matter how small, with euphoric cheers. It intensifies as I pull each kite through the water individually. Even the dad with a huge gap in his teeth wants to join in. All the daughters want an autograph, with Herzerl, “my best friend”, on a stone, and the warmth of remote Philippine islands drifts by on the coast. (more…)
Tarifa
You would think that thanks to global warming under Trump’s butt – combined with more weather extremes – the wind should also increase globally. Maybe it will. But not where you would expect it. So far, I’ve travelled more than 5,000 km in Switzerland, France, northern Spain and Portugal with very little wind. I only had four kiteable days – and I’m only talking about one really good day.
Even at my very first kite spot, Lagos, where I rode a 2.20 m waveboard for the first time 19 years ago and managed a nice kilometre downwind thanks to a year of previous dry practice, there was absolutely no wind – so I went straight on to Mekkarifa. But even in Tarifa, with its 300 windy days a year, there were four days of calm at the beginning. (more…)
Muxia
The clouds hang low at the north-western end of Spain. Galicians in traditional costume play the bagpipes at the fourth village festival in four days. I eat mussels in the pleasantly cool rain. If it weren’t for the funny language here, which is exactly halfway between Spanish and Portuguese, this would be Scotland: old stone churches above the rocky coast and lots of greenery around the small fishing village of Muxia.
The end of the Way of St James, Santiago de Compostela, is just around the corner. I am the only kite pilgrim in my hostel. Everyone else is a hike pilgrim. With up to 800 kilometres in their legs, they still haven’t had enough in Santiago di Compostela – and are still doing a little 120-kilometre aftermath to the end of the world in Fisterra. (more…)
Kitesurf @ Ebro Reservoir
In Cantabria in northern Spain, the mountains rise directly out of the Atlantic Ocean to over 1,000 metres. On the nearby Picos de Europa, which are up to 2,400 metres high, there is still snow even in midsummer. The incredibly green land glows in the peculiar sunlight on the retina like Ahoy sherbet on the tongue. Endless blue skies and the sea add a pinch of Tiegerbalm under and over.
The Embalse de Ebro lies just 50 kilometres from the coast at an altitude of 800 metres in a completely different deserted land. The ancient houses are made of stone. There are pictures of two metres of snow on the only village street. Even now, at the height of summer, the thermometer is only a pleasant 17°C after 42°C in Bilbao – from below. (more…)
Rise of the Silver Surfer
No one who has ever had a real category five lumbago can ever imagine how infinitely superheroic you feel after its exodus. I’ve just had the worst lumbago I’ve had for many years. I would have been much more mobile in a wheelchair for the last three days – I could have sat in it. Nothing worked anymore.
After three days of physiotherapy, the very capable Surf Doctor Navarro deemed my back muscles soft enough to set the bones. 45 kg of physiotherapy instantly conquered the pain with a loud crack. From one second to the next, I am practically completely pain-free. I’m not religious. My problem certainly existed 2000 years ago. Without today’s knowledge, the Messiah was the only plausible explanation. (more…)
Toreros? Faggots!
It wears pink stockings in ballerinas, has pearly white teeth under toupee-like hairstyles and dances chuggingly in circles? Clearly: gay as the night is black. The Spanish, however, consider their toreros to be male heroes. The three of us have our first corrida. We were expecting blood – and got a slaughter.
In front of the arena there is a car with “Carnices” written on it. Surely just a coincidence, because the old Spaniard next to me later says that the bulls are not eaten. We enter the arena on the sunny side. The sun soon sets, and that’s a good thing. We unpack our wine in the shade. It will soon be needed. (more…)
Cut!
On the third day, the wind in Tarifa picks up to a good 35 knots. As we have to pick up Max from the airport in Jerez de la Frontera in the evening anyway, we decide to head north-west out of the wind. In the beautiful bay of Canos de Meca, a few kiters are already out in the sideshore wind, which is still quite strong here, with a swell of one and a half metres.
Some older locals comment on the wind conditions with “Hasta manana!” and pack up by midday. They are right. The wind is not only strong and gusty, but also interspersed with plenty of zero holes. Like a large wing, the current behind the isthmus of Tarifa breaks off completely for a few minutes at a time. (more…)
Heaven And Hell
We drive a good distance to Bolonia. At an over-celebrated pirate bar, I ask the last survivor. She points towards the beach. The only surf instructor points us away. 5 kilometres of beach, endless space, but we kiters are not allowed to fly. Frustrated, we turn back. It seems that there is only one free beach for kiters in Tarifa within a radius of 30 kilometres, and even there we have to make do with 100 metres of sole dominance.
For kiters, it’s either “forbidden under penalty” or Valdevaqueros / Spin-Out: swimming, surfing, kitesurfing – all together. Yes, it’s peak season. Yes, the wind is either chopping at 25 knots or, like today, it’s larking about with zero holes around 14, undecided whether it wants to be called Levante or Poniente. Either way, it’s crying out for safety. (more…)
Mekka!
The first day in Mecca brings us what we expected: Enlightenment. As regligion is never easy, the winds here are also quite challenging. At Valdevaqueros Beach, the main kite beach a few kilometres north-west of Tarifa, we are almost the first. The Levante has been active there for a long time.
Long before the midday crowd arrives at 10am, my 9m² are easily enough for the first ride through Mecca. Not only does the Levante fluctuate a lot in the 15-minute average, it’s also quite bucky and slightly offshore. After just under 2 hours, I’m pretty much exhausted and go ashore. Heaven is different, but being allowed to kite in Mecca is still an honour. (more…)
Fuerteventura @ Flag Beach!
Flag Beach organises a barbecue. The night afterwards is long, weird and unhealthy. The wind finally comes on Saturday, but I don’t get out of bed all day. Sunday the name finally fits: Fuerteventura @ Flag Beach. The wind has finally shifted and is blowing stubbornly with 15-30 knots sideshore from the south.
Many stay on the beach today. Wrong kite sizes or fear of the gusts. They should all be sent to the Brombachsee for a cure. The gusts are pretty rough, but compared to the Brombachsee they’re still pretty nice. I still sometimes ride my 12s hanging on the last end of the depower. (more…)
Kitesurfing In Sotavento
The morning after is terrible, breakfast unthinkable. A wind-seeking Italian from yesterday reports good wind. We drive another 120 kilometres to Sotavento and are among the first on the water at midday. The next six hours are a dream. In an initial 15 knots of sideshore, we take quite large kites and fight our way through the battlefield of popping kite students.
Everything is perfect. Dominik’s first ocean kiting. High jumps, laminar wind, 200 metre wide beach, space until you drop. Almost perfect. At some point Dominik feels sick because of the last night shift. Or because of the McBreakfast. In any case, he gives the tip that it’s better not to throw up upwind of your own kite. Downwind would be much more appropriate. (more…)
Kitesurfing in Tenerife
The trip was worth the journey. Even though I only had three good days within a week in December, it should be enough. On the penultimate day, the wind arrives at Tejita Beach with a gust of 20-28 knots. 20 kiters dash through two metre high waves.
The first wave at the start was intentional. I discovered a stain on my body and wanted to get a good wash. My jumps get higher, the landings get dirtier and dirtier. The best crash landing led over 10 metres of air directly from behind into a two-metre wave that was just breaking. It was almost no longer funny. (more…)
Rainy kite in El Medano
After three days in the doldrums, the wind finally arrives on Tenerife. In the morning, I see five rainbows in quick succession from the balcony and know that something is going to happen today. I pack my stuff and beam up to El Medano – once again I can’t find the exit.
On the beach, 300 tourists are building rafts as part of an occupational therapy programme. When it starts to rain, a quarter of them crowd into the three containers at the Playa Sur surf centre. Then the wind slowly picks up. I frown. Almost full offshore. No rescue.
Riders on the storm
I’m going out for a wild night with a few people from the course. There aren’t many bars. We stay in the same marvellous Marmalade Bar until three o’clock. In Barcelona, you can easily meet 10 people from 20 different countries every hour. It’s a colourful mix, there are stories from all over the world.
The next morning, the world is shaking. Sure, it was a heavy night, I think. But it’s not. The house is really shaking. The predicted storm has hit Barcelona with gusts of well over 100 kilometres per hour. Morning news: four people dead, three swept into the sea, hundreds of emergencies, chaos. I take to the streets. The storm is playing roller dominoes. The longest line I saw consisted of seven overturned scooters. (more…)
Barcelona unkiteable
Windfinder was right. The wind is coming today. As soon as the course is over, I grab my board and kite and jump on the next underground train to the beach. The Barcelonians all look at me a bit stupidly. What’s going on? It’s 17 degrees, that’s warm, you can take off your polar coats!
On the beach, I don’t doubt it for a second. The wind is fully offshore, swirling all over Barcelona and changes from 0 to 50 km/h in 5-second intervals. You can see it dancing on the surface of the water, left, right, forwards, backwards. Then sand blasting into your face again and a vertical gust from above. Kiting is the most beautiful thing in the world. Especially when you can be happy about it afterwards. I stay on land. (more…)
The Author
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.