CADIZ, Feb 1 — You will know if you’re in love when you catch the rich emerald green ray of light from the heart of the setting sun. Well, that is the story anyway, and this green ray is really an optical phenomenon that occurs shortly after sunset or before sunrise.

I doubted that I would, dismissing it as a myth, but in that precise moment of the new year, my husband and I both saw the green ray: 1,500km westward of Barcelona, on the Atlantic sea in Cadiz.

Noisy, charming, unabashedly colourful. Cadiz’s humble and stately facades come in cheerful mauve, ochre, burnt sienna and baby blue. All framed by orange trees. The contrast with Barcelona, a Gothic city resplendent in a myriad shades of grey, situated on the edge of the Mediterranean, couldn’t be greater. A city that prides itself on being suave and sophisticated somehow could not compare with the generosity of spirit in the many Andalusian villages and towns we traversed.

While financial instability rocks Europe, Andalusia holds its head high with grace and a stirring beauty, exuding an all-encompassing warmth. It caresses your heart tenderly and assuredly. Despite its reputation for having one of the highest unemployment rates among its youth in Spain, this grande dame still mirrors the old wealth of its gentry. Buildings may be chipped and fading but there’s none of that devil-may-care attitude that tolerates tasteless graffiti elsewhere.

Andalusian children may make mischief but they’re still polite enough to make way for strangers and apologise for their rambunctiousness. People dress with timeless elegance, with Latin charm and that inborn love of colour.

Indeed, amidst temperatures touching 20 degrees Celcius at noon in the heart of winter, we were embraced by a fortunate land rich in olive oil, and acorn for its famous Pata Negra (black-hoofed pigs). We felt as if we were traversing the Fortunate Islands (the name not being the sole province of the Canary Islands) such as Vejer de la Frontera, that classic white village off the coastal road of the Costa de la Luz. As we peek into the very first open terrace we encounter, a sprightly septuagenarian lets us in to admire her flowers in full bloom “and climb up that little watchtower above”.

We tiptoe in, bypassing the glorious aroma de un buen estofado (a good stew as close to rendang as we can get, finer still in this rarified air), and washing on the line. There to greet us is this wee watchtower, resplendent in white with the only backdrop worth having, the searing blue sky. We then weave in and out of steep cobbled lanes, and are greeted time and again by impeccable abodes from which the same glorious smells arise. The only letdown is that this sleepy village only truly awakes in summer, there being no need in winter to strive.

A thousand five hundred kilometres across Spaghetti-Western country and clusters of thousand-year-old olive trees. From Barcelona, we took Sebastian, our trusty car, south and westward through Valencia, Alicante, Almeria, Granada, Seville, Cadiz on the Atlantic, Tarifa (from which we could see the north of Africa) and then to sweet Marbella on the Costa del Sol. Each place a gem in its own right.

In Marbella, we stayed at the cosy boutique hotel La Villa Marbella, which is great value at €79 (about RM316) for two in the Boracay room including an awesome breakfast served from 8am to noon, or later if required. A far cry from Hotel Francia y Paris, which cost almost €70 without breakfast, though it was centrally located in Cadiz.

We were clear on one thing: spend more on food than on lodging. Winter is thus a great time to visit as you’ll get good rates in the range of €70-80 for three-star hotels with breakfast included. As we spent New Year’s Eve in Seville, many good tapas bars were closed, so we ended up going to Pepe Hillo on Calle Adriano 24 El Arenal twice in a day. No regrets as all six tapas, raciones y media raciones (small, médium and large portions) were superb.

We had cazon en adobo (fried marinated school shark), revuelto de verduras y jamón (scrambled eggs with vegetables and Spanish ham), solomillo con setas (loin of the Black Iberian pig with wild mushrooms) and more.

In Vejer de la Frontera, we lunched at Restaurante El Refectorio, part of the Convento San Francisco, with a well-deserved three-star rating for a rural hotel. The solomillo de añojo al vino solera con trufa (veal tenderloin with sherry and truffle sauce) was divine. The price, very affordable at €15.09, as getting the same quality and portion in Barcelona would cost at least €40.

It was for sure a 3,000-km journey of sensorial pleasure. And we took it all in: the handsome tunes of a flamenco song lovingly played beneath an orange tree; the quiet pride Sevillanos take in their tapas y raciones; and the full moon casting its benign glow over the majestic Alhambra in Granada.

It’s a region and a time to remember for all time: that bubbling gaiety of Gaditanos (natives of Cadiz), always ready for a laugh, chocolate and churros, and of course, The Carnival, that festive season that occurs before Lent. Unlike other carnivals the world over that celebrate the spectacular, the sensuous and more, El Carnaval de Cadiz delights with an overdose of satirical humour, lampooning events, personalities and circumstances worth their time.

Even the local drunkard reasons well, at least to himself, declaring to all and sundry that drunkards pose no danger at all to the public, unlike the “……… fascists” (though it was puzzling to think of any such group existing in Spain). Ah, Andalusia. Despite of, or rather because of your imperfections, your humane pace of living and your love of the good life, you’ve awakened an unquenchable thirst in me I never knew existed in the first place. 

* Sue is a Malaysian writer based in Barcelona, Spain. She can be reached at suechien.lee@gmail.com