I love the beach.  The bigger, the better when it comes to the patch of sand I’m going to spread my beach towel on.

Playa Victoria

That’s how we found ourselves in Cadiz.  While on a trip to Andalucia, my husband consulted google earth, to check out the shoreline, trying to find me a big, beautiful, white sand beach in Southern Spain.  Happy wife, happy life; right?  He’s a smart man.

So you can imagine his surprise when after a day of walking around this quaint corner of Spain, it wasn’t the never ending, giant Playa Victoria that I wanted to return to the next day.

The beach that caught my eye was Playa de la Caleta, a small half moon bay right around the corner from the apartment we rented for the week.

Most would think this little beach paled in comparison to its spectacular neighbour, but I loved everything about it.

I loved that you could feel our close proximity to North Africa by the Arabic influence in the building that watched over this little cove.  I loved that after a few days, I got to know the locals:  the group of retired men going for their morning swim, the ladies power walking the beach before the mid-day sun got too hot, the uber-fit man doing his daily beach workout, the moms with the babies toddling along the shore.

There was a sense of community here, and I loved that!  As great as the big beach that drew in all the tourists was, this little beach, filled with it’s regular neighbourhood crew was the beach we’d keep coming back to.

The other thing I love about being on vacation is restaurants.  Something shiny and new, with a great atmosphere usually appeals.  But once again, I was thrown a curve ball in Cadiz.

After several days of hearing the late night chatter from just below our apartment we decided we needed to check it out.  The joys of traveling with children meant that if we wanted to get a taste of the late night scene that was going on just below us, we’d have to take turns.

I was comfortable in my own skin, enjoyed my own company and was jonesing for a glass of wine; so when my husband reported that I ‘HAD’ to check this place out, I was gone in an instant.

Had I not heard the chatter and buzz the evenings before, I would have walked right by this place.  It was definitely not something that would have been on my radar.  But alas, I would have missed the mark, big time.

The second I walked through the door of Taberna Casa Manteca I knew this place had a story.  With the walls collaged with framed pictures of matadors gone by, and the Flamenco music filling the room.  You could feel the history in this place.  This was Spain!

I saddled up at the bar, because that’s where everyone else was.  With a mix of old and young this place didn’t fall into any category other than unique.  It was tiny.  Only a couple tables that I could see, but it had a giant bar, perfect for making new friends.

My nose instantly alerted my taste buds that this was going to be good.  The bartender and I were fast friends and with a mix of Spanish, English and French, we were just fine.

The house specialties he brought me; both food and wine, did not disappoint.  As I ate and drank and took it all in from my bar stool, a young man and fellow tourist came in and in broken Spanish asked the bartender what was good around here.  Without a moments hesitation an elderly Spanish man grabbed a piece of meat off his plate and popped it straight into this young man’s mouth, letting the meat do it’s own convincing.  Slightly taken aback at first, but appreciative of the kind gesture, the traveler sat down beside his new friend and ordered up a plate for himself.  This was one big kitchen party and I was loving every minute of it!

After spending 4 of the past 6 weeks traveling in Spain, this was my last night; my best night.  Falling in love with this place, was falling in love with Spain.  The food and drink, the people, the atmosphere, the history and culture were all rolled up into one tiny, hole in the wall Tapas bar that happened to be right under our noses.

It was serendipity.

So I’m now a changed woman.  Forget the big beach, the fancy restaurant; I’m going local.  They live there; they know what they’re doing.  Eat where they eat, swim where they swim and you’ll get the real deal of whatever country you’re in.

Olé!