In Cervantes´famous novel, the delusional Don Quijote wages battle against the windmills of central Spain, convinced that they´re giants. Probably owing to this story, the iconic Spanish windmill always seemed partly mythical to me, a creative device of an imaginative author, not necessarily something to be found in real life.
Here in Andalucía, however, it´s hard to ignored the windmills' existence since they crowd the rolling green hills as much as the orange and the olive.
Even harder to ignore is the wind itself, especially in Cádiz, whose proximity to the ocean only intensifies the air currents. The weight of the wind here is reflected in the language; locals have words to describe it from all four cardinal directions. It's never the viento, or wind, that's bad today, it's the levante, the wind from the East. For better or worse, the wind is undoubtedly a key element of the local experience. This winter, for example, I've gotten used to feeling permanently off-balance. Even if I manage to adjust my body in such a way as to remain upright, a single turn down a different street means I've got to start the balancing act all over again. When I run on the beach I'm either twice as fast as usual with the wind at my back or five times as slow, as it pushes against my face and chest. After only a few minutes outdoors, my hair inevitably looks teased.
But none of these problems compares to the challenge of dealing with the wind when it's raining. In Cádiz, the rain doesn´t fall from above, it attacks from the side. This tends to render the umbrella a completely useless invention.
Most natives forgo it all together, resigning themselves to the fate of getting wet. The alternative is to keep it pointed directly into the wind and adjust for its endless shifts in direction but in this case, the umbrella usually ends up serving more like a parachute before turning completely inside out and you end up resembling Don Quijote, fighting your own invisible giant.
As far as I can tell, there are two main ways of adjusting to this blustery environment. The first is to fight against it, whether that means moving your running route inland, plastering your head every morning with firm hold hair spray, or bulldozing the evermore dramatic dunes on the beach, all common practices in Cádiz.
Run three times as fast when you´re lucky enough to have a current pushing you from behind, learn how to wind surf or kite surf or fly a kite, meditate on the waves whose moods, dependent on the wind´s every whim, you might be surprised to find as infinite as your own.
Most importantly, don´t worry too much when you´re told that today's levante is the kind that drives people crazy.
Most natives forgo it all together, resigning themselves to the fate of getting wet. The alternative is to keep it pointed directly into the wind and adjust for its endless shifts in direction but in this case, the umbrella usually ends up serving more like a parachute before turning completely inside out and you end up resembling Don Quijote, fighting your own invisible giant.
As far as I can tell, there are two main ways of adjusting to this blustery environment. The first is to fight against it, whether that means moving your running route inland, plastering your head every morning with firm hold hair spray, or bulldozing the evermore dramatic dunes on the beach, all common practices in Cádiz. The second is to take a cue from the windmills and harness the energy coming at you.
Run three times as fast when you´re lucky enough to have a current pushing you from behind, learn how to wind surf or kite surf or fly a kite, meditate on the waves whose moods, dependent on the wind´s every whim, you might be surprised to find as infinite as your own. 
Most importantly, don´t worry too much when you´re told that today's levante is the kind that drives people crazy.
Short video clip of wind on the beach, courtesy of Russ Payne
