Falling through the Andalusian hillsides, past the glorious white villages called the pueblos blancos, towns that stand as startling exclamations of white-washed islands against the tumultuous sea of green and rock, you finally wash up at the Atlantic Ocean.
This is the Costa de la Luz, the sunlight coast, facing west and the New World. Like a carbuncled nose, the peninsula that supports the seaport city of Cadiz juts out, battered by millennia of trade and history.
Cadiz lays claim to the title of oldest inhabited city in Europe; the Phoenicians settled here in 1100 BC, finding the peninsula an ideal harbour. To this day, it is a harbour city, with all the romantic untidiness and essential vigour that accompanies ports.
On the north side, monstrous tankers ooze into the deep-water berth; on the other side superb white beaches ribbon the edge of the Atlantic.
And in the middle, the original city sandwiched, compressed and gnarled, a working town that looks like it's never taken a break but still maintains a dignity and charm that most ports give up on when the first detritus spills up on their quays.
From the 16th to the 18th century, the voyages to the Americas swelled the town to a city, grand buildings rose up to face the sunlit coast as a wealthy middle class quickly grew.
They built a new cathedral, with a dome of gold-coloured tiles that glows in the western sun and beautifully offsets the pastel-coloured buildings around it.
It is commonly believed to be the last ornamental structure funded by New World riches, but it is surprisingly reserved in appearance, notwithstanding the striking dome.
The cathedral is constructed of pale, weathered sandstone and the interior is remarkably decorated, also in stone - no gold to be seen.
Not so in the treasury; it bulges with the spoils of colonial riches, one ornamental piece of jewellery is said to be set with a million precious stones.
The inner city seems to echo this jewellery's dense intensity, the compressed buildings a confusing maze of streets, forcing to the outskirts the boulevards that carry the frantic trade, and beyond the promenade that rings Cadiz.
This original city is tiny and retains the shape of the centuries, open squares, snaking alleys and the spired houses of Spain's early businessmen.
The sea air has eaten away at the stone, giving the whole an certain aura - seedy for the pessimistic, mysterious for the rest.
Never been decommissioned to a showcase
It may no longer be the "most delightful town I have ever beheld" in Lord Byron's 1809 words (though he seemed more preoccupied with the women - this may have been the main attraction), because the visible by-products of industry and some unimaginative architecture on the beachfront high-rises have diluted its character.
The weight of this modern industry has made Cadiz a frantic place to visit, yet it is vital in a way many of the museum towns aren't, having never been decommissioned to showcase status.
It remains a satisfying cocktail of the ancient and the modern and for the visitor it provides welcome relief from pre-packaged Iberia. Cadiz carries its history lightly.
Vigilant caretakers clean up fast
The exceptions to the "take me as I am" rule are the famously clean beaches.
By day, the 2 1/2km long Playa de la Victoria beckons with its pure white sands and clear water, a playground where vigilant caretakers are quick to remove unsightly sand heaps or stray pieces of kelp.
Oases of palm trees seem to migrate up and down the sand according to the whims of seashore designers.
Cadiz is famous for its varied seafood and the freidurias line the beachfront, restaurants that can fry a piece of line fish or calamari to succulent perfection.
Stroll along the sea wall
For food lovers, a visit to El Faro is also essential, a dazzling variation of seafood tapas at the modern bar is enough to forswear fishfingers forever and that's before you get near the dining rooms.
After such essential pleasures, a stroll along the sea wall is just the thing as the sun begins to deflate. At the southern end of the city, a thin causeway leads you out into the sea.
At the end of this incurably romantic walk is the Castillo de San Sebastian, a lighthouse shaped like a miniature Castle of Good Hope.
Legend has it that this was the site of the Phoenician statue temple to Kronos and the site of their ancient harbour.
Night grabs the city
Sitting here as the darkness moves in gives you the feeling of being at the end of the world, something the ancient Spanish sailors felt all too acutely.
Slow lights glow against the walls of this sea-weathered edifice as the dark hand of night reaches in, as if to grab the glittering city.
And it is in February that Cadiz shines the brightest - this is carnival time, and this riotous event is famous in a land of famed festivals.
Everyone dresses in costume and fills up with the spirit of their choice, and for 10 days sobriety is a rare condition.
Place of the first constitution
The insanity of the streets is underpinned by a tradition of social satire; wandering troupes of singers, actors and dancers stage impromptu performances to illustrate their grievance with humanity's folly and rail against injustice.
It was here that the first constitution of Spain was drawn up, defining the rights of the individual against the crown and though it took another century and a half to be realised, this drive to social equality still seems to run through Cadiz.
Cadiz fiercely resisted the Franco dictatorship, but when subdued, just patiently waited for it to go away.
For this is a place that's seen the ages come and go and it suits this uniquely elongated vantage on time and its circularity that the carnival of Cadiz doesn't just have its tongue in cheek, but sticking right out, taking the mickey out of the human endeavour and getting a welcome laugh - even at the expense of tragedy.