The streets were built deliberately narrow in the old days to keep the sun out and retain a cool atmosphere at street level and many of the ancient streets in Cadiz are built with a bend in them to stop the famous Costa de la Luz winds from whipping along and chilling the pedestrians during the levante season.

This particular little narrow alley is very famous in Cadiz as it is allegedly haunted by a young couple who walk the alley at night in eternal sorrow. Legend has it that she was a young Cadiz girl who lived in the local area and she met a handsome French Captain during the Peninsular Wars when the French took over Cadiz and held siege to it until August 1812. They would meet in the narrow alley under cover of darkness and love blossomed between them. It was an impossible love affair and the risks were great. He was the enemy and she was a traitor in the eyes of the people. There are two versions of what happened to them. The first states that they were discovered by the people of Cadiz who did not hesitate to kill the traitor and her lover. The second states that he was killed in battle and she committed suicide being unable to stand the pain of her loss.

Whichever version is correct, it is a sad end to two young lives but at least the Callejon del Duende still stands as a reminder of the couple who´s love lead to their untimely deaths.

I parked the car in the underground and when I emerged from that dark exhaust filled cavern what I saw was akin to a scene from Dante´s Inferno.  There were men with moustaches dressed as babies with full size nappies and large dummies, there were men dressed as women complete with high heels and stockings,

there were women dressed as various animals, a cat, a couple of pantomime cows with udders and to top the lot three elderly and I mean kicking 70 year old  ladies wearing full nuns outfits with a ciggy in one hand, a bottle of Mahou in the other and a set of rubber replica male genitalia firmly strapped to their foreheads over their veils.

Maybe  I looked a bit shocked or maybe they just could not be bothered to venture further for a victim but one of the nuns said “where do you come from love”. “Chiclana” I replied and at that she leapt into her role as  conductor.  The other two old nags straightened up and put down their Mahou´s and with a wave of the self appointed conductor´s hands all three burst into song.  Having just got over the outfits the song managed to send me back into shock.  It was a bawdy little number about a girl from Chiclana and what she did on the weekends.  Nothing to do with working in a shoe shop more about her nocturnal activities.  I have to say it was probably an accurate listing of all the things your average teenage female would like to do on the weekend but due to sturdy window locks and  alert parents they only tend to lie in their room and think about it.  I certainly never managed to escape the homely nest and get up to what this girl did until I was over 18.  Don´t ask me why but when they finished I felt obliged to point out that I was originally from Edimburgo (Edinburgh) and only lived in Chiclana.  The hands got waved again and off they went into another three choruses of the same song but this time replacing Chiclana with Edimburgo.  At the end, all three in one perfectly synchronised move raised their hands and wiggled their strap on genitalia at me while winking.  I remembered the old saying that sometimes a swift retreat is the better part of valour so I thanked them (which didn’t really seem appropriate) and left.

I sat myself in a small bar, rang hubby on the mobile and told him I would stay put until he came and rescued me as some James Bond baddie had obviously put something in the water supply in Cadiz that was affecting the natives in a pretty odd way.

The TV was on in the bar as they always are in Spain and they were screening Carnival from all over Spain, Cordoba, Murcia, Granada on and on it went.  There were more men in babies nappies singing ditties, I hasten to add they had been toned down considerably for general screening to the nation and there were some women dressed as nuns but minus the rubber extras.  I watched  for a while but my attention kept on wandering to the merriment outside.  It seemed that Carnival  was all of a bit samey but Cadiz appeared to be doing it much better than the rather tame efforts on the TV.  The odd groups who came in the door of the bar every few minutes, gave a quick rendition and exited to cheers and laughs all round were a cut above those on the box. The barman told me “they´ll be at it till 4 or 5 tomorrow morning you know”.  As it was late February and cold I can only imagine that the alcohol and the party atmosphere served to keep them warm.

Hubby duly appeared and rescued me.  We set off in the direction of the car park again.  Just as we got to the  three singing nuns one raised her Mahou to salute me and promptly fell over backwards into the municipal gardens landing in a large patch of Poinsettias.  The other two nuns, a couple of men dressed as women with large inflatable boobs and a priest wearing stocks climbed in after her and hauled her to her feet.  I have to take my hat off to her – when they got her upright again and got her habit back down round her ankles instead of over her head  where it had come to rest, she still had a ciggy in her mouth and a full bottle of Mahou in her right hand with not a drop spilled.  I couldn´t help it,  I told her she could be an honorary Scot with drinking etiquette like that.
If you are in Cadiz in February take your life in your hands and see some of the Carnival  – I guarantee you will never see anything like it in your life again.