Two nights, three full days – and yet it felt as if I had stepped into another world. Just 120 kilometres from Pineda, but the contrast couldn’t be greater.
The Costa Brava is so different from the Costa Maresme. At home I’m used to long, open sandy beaches, while here the coast is rugged, dotted with small hidden coves. And then there is Cadaqués: a story of its own. According to a friend, it is one of the pearls of the Costa Brava. Cut off from the rest of the coast, reachable only by a ten-kilometre winding pass. But as soon as you take that final curve and the village comes into view, the sight takes your breath away.
Sometimes I wish I could turn back time. To see what it must have looked like a hundred years ago, so remote and pure. Or in the 1960s and 70s, when Dalí lived in Port Lligat. Nowadays, of course, it has every comfort: restaurants, boutiques and, inevitably, tourists. Although mid September it wasn’t too crowded. Mostly French visitors – probably because the border is so close.
The winding streets are a painting in themselves: cobbledstones, whitewashed walls, blue and green shutters, colourful climbing plants, and laundry fluttering in the narrow passages. Not the colours, but that very image reminded me of old Italian films.
Towering above everything is the church of Santa Maria. Wherever you stand – on the quay, in the bay or in the narrow streets – its silhouette dominates the view. During my visit I discovered that every Wednesday evening there is a guitar concert. By chance, I was there on just such a day. With the lighting and the music, it was the perfect moment to take in the retablo up close. Baroque, carved from wood and gilded, full of details: angels, columns, curls and figures that, through layers and shadows, reveal something new each time. At the centre stands the Virgin Mary with the Child, to whom the church is dedicated. Santa Maria is the patron saint of the fishermen of Cadaqués.
Beautiful? That’s not quite the word I would use. It is almost theatrical, a Baroque style often found here in Catalonia. What I do admire is the craftsmanship and the intention: to overwhelm the faithful, to make them feel small before the greatness of the divine.
And yet, this was not my true highlight.
Charming as Cadaqués was – the bay, the streets, the terraces – my most unforgettable moment was the early morning in Port Lligat. I do not envy Dalí for his fame, his life among celebrities, or even his paintings. But I do envy him for this: waking up there every morning, in that light, with that view. What a source of inspiration it must have been.
For most tourists, a visit to Cadaqués means strolling along the promenade, shopping or dining out. Of course, that is enjoyable, but for me the magic lay elsewhere.
On my second day I got up at six in the morning. In the dark I walked from my hotel to Port Lligat. There, on the edge of the bay, I laid down a towel on the grass and watched the sky slowly change. Deep blue at first, then a soft orange glow. Fishing boats lay motionless on the mirror-like water. The sky shifted from orange to pink, to golden yellow. And then the sun appeared, slowly, as if revealing itself with care.
A little later I swam, completely alone, in a small cove. The water was cool, clear and still – only the colours of the rising sun moved with me.
That, for me, was the true gift of Cadaqués. Not the shops, not the bustle, but the quiet wonder of the morning.
