It’s been two weeks since I bid a surreal farewell to the windswept cobblestones of St Andrews, for the sun-drenched peninsula of Cádiz, Spain. While I’ve not yet started the work placement that supposedly brought me here, I have managed to familiarise myself with the local sangría and tapas menu.
The move from university life in St Andrews has been nothing short of a cultural whiplash. While St Andrews thrives on its disciplined, almost puritanical rhythm, Cádiz floats along at a pace that best described as “mañana, mañana.” This is a place where the day doesn’t get going until midday, and even then, people seem to approach life with little to no urgency, with most locals sitting at a bar with a beer and cigarette in hand.
Coming from St Andrews, this 28-degree heat, Mediterranean warmth, and gentle breeze, compared to the strong winds of West Sands, is utterly foreign in concept. In Fife, we coin sunshine as something to be hoarded and flaunted, like a rare stamp or a prized possession, which you will endure to see on every person you know’s Instagram story for the next 24 hours. In Cádiz, it’s an everyday accessory worn casually by everyone and everything.
Yet, there’s a certain irony in the fact that I’ve found myself longing, ever so slightly, for the familiar unpredictability of Scottish weather. In St Andrews, the rain acts like nature’s excuse to cancel plans and retreat indoors or into the Main Library. Here in Cádiz, the unrelenting perfection of the weather means there’s no such luxury or excuse for procrastination.
Credit: Unsplash/Jordi Vich Navarro.
That said, there’s an undeniable charm to Cádiz’s laissez-faire attitude toward time and work. It’s refreshing, in a way, especially coming from St Andrews, where time is measured in essay deadlines, exam timetables, ticket-collection times, and more.. Here, the concept of time is fluid, more of a suggestion than a rule. In St Andrews, from my experience, life is lived in thirty-minute increments, running from one thing to the next. In Cádiz, people stroll. They meander. They sit down for a quick coffee, which turns into a leisurely lunch, which morphs into an afternoon of tapas and people-watching.
And yet, for all the excitement and newness, there are still moments when I catch myself missing the safety-net of the familiar. The small Scottish coastal town, with its gentle skies, cosy cafés, and close-knit community, still and will forever, hold a special place in my heart. I miss the late-night gossip sessions in my beloved second-year flat, the sound of seagulls from the library (though, admittedly, Cádiz has plenty of those, too), and the warmth of knowing a face in every shop, every classroom, and every pub. I doubt the ‘FOMO’ will ever cease to leave my mind, especially when I see my friends back in Scotland, posting their BeReals heading to 601 for a night out, or simply just enjoying the student town life that I fell in love with two years ago as a fresher.
While bureaucracy may move at a glacial pace (a topic I will dive into at a later stage of this column), the rest of Cádiz operates at a different speed altogether. Cádiz knows how to make procrastination an art form. The siesta, an institution so revered that I’m convinced it’s the key to Spain’s collective longevity. In St Andrews, if you dared to nap in the middle of the day, you’d be branded lazy, disorganised, or at the least, dramatically hungover. Here, a post-lunch nap isn’t just acceptable; it’s practically mandatory. After two weeks, I’ve fully embraced the siesta lifestyle and find myself yawning at 2pm, despite having done practically nothing laborious.
Despite the paperwork hurdles of the visa process, and the recurring stabbing sensation of homesickness, Cádiz is quietly making its mark on me. The city is, to put it mildly, a master of reinvention. It’s a place where Roman ruins sit beside Baroque cathedrals, where centuries of history are etched into the walls, but no one is in any particular rush to show them to you. Instead, you discover Cádiz slowly, the way you might re-discover that one claw clip at the bottom of your tote bag: by accident and with a sense of mild surprise.
Almost three weeks in, and while I’m not entirely sure what I’m doing here, I am finding peace with the fact that that is okay. I’m learning that Cádiz is a city that rewards patience. It’s teaching me that not everything needs to be done right now or even tomorrow. Sometimes, it’s okay to just enjoy where you are and not feel the need to get up and move to the next.
This introductory column segment will no doubt act not only as a St Andrews student’s experience in the public domain, but from a selfish slant; I hope I can treat it as a personal and somewhat private memoir to look back on upon my return to the magical kingdom of St Andrews.
For now, Cádiz is the breath of fresh, warm air I didn’t know I needed.
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