The Castillo de San Sebastián, a crumbling 18th-century fortress at the end of a long causeway in Cádiz, Spain, was locked behind an iron gate. But on the June morning I visited, the tide was low, and I noticed a couple of fishermen wading among the rocks beneath the high stone walls. I took off my sandals and walked along the base of the ramparts, trying not to slip on the kelp. After about 10 minutes, I made it to the far end of the fortress and rounded the corner. Turns out, there’s a secret tidal beach below the turrets with sublime views of the Atlantic.

The beach was empty except for a young surfer named Rafael, who was chilling in the sun. He asked me what I thought of his hometown. I rhapsodized about the fried shrimp tortillitas, the street-corner flamenco, the hidden surprises like this one. Rafael’s knowing smile made it clear that he had heard it all before. “If you can’t be happy in Cádiz,” he told me, “the problem likely isn’t Cádiz.”

At a time when every pristine beach and charming taverna in southern Europe seems to have been mapped out on social media, no great place remains truly undiscovered. But some gems are less discovered than others. Despite its 3,000-year history, its glorious setting on a peninsula in the southwest of the country, and its heady concentration of all things Andalusian, Cádiz has yet to be trampled by crowds. 

Tell others you’re heading there, and you’ll likely get a quizzical squint, followed by some questions: isn’t it sort of near Gibraltar, and a bit out of the way? (Yes and yes; the closest airport is 28 miles away in Jerez de la Frontera, with no direct flights outside of Europe.) Those who have visited will tell you that Cádiz is known for its port-city mystique and quick-witted locals. 

Lately, the city (population 110,000) has started getting more love from the outside world. New hotels are addressing the long-standing lack of good accommodations, and the harbor is now a busy stop for cruise ships bound for Lisbon and Málaga. While the crowds swell in July and August, Cádiz manages to retain its seductive mix of grandeur and grit year-round. 

A few blocks from the Castillo is a cluster of divey fish joints and bars, including Taberna Casa Manteca, where everyone orders and reorders chicharrones especiales (sliced pork belly) doused with lemon and served on wax paper. Down the street are the ruins of the Teatro Romano, an amphitheater built around 100 B.C., when Cádiz was already an ancient city, having been founded by the Phoenicians a full millennium earlier. 

The nearby Mercado Central, where I saw a fishmonger hacking away at a 200-pound bluefin tuna, morphs into a lively food court by lunchtime, with stalls that serve fresh-caught sashimi, vegan tapas, and local wines. Around the corner looms the Baroque-Neoclassical Cádiz Cathedral, a remnant of the city’s 18th-century golden era, when Cádiz was Spain’s main harbor and a gateway to the Americas. (On religious holidays you’ll see the giant doors swing open for somber processions led by burly men carrying statues of a crying Virgin Mary.) 

Beyond the sights, a key attraction is the renowned humor of the Gaditanos, as the city’s inhabitants are called. When I first read that Cádiz had the funniest people in Spain, I was doubtful. Can one town be intrinsically wittier than the next town over? An investigation was in order. Every winter before Lent, Cádiz holds a raucous 10-day carnival and street party that spotlights comedy even more than music and dance. It kicks off with a satirical song competition in the ornate Gran Teatro Falla. And if you chat with Gaditanos any time of year, you’ll quickly notice that many rely on wisecracks as their default mode of small talk. 

On my first night in town, I stopped at Taberna La Manzanilla, an alleyway bar that serves local sherries straight from the barrel. (Sherry is synonymous with nearby Jerez and has been produced in the region for centuries.) I mentioned to the bartender that it was my first time trying a dry Manzanilla. He glanced at my middle-aged face and said, with a grin, “A little late, no?” 

Another afternoon, over beers, I explored the finer points of Cádiz humor with José Luis García Cossío, a carnival performer and writer better known as El Selu. He noted that Cádiz had long been an economic underdog because of the decline of shipbuilding and other industries. “For years Cádiz has been cursed with few jobs and few resources,” he said. “So why is everyone smiling?” He surmised that Gaditanos had elevated life’s humblest pleasures—cracking jokes, watching the sun set—to an art form, because those have often been the only ones available. “In the north of Europe—say in Germany—people live in better circumstances. But they don’t always live well.” 

Gaditanos, of course, have their moodier and more tempestuous sides—and an artful way of expressing them. Flamenco was born in southern Spain, and the scene in Cádiz is smaller and more intimate than in bigger cities like Seville, which is dominated by splashy, tourist-oriented performances. One weekend night I visited Peña Flamenca Juan Villar, a windowless bar with a vaulted ceiling that offers live shows most Fridays. An audience of about 75—who all seemed to be locals, except for me and a Dutch couple—roared and cheered as a gifted dancer named David Nieto shook the stage in a whir of heel stomps, wrist flicks, and head snaps. 

“Flamenco is an art, but in bigger cities they’ve figured out how to turn it into a business,” Nieto, who also runs a dance school in nearby San Fernando, told me later. “Here, that hasn’t happened yet. The upside is that the essence of flamenco is still being preserved.”

After the show, I soon found myself back on sand—this time on the moonlit Playa de la Caleta, a small beach near the city’s historic center. Although Cádiz is technically a peninsula, connected to the mainland by a thin strip of sand, it feels like a small island, since you’re never more than a few blocks from a beach or a waterfront promenade. Crime is low, maybe because everyone seems to know everyone else’s mother. 

On one of my last mornings, I stopped at a fruit stand to pick up a few nectarines. When it was time to pay, I apologized to the cashier for having only a 50-euro note, since I’d come straight from the ATM. “You’re lucky,” she said. “My ATM gives me only tens, and very few of them.” Once she saw that I got the joke, she laughed, then handed me an extra piece of fruit for free. 

Where to Stay

Áurea Casa Palacio Sagasta: This newish hotel in the old town is set in a Baroque mansion that once housed the British embassy.

Casa Cánovas Boutique Hotel: Opened in 2022, this 10-room hotel is in the historic center, making it a better base than the larger hotels near the beach.

Parador de Cádiz: Part of a state-run collection of luxury hotels, this property has ocean views, a great pool, and modern interiors.

Where to Eat and Drink

Balandro: With its artful takes on classic Spanish dishes, this is a solid choice for an indulgent three-hour lunch.

Café Royalty: A restored Belle Époque café, and a rare place for a quiet coffee. 

El Faro de Cádiz: One of the city’s top seafood restaurants, this beloved spot also has a bar that serves tapas and casual fare.

La Cepa Gallega: This old-school taberna serves a range of sherries to a lively crowd.

Listán Wine Tasca: A welcoming wine bar owned by a former sommelier who seems to know every obscure vintage in Cádiz province.

Mercado Central: Seafood abounds at this historic market in the city’s old town. 

Pub Alipama: A quirky bar in the city center with games.

Taberna Casa Manteca: If the line is too long at this Cádiz institution, run by the descendants of a beloved bullfighter, you can order a shrimp tortillita to go. 

Taberna La Manzanilla: Order a dry sherry at this classic early-20th-century tavern.

What to Do

Gran Teatro Falla: During carnival time, tickets for this historic theater are hard to snag. But performers roam the streets day and night, so you’ll see a show without even trying. 

La Perla de Cádiz: A cavernous flamenco hall that hosts some of Andalusia’s top performers. 

Peña Flamenca Juan Villar: Don’t go for the food, go for the weekend flamenco shows at this no-frills joint.

A version of this story first appeared in the June 2025 issue of Travel + Leisure under the headline “Fiesta Forever.”