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Dropped down from our hilltop perch in Ronda as the warm morning sun woke up the fields before us. Entered the rocky mountains of the Sierra de Grazalema Natural Park. The craggy limestone, low vegetation hills, fields of purple wildfowers, and short stubby trees were all so reminiscent of the California Sierra Nevadas. Winding narrow roads with very few cars. Sleepy towns…some merely a roundabout. A tiny, dusty bullring along the road.

Along the route of the Pueblos Blancos…the white hilltowns…arrived in Zahara de la Sierra…with the tower-ruins of its Moorish castle watching from above. The hot sun surprised us as we climbed to the tower along a dusty footpath flanked with short olive trees and dense bunches of cactus. The tower provided a welcomed break from the heat…cool and moist…narrow windows channeling strong breezes. On top…a 360 degree view of the world…the white buildings of Zahara, its belltower-topped church, the enormous man-made reservoir, and the the rolling expanse of the Sierra de Grazalema park.

Leaving Zahara, we wound further up into the mountains. Dozens of switchbacks…each one seemingly the last. Short oak trees. Steep cliffs. More limestone outcroppings. Stopped for the view as we crossed the pass…the Puerto de las Palomas (1357 meters). On the other side of the pass, Grazalema… another hilltown of white buildings spilling down the hillside. On through the park…until we were stopped by dozens of goats crossing through a break in the fence. Making a beeline for a fresh picnic area, they were soon sitting on soccer fields, standing on tables, and lounging on a terrace like it was built just for them. Two goats paused for some goat lovin'.

Arrived in our hilltown for evening…Arcos de la Frontera…at one time on the frontier, now simply a pitstop in the midst of the agricutural interior of southern Spain. Once again entrusting Emily with our fates, we traced a winding path up into the old town, through narrow streets and blind curves…sometimes with mere inches on either side….uphill…with a stick shift. But Emily was right, and we reached the Parador hotel in the main plaza…the Plaza Cabildo…atop the hill adjacent to the town's main church. Our room was worth the nerve-racking climb…a cliff-side balcony with a strong, refreshing breeze.

Tackled Arcos's two main churches: Santa Maria and St. Peter's. Both fine churches built after the reconquest in the 13th century. Lots of artifacts from the centuries, but we found more amusement reading the spotty translations on various interpretive signs.
By 9pm we were ready for an "early" dinner outdoors. Frenzied swallows above…occasionally diving down to street level. We sat entertained, nibbling on so-so tapas…improved by a few frosty cervezas. A slow stroll around the quiet old town eased us towards our beds.

Its hurtfull when you lose my posts 🙁

We did a bit of morning shopping before departing Granada. Ornate boxes crafted by local woodworkers. An architectural volume from the Alhambra bookstore. And (finally) a small pomegranite momento to remind us of the symbol of Granada…we had made a game out of spotting the fruit on doors, in decorative tiles, and city infrastructure..

A swift return to the train station to Avis. Picked up our little red Seat Leon. Remembering manual transmission is like riding a bike. Navigated through the sleepy towns outside Granada and on through rolling fields. Snack and soda at a gas station where the two attendants (women) looked genuinely surprised to see us.

Emily (our GPS) did an admirable job directing us into Ronda…the white hilltown where we would spend the next two nights. With blind faith, we followed Emily's course up into the historic center…across an old bridge, up narrow cobblestone streets with steep grades and tight turns. Ronda is perched on a hilltop with a river cutting a narrow gorge through the middle. A picturesque bridge (the New Bridge) atop three stone arches spans the gorge. Our hotel sat along the cliff edge with a wonderful view of the bridge…not to mention the sweeping landscape below. Our room was aptly named Granada.

Walked the winding white-walled streets of Ronda's Moorish Quarter. The picturesque Colegiata Santa Maria la Mayor beckoned us in with its Moorish belltower. Learned that William Randolph Hearst fell in love with this belltower and replicated them at Hearst Castle at San Simeon (California)…now we know why it looks familiar. The church's most notable resident, the statue of Santa Maria was missing…she gets paraded through town early in May to her summer home in a cave on the edge of town…she knows how to stay cool in the summer!

Walked along the cliff top in the hot afternoon sun. Crossed the New Bridge and walked along the pedestrian way snaking above the cliff edge to take some late afternoon pictures. Watched the sun dip below the mountains directly to the west of us from the balcony in our room.

Dinner at El Sampillo as the dark blue sky turned pitch black. Wonderful food and our first sangria. Potatoes with peppers. A creamy Spanish omlette. Meatballs in a lovely sauce. Ice cream for dessert. And a friendly, persistent cat…who entertained us as she hid from passing dogs. Couldn't resist giving her a few nibbles of our food. Wandered the (very) quiet streets after dark. White walls and yellow trim glowed under street lamps. This is a cozy town that closes down early…if midnight is early.

I feel like a dottering old writer this morning, peering out from the balcony of our room, full of energy from a morning cappuccino, pouring through scribbled notes and half-written stories to assemble a few days worth of tardy blog entries. The view in front of me is both inspiring and distracting. Assembling snippets of stories from the past, when a swallow zips past me and brings me back to the present. Once the eyes follow the swifts to the gorge, the cliffs, and the green fields beyond…well, all hope is lost. Like a child that has spotted that one toy from across the room, the mind will not stop until it has played for a bit.

And so, with the long weekend still to tidy up, I'm fixated on Tuesday. Its still early enough that there isn't much traffic through town, except for the occasional Vespa or delivery truck rumbling over the cobblestone New Bridge. So instead, the gorge carries the gurgling of the Guadalevin River 350+ feet below. This low white noise is punctuated by the chirps of birds…mostly the curve-winged swallows, but I can see other shapes flying by or headed for unseen nests on the gorge walls. Mom and Dad would surely have better descriptions than "other shapes", by for me, this will suffice.

Beyond the gorge, the river enters a patchwork of fields and forested areas covering low rolling hills…grasses, rows of crops, olive trees. White houses dot the land. Something to research today: from the right and left, a narrow ridge with steep walls seems to encircle the land in front of us, almost as if it was an ancient caldera, forming a protected bowl. The wall is only broken where the river has carved its way through at the far side…the steep walls bow down to meet it. Or maybe its all an optical illusion. Time will tell.

Walked down from our hilltop to the lowest of three gorge-crossing bridges. The morning light was already hot, as we charted our course carefully from one shady nook to the next. At the bottom, the original entry to the city and the site of an old Moorish defense. Nearby, the ruins of the town's baths, the Banos Arabes. It was customary for the baths in Moorish cities to be located just inside the walls so that outsiders could purify themselves. A fascinating film explained the simple-yet-ingenious system used to bring water up from the river, across a short aqueduct, and into the boiler room. Hot (steam), warm (massage and social), and cold (changing) rooms. For us, the partially buried brick sturcture provided a cool respite from the sun. Only the star-shaped holes in the domed ceilings provided subtle, soothing light…a far cry from the harsh lighting outdoors. Recovered Roman marble columns held up Moorish brick arches…symbolic, since the Moorish baths are adaptations of Roman baths. We felt transported back to simpler times.

A steep climb along sunny stairs from one city wall to the next. Old towers and narrow-ledged walls. Finally out of the heat again, and into the Iglesia Espiritu Santo, from the 15th century. Now we know why the Spanish and Italians REALLY loved their churches…these were sanctuaries in the spiritual AND physical sense! A simple interior with fine gold-leafed ornamentation. Choir music was piped through the sound system. We climbed the bell tower…looked up and saw bells inches from our heads. Time check…two minutes till the hour. Ummmm…do these still ring? Racing out, we were chased down the tower by deafening chimes. Yep…they still ring. (A tasteful warning would have been nice.)

More hot climbing along city walls and cliff edges. At the top had a cold beer at a shady bar in the Town Hall plaza. A guitarist played nearby…soothing Spanish tunes…and Pink Floyd? Yep…Wish You Were Here. How appropriate. Worth a euro in the blue-lined guitar case.

A quick break from the heat, a quick bite to eat, and off to Ronda's famous bullring. The oldest bullring in the world…built specifically for bullfighting in the late 18th century. Unlike the stadium feel of Sevilla's bullring, this one felt intimate. Wandered freely thru the two-tired stands. Out onto the dusty ring with fine dirt the color of saffron. The intricate system of tunnels and sliding doors guiding bulls from pen to battle. A museum of armaments and tack gear. Tourists posing as matador or bull (or town idiot) in the sun-soaked center.

One last stop for the day…the Casa del Rey Moro (the Moorish King's House)…but we didn't go in the house anyway. The gardens and a Moorish staircase down to the river are its attraction. The gardens provide a serene perch overlooking the gorge and hills beyond. A three-level Moorish-style fountain dominates. 'The Water Mine' is a series of stacked chambers and stairs carved down through the ciff to allow water to be carried up from the river from the 14th century. Cold and dark and wet. A long way down. Felt like the Mines of Moria 🙂

With a sun-beaten exhaustion, we spent a quiet evening.

We began today like every other day of this trip…with the ritualistic application of sunscreen. We can't match the warm olive complexion of the Spanish…but at least we don't resemble the lobster-red (or shrimp-pink?) northern Europeans here on vacation. Knock on wood!

Anticipating a hot day approaching 90 by the late afternoon, we planned a walk in the morning and the cold cathedral for later. Ducked quickly into the Museo Arcqueologico, with artifacts dating from pre-historic to Roman to Visigothic to Moors. Then a long walk along and above the Darro River into the Sacromonte district… famous for its cave homes and gypsy community. By noon, we needed a break… Los Faroles was the perfect hole in the wall (more like a cave in the wall) with a small terrace tucked into a white-washed corner overlooking the river and Alhambra beyond. Two cold Alhambra beers and a plate of spicy salami, cheese, and bread…all for 4€. The cheery owner had a wide, gentle smile that never left his face. Dressed in light gray pinstripe slacks, with a cream-colored shirt dotted with roses and a brown vest. He wore a neat brimmed hat (straw) with a black band. He gladly sold a similar hat to a bald customer with a full-sun seat…our picture-perfect perch was under a wide umbrella emblazoned with an Alhambra beer logo.

Plotted a return route that wound upward as the shadows grew narrower. Found a grand vista with panoramic views of the city wall, Alhambra and the snow capped mountains beyond. Re-entered the historic city thru the Puerta Nueva. Back into the Albayzin following winding routes to Plaza Nuevo near our hotel. Water and creamy ice cream to beat back the now-oppressive afternoon heat.

On to the cathedral…the second largest in Spain after Sevilla…check and check. It's becoming hard to describe these cathedrals and not use the same words: immense, ornate, enriching, breathtaking. Our path usually circles around the outer edges, taking in the many side chapels and naves, and other decorative things stuck in every nook. And then its time to dive right in…with enclosed choirs and towering high altars. The amazing things about cathedrals is that when you step back, they are amazing…and when you step forward, the tiniest detail tells a story. I may not understand the meaning of all of the Catholic imagery, but I am moved by the sheer artistry and inspiration.

Leaving the cathedral, we wandered through the local streets, taking in random sights…snapping random photos. Came upon another church, the Real Monestario de San Jeronimo…with a quiet cloister and santuary to explore. Only two other people in the church with us…which made the visit even more intimate and reflective.

We grabbed a late afternoon beer at Six Colors. Dinner was in a plaza near the catheral. Once again, we ate outdoors…as we had every night except for the one rain night. You can really connect with a city when you dine surrounded by it after dark.