Ronda, Malaga Spain

April 2016

So one of the most beautiful places we went was Ronda, Spain in the Andalusian mountains. The end of March is a perfect time to go: it isn’t blistering, the hills are spring green, and I suspect the streets were so packed within weeks of us being there that it would have been impossible to get a photo without the Busfulls. I feel that sometimes I waffle on and on so for Ronda, you get more pictures than words. Our apartment wasn’t worth writing about. It was on the main shopping drag which was filled with tick n tack, and mediocre restaurants. A short walk got us into the old part of town and on the first day we just wandered around looking at the dilapidated elegance of the villas built on the edge of a gorge. There are of course, very expensive hotels overlooking the beautiful bridge, but there are more than enough faded places to make me want.

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Work that WP slide show to get a glimpse of why you want to come here.

After a day of wandering, we decided to go to La Casa del Rey Moro Gardens. The villa itself is under renovation but the gardens are still beautiful. They were begun in 1912, and they must have been Eden at their height.

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The Villa was built earlier, and earlier still is the Water Mine, a relic of Ronda’s Moorish history. In the 14th C, Ronda was a battleground between the Christians in Seville and the Moors in Granada. Water being most valuable in a siege, steps were tunneled into the gorge to bring the water up. You descend into stone chambers and cold guard rooms until you reach the bottom. The bottom was filled with birds.

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Feeling like we had been too idle, the next day we decided to hike into the countryside starting below the beautiful bridge and skirting the city from the valley and back up. Dilapidated ruins were followed by dirt roads, until we headed up into pine forests described by Hemingway. You can see why he loved Spain.

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Our final day was spent at the oldest bullring in Spain. Whatever you may think of bullfighting, the ring and the museum is worth the afternoon. You follow the path of the bull until you break out into heat and gold of the ring. Multitudes of times the crowd must have roared as the bull entered, or as the matador completed a perfect pass.

 

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