More Andalucia, Spain.

Rhonda, Granada and Malaga are our last three destinations in southern Spain. The drive from Sevilla to Tonda had the usual dramas getting out of the vipers nest that is the centre city traffic, then into the country which in this case was via a lesser two lane roadway. But we were immediately struck by the countryside and the drive into (and later out of) Ronda has been a highlight. It is mixed granite and limestone country with quite high mountains, cut into a beautiful landscape that is cultivated with olive groves, cereals (now golden at this time of year) and also some pastoral grazing. The mix of spectacular terrain and detailed cultivation is striking. Also popping up were the 'white towns', old villages of closely packed buildings often strategically located on hilltops, but sparkling white in their whitewash finish. The sun must bleach the whitewash as it not just white but exceedingly white, as if everything was painted just yesterday. The sight of theses occasional white villages, in a golden landscape under the glare of a hammeringly hot sun tempted us to drive right into one in the hope of a good photo. Negotiating the single car width steep, stonewalled and roughly cobbled streets made us recall earlier situations but we got out in one piece, not without some doubts that we would. The town was called Zahara de la Sierra, perched on a crag overlooking an unexpected feature, a lake that held trout, no less. We did our best to find and walk to some further outdoor photographic vantage points but mon dieu the sun had it in for us and the vehicle air con was a lifesaver. Our appreciation of the rationale for the afternoon meal and siesta increases with time! Anyway the drive was so good we just wanted to drive on, through the bold granite mountains, sweeping grain fields and olive groves. We were climbing in altitude and near the high point of a saddle, with the rocky faces closer, we chanced across a group of Griffon Vultures wheeling in a thermal ahead of the car. We stopped, fortuitously above a gully where three more birds were taking off. They are a large broad and deep winged species, over 2.5 metres in span including those long separating flight feathers at wing tip. Masters of the air, these dinner table sized wings are seldom flapped in flight. We watched the three birds below us, perhaps only 100m away, slowly circle gain height and finally disappear into the burnt sky. Their slow, deliberate, meticulous thermalling was impressive to watch, not that they aren't also quite ugly bastards with their bald reptilian heads and necks, designed for carcass plunging. We stayed about 15 km out of Ronda, in a building we were told was 7th century in origin, some sort of mill house. For our first evening we headed into town; yet another fabulous old stone and tile white town, this time built either side of a very narrow deep gorge that provides part of the towns defensive arrangements, the rest being the standard stone walls and gateways with the two halves of the town linked by a dramatic, narrow stone bridge across the gorge. The next day our only full day in Ronda was quite a day, one that just ticked over without almost any hitch, not always the case on our travels. I have to detail it, even if does seem a bit too good. We slept in, had a damn good breakfast then a drive into the hills to a Roman site: Ronda was established several centuries BC as a Roman town, on our side of what is now the town centre. The drive in was itself wonderful, winding up through stands of oak, olive groves and some cattle grazing. The mountains around Ronda are fantastic granite, and fantastic in anyones language. The ruins of the town are on a hillside and hilltop, with extensive piles of stones being the remnants of dwellings, but also some recognisable floor plans including bathhouse, but best of all a remnant amphitheatre. The seating was cut into the bedrock, forward of which was a substantial remnant of the quite massive frontage and stage. We could not believe we were the only ones there and could sit and drink the place in without another soul about. It can be hard to connect with these places; you might admire and photograph them but its hard to totally fathom the reality of there being a Roman culture on the ground and there, pre Christ and quite literally in the time of the likes of Caesar. This place was an exception, we felt it. Elated by that experience we hit the crowds of Ronda, crossing the stone bridge and admiring the clifftop views and white town, with some tapas and cold beer added in. Then back to our hotel in its country setting, for a bit of pool lounging in their very nice gardens. Early evening we went to a guitar recital in town, Spanish guitar of course with the artist being the principal of a guitar school, who performs as part of the schools income. They take this instrument very seriously here, including the hand making of the instruments themselves. We had an hour immersed in the music, played in a very tiny auditorium with nothing but small platform and very plain seats. The musician, a women, was spellbinding in her expertise and delivery of the exciting flamenco guitar music of the region. We drove home just as night fell, to a nice dinner at the hotel. It was so balmy that we couldn't do anything but sit out in the courtyard post meal, and enjoy the night for a while. A white walled paved courtyard, with citrus and other trees dotted about. An occasional wall light each with a resident gecko chasing insects attracted to the light, and the occasional rough little 'yap' that geckos make. Frogs and an owl were also calling, the owl soundining initially like a small dog 'woof' but then another joining in, which settled the matter - Owls. A dark sky with a few stars and the heat of the day still lying heavily. Just magic but tiredness eventually drove us to bed. The next morning we left Ronda, for Granada. Exiting Ronda was just as good as arriving, with a drive through quite mountainous areas cultivated fields and yes those stunning white towns. Granada is a decent sized city and our hotel a coach travel hotel, so loaded with people. The city is renowned for its moorish influences and we headed into town to walk the streets and see the spice houses, tea rooms and crafts like marquetry (wood inlaying) and ceramics. Next day a great highlight, a visit to La Alhambra, a walled fortified town on a ridge overlooking the city, which houses several palatial residences dating from about 12 century onwards. Moorish (Arabic) initially then Christian, post the Christian conquering of southern Spain. Again a stunning experience of the lavish architecture of Spanish history - Shanti in her element and slotting Spanish history into her existing knowledge of medieval Britain and France. Walking down from The Alhambra into Central Granada is via a broad town belt of trees. We heard, as we have elsewhere in Spain, a very cheery song bird. This time we found the artist - the European Robin, ('Robin Redbreast' in England.) Smaller than expected, between an NZ Robin and Tomtit in size (and demeanour) with the red breast more an orange red. But very pleased to get a good close look of an icon of English literature and especially children's story telling. Then on with the descent from the woodland park into the tight cobbled streets of the upper city. Like pretty much every other city or town we visited we greatly enjoyed heading into central Granada, the old historic town centre and revelling in its narrow streets, shops, markets and of course plazas cafes and bars. The drive to Makaga took us to the Mediteraneum shore, finally. Initially the drive was through the Sierra Mountains, surprisingly high including spots of snow on top (they ski here in winter.) Again every arable inch was cultivated with olives, almonds, cereals if the paddock was large enough, and other crops especially sunflowers. But dry with little sign if irrigation. The mountains decline in scale towards the coast but to foothills not flats. So the Mediteraneum coastline around Malaga is cliffs and bays of various sizes, with tight little towns in the bays and villas on the promontaries. This is the sunshine coast of Spain and apparently expat land - sell the musty home in the UK and get and apartment or villa if you can afford one. Sleep in, brunch, lie on beach, long liquid lunch and siesta, then get trollied into the wee hours. We saw plenty of candidates, looking the worst for wear on the life style, if turning exceedingly brown, tubby and losing all dress sense in favour of flip flops and bright cottons is a bad thing? (I say yes.) We dived off the motorway into one of these towns with the standard rat nest of winding streets, and found the stony beach. Plenty of people on it but not crowded, and Shanti revelled in a paddle in the so clean water. I promised her we would find a Mediterraneum venue one day for her to swim in and with that agreed we pushed on into Malaga. Malaga was in effect a transition town for us, a stopover for our flight into Madrid. But yet another historic town that was a joy to walk around and finish the southern Spain experience with a rooftop restaurant dinner, with views of roman ruins, medieval walls and swifts included. The locals take it all in their stride but us visitors are gob smacked by it and wander aimlessly around like lost souls, peering at everything.