Ronda and the White Hill Towns
If you have to go from Granada to Sevilla, I recommend driving. The road winds under the broad Spanish sky, along windswept rolling hills and through steeply thrilling turns. Get into the spirit by loading your iPod with flamenco, or Bizet's Carmen or the Gypsy Kings. I listened to this song by Rodrigo y Gabriela, and now I relive the drive every time I hear it.
We spent the night in Ronda, a lovely town straddling a spectacular gorge. It is a touristy town, with throngs taking day-trips from the Costa del Sol. But the views are spectacular and the streets and alleyways filled with attractive taverns, restaurants and shops. We had the good fortune of getting recommendations from a local, via a new friend of mine from work.
As the sun went down and the air cooled, we crossed the plunging gorge and walked beyond the center of town, leaving most of the touristy spots behind. Just as we were wondering if we had made a wrong turn, we found it. Bodega San Francisco was packed with people watching soccer and we were lucky to get a table across the street, under a small grove of trees.
We hung out into the evening. The night grew darker and more quiet, the soccer game ended and the crowd thinned out. We walked back home, taking time to enjoy the entirely different feeling the town had at night.
The next day, the drive continuedfrom Ronda to Sevilla. First stop? The nearest market to pick up jamon, salchicha, cheese and bread. Picnicking in the hill towns is the way to go. The only thing missing was a good bottle of Rioja, but then again, I was driving.
We ate lunch in Grazalema, walking up the hill until we found a quiet spot next to an old church. Along the way we passed quaint courtyards and beautifully tiled stairways, along with sweet old abuelitas and fascinating remnants of ancient civilizations. The fountain above was constructed out of a solid piece of rock by the Visigoths, sometime around the 7th century AD.
Next stop was Arcos de la Frontera - a spectacular city perched impossibly on a steep hill with a cliff. We parked near the bottom and grabbed he soonest bus that came along. This was the bus ride of my life, as it wound its way through the tiniest alleyways and sharpest turns I have ever seen. We all held our breath, waiting for what surely had to happen - the scrape/crunch of automobile against ancient wall. But it never did, as the driver handled the bus like Paco de Lucia handling the guitar.
We were so enthralled with our ride that we forgot to get off the bus, and soon we were back to our original stop at the bottom of the hill. That thrill-seeking tour was enough though, and a quick, quieting afternoon beer was in order. Then it was off again.
Next stop: Sevilla!
