Last week’s post left us on a sunlit wall on Gibralfaro gazing out over the Mediterranean, sipping local red. I’ll let you pause and absorb that feeling, from wherever you are. Take as long as you need.
Ready? Ok, on with the journey.
Leaving a tip for the waitress and the comfortable wall behind, we descended the hill, winding down the twisting path that seemed quite a lot easier this time around. Our next stop was a place we had spotted from the fortress – El Palo. A lady at the tourist office recommended it as a beach that was more for locals and well worth a visit, so we hopped on what we hoped was the right bus and headed off along the coast. At what seemed a good stop we jumped off and tried to spot the sea. Between houses and across roads we caught glimpses, until finally a path by a dry riverbed lead us to our destination. On either side of us stretched seemingly endless boulevards of palms, shaded paths, sandy beaches and stalls selling local delicacies.
We wandered for a while, trekking across the sand to the shore and feeling the chilly water, being investigated in turn by small dogs, considering which beach side stall to stop at for a bite and taking photos. We wended along the beach and boulevards until the sun began to sink, and then turned around to make our way back. As we went most of the stalls were closing, the ashes in the firepit-boats cooling and the stereos turned off. There were last drinks at a few more permanent restaurants, but we decided to take our chances in the big city instead.
Back in town we did a little bit of shopping. A search of a bookstore managed to uncover exactly no English-Spanish phrasebooks and a grocery store produced exactly as much wine, cheese, ham, fruit and bread as we would need for a quick Mediterranean breakfast the next morning. It seemed as though even something as domestic as taking groceries home was an adventure of sorts in a city like Málaga, as we found out as we walked along beside the dried river bed. The Guadalmedina was empty of water when we were there, but full of people rollerblading, practicing badminton, skateboarding and walking the dog. A sort of below ground, open air leisure centre filled the space between the roads and under bridges, which seemed a pretty sensible use of a river that’s dry for most of the year. Close to the apartment we found a crowd who were gathered around for a match, and judging by the cheers and stacks of beer bottle it was a regular and competitive game. On each side of a volleyball net 3 men headbutted, thumped and shouldered a ball, trying to keep it off the ground. We watched for a while, admiring their skill and speed, and wondering what they must be like on a soccer field.
After relaxing for a little while at the apartment and planning the next day, we went out onto the street to find dinner. We decided to try the restaurant recommended by Plane-man and our host, which we’d located during our earlier explorations. We found it, took a table and spent a while drinking wine and eating. By the time we left I was tipsy and we’d decided not to follow all recommendations in future, especially when they were at touristy locations. As we would need to be up early the next morning we called it a night and, in my case at least, wobbled back to the apartment.
The next day dawned clear and sunny, and after a quick breakfast of fresh bread, salami and cheese, we went out in search of the bus station. After a bit of a fuss we found it, bought tickets and got on the bus with a few minutes to spare. As we drove out of town, the apartment blocks gave way to fields, scattered villas and far off hills. We passed through a few small towns warming in the morning light, and vast spreads of lemon trees full of fruit. Soon these were replaced by olive groves that seemed to stretch on forever, all in neat rows. Given the history of the area, we wondered how long farms like those had been there, and mused on the lifespan of olive trees. The road led us gradually upwards until we reached a built-up town and the bus suddenly pulled into a garage and stopped. It seemed we had arrived. Out on the street were groups of tourists, all headed in one direction, and only having a vague idea of where to go, we followed.
We passed shops, more tourists and some locals, and then the road ended at a small bullring. According to the brochures it was the oldest bullring in Spain, though we didn’t get a chance to have a look at the inside. Next to it was a small fenced off garden with a bull statue, and tied to the fence was a horse dressed up in tassels and decorations. After watching for a little while I realised that it stuck it’s front left leg out whenever a person stepped close, and my suspicions were confirmed by a man dressed up in a similar way sitting watching in the shade. A few tourists stopped for photos and to pat the horse, who obediently stuck it’s leg out and then waited patiently for the next visitor.
Beyond the horse and the ring was another garden, which slightly blocked our view of a small pagoda where a man was playing guitar. And beyond the pagoda was a view. A platform stood out from a cliff, a few hundred metres high and surrounded by a distant ring of hills. If we peered around to the left we could make out a bit of the canyon that made this town, Ronda, so famous. We stood there for a while, taking photos and soaking in the scenery and the sun, and listening to the guitarist playing Recuerdos de la Alhambra, the the occasional bah of sheep or snatches of singing from the valley below. It was one of those perfect moments that even crowds of tourists, selfie-sticks and worries about tomorrow couldn’t tarnish.
From the platform we followed the crowds around to the canyon, and saw the bridge for the first time. If you haven’t seen pictures of the New bridge at Ronda imagine a narrow, steep canyon between two halves of a town and then shove in an immense bridge a bit like an aqueduct. Or look at the photos coming up soon. We crossed the bridge and took a selfie on the other side, with terraced houses and hills behind us, and then continued on to the old part of town. I’d made out a path along the hill and guessed that there might be a viewing spot, so we wandered till we found it and then descended under the shade of almond trees in full bloom. Rather than go all the way down and risk having to then come all the way back up again, we stopped halfway and found a good vantage point for photos. The bridge was even more dramatic from here, and the steep walls of the canyon and the sheer size of everything began to make me feel a little vertiginous.
We then climbed back up again, hunger and thirst making us a bit more energetic and went in search of food. It was eventually found at a restaurant down a side street in the old town, which served us delicious tapas, a burger and wine, which we ate contentedly as the sun moved slowly overhead. Soon we would have to head back the way we’d come to get a bus back to Málaga, but not just yet, not when there is one more glass of wine and dessert on the way.
(Photos 2, 4 and 6 by JG31)