Ronda, Andalusia, Spain

Let's go get lost in Ronda

Sometimes, (big sigh) things don't work out the way you imagine them. With traveling we always hope things run smoothly but today was one of those days, where our expectations collided head on with, well, the impenetrable Spanish culture. It wasn't a bad day but nor was it surprising after a year in Spain that at 11am on a Saturday morning we found ourselves sitting in the dark, in a tunnel, on a train, in the middle of Malaga province. 

Just sitting there, wondering many things. Wondering why we were there, why the train has stopped, why no one else was really bothered? The irony of it, we had raced around the night before and had been promised the fastest route to Ronda by the smirky woman at the Renfe station. When the ticket collector eventually walked through the dark carriage, our active imaginations were beginning to think we were probably being held up by Spanish outlaws (so give or take about fifteen minutes later).

He cheerily said (in Spanish hahahaha) "we're lost we don't know where we are". Ohh that Spanish humor, what a boost of confidence. The dry blank looks our faces reflected were thankfully hidden by the darkness. It took us another twenty minutes to move from the tunnel and then another fifteen minutes at the next stop while they fixed the train. By the time we made it to the ancient city of Ronda we were almost an hour late and worse, hangry. 

White streets of Ronda

Starting a trip hangry is, in our experience, asking for trouble. From the train station we marched, now seriously time poor, towards Ronda's historic centre. Our normal positive outlook clouded by our falling blood sugar and our noses twisted up in frowns. Sadly, it got worse before it got better, our next encounter only minutes down the road was with a rude señor who wanted us to pay to use the public toilets! Well that set Kara off, no way was her bursting bladder worth the euro. How dare they! And this in Spain!  

We thankfully moved on through a gorgeous park, the Alameda del Tajo. With its beautiful brown and yellow autumn leaves calming us long enough to catch our breaths and even flick a few around. 

The autumn leaves are falling down

Streets of Ronda

But what we most wanted to see was the grand 120 metre high puente nuevo. Listed in forbes magazine as one of the ten most spectacular bridges in the world. Where was it? Hunger flared again, WHERE is that silly old bridge. We walked to the right, nope not that way. We returned, scowled at the man by the toilets and walked to the left, not there either. We weren't off to a good start. With limited time since our train was departing again at 4pm, everyone seemed to be walking so slow and hogged the little cobbled paths. 

View towards the Serrania de Ronda

View of the viewing platform

Borderline speed walking we continued along the edge of Ronda's jagged cliffs following the people who all stood around aimlessly staring off out at the (admittedly amazing) Serrania de Ronda mountains and the vast green rolling hills of Andalucia. 

It was quite clear to see how Ronda had made an excellent early Arab stronghold, protected by it's virtually impenetrable surrounding gorge and steep cliffs- well, we kept safely back, a foot from the edge.

But actually the small city was first settled by the cave painting Celts around the sixth century who called it Arunda. Current Ronda however is of Roman origins receiving it's name during the reign of Julius Ceasar before falling into the hands of the Moors in 713AD. Ooh, Madre Mia there it was!! Finally! We couldn't believe that it was too big to even take a photo of. Really, we were so hungry that we'd turned into pathetic unappreciative travellers, never mind the gorgeous sunny day or the deep rocky ravine, seriously it was just too big. 

 Nuevo Puente

And from the other side

Our brains finally caught up with us and took over. We stumbled (actually, there was a step we didn't see) into the closest cafe. Kara raced to the bathroom and of course this was a 'somebody peed all over the seat' day. In the meantime John stood in line, waiting to order.... forever!

Cute little Ronda shops

Walking around the city 

Birthplace of the bullfighting

Couldn't these people see how hungry we were? With each minute we waited our irrational hanger grew. Finally pushing delicious chicken montaditos into our mouthes ten minutes later only just sufficed. Well we had to get a move on, clearly it was evident we would have to scramble down the hill to try to get a better photo of the whole bridge. 

It was after all, pretty darn amazing. We raced off looking for the path and Kara yelled out tidbits of information so loudly that she could have been taking money as a guide "John, John, hey did you know Ronda has three bridges? The new bridge built in 1793, which isn't actually the newest, the old bridge, which isn't actually the oldest and the Roman bridge, which hahahahaha wasn't even built by the Romans!" and "interesting fact... John, John, are you listening? John? Ok did you know...Ronda is the birthplace of bullfighting? That famous guy Pedro who killed all those bulls is from around here."

Clambering over the rocks

From inside the gorge

We scrambled down the steep bank further and right into the El Tajo gorge. It was cool and damp, the autumn sun not reaching the water below. What was this place? An old dam maybe? Rubbish and rusty iron lay along crumbling concrete. Someone should maybe clean this place up.

Inside El Tajo gorge

Puente Nuevo behind Kara

Holy moley the Nuevo puente was huge, even from the bottom we couldn't get a good shot. We walked around exploring the river and waving at the people over a hundred meters above us. Up again we walked, back to the top, the steep winding path had us panting in no time!

Eastern view out of Ronda

By the time we made it up the hill we had only two hours left before our return train. Still mildly annoyed that our train was late arriving cutting into our exploring time we powered on, walking to the Arco de Felipe V and up over the bridge. The old city was charming with its white painted houses, iron railings and moss covered cobbled streets. As one of Spain's oldest settlements and also one of the last to be conquered during the Spanish reconquista it still boosts beautiful tiled patios and awnings from it's Arab rule.

Arco de Felipe V

House Palace of Marquis de Salvatierra

Roman statue in Plaza de Socorro

Ronda's Plaza de España though was packed with people and we entered into several establishments only to be entirely ignored (at the bar and while sitting at the tables). Only imagining how long it would take for the food to arrive we left each restaurant before finally finding one with an available table and a waiter happy to take our drink order. As typical of this day, only half our food arrived and after asking and politely enquiring the morcilla only surfaced when we stood up to walk out. 

Santa Maria del Mayor

Real Maestranza de Caballeria de Ronda

Eventually we were just too worn down, tired and sad to explore any more. So we ventured into two supermarkets seeking a couple bottles of the local blue labelled Ronda beer, which of of course they didn't have. So rather we opted for a large bottle of Jerez sherry and bag of marzipan pastries which we heartily ate on the train back to Malaga while watching Silcon Valley re-runs. Hopefully we will return to Ronda, but today just wasn't our day.

Tot siens,

John and Kara