Castles, Caves and Ronda

Showers have been predicted over the next couple of days, so this morning’s clear skies enticed us to go exploring.  Towards Ronda, perhaps?  The huge wind turbines were spinning a bit faster today as we left Antequera behind – some of these giants are truly monstrous … dwarfing everything in sight.  The gray-green of the olive leaves flickering to silver in the morning light.  High on a hilltop a square-towered castle overlooked its tumble of white houses.  The village of Teba … and Castillo de Estrella (Star Castle). Pretty and neat … a community piscina (swimming pool) and even a copy of Granada’s Lion fountain!

Next stop – Sentinel de las Bodegas, where parts of the town have been built into and under the cliffs.  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Setenil_de_las_Bodegas  Shops, restaurants, garages . . . even a stable with horses! Parking was definitely at a premium, and we were fortunate to grab a spot halfway up the hillside, just as someone was leaving.  The bars and eateries were doing a roaring trade … but fare consisted mostly of either locally cured meat, or specialty pastries of the region.  People, cars and scooters vied for passageway in the narrow back streets and under the overhanging cliffs … so we took our pictures, and left … or tried to.  The main thoroughfare was blocked with tour buses disgorging even MORE visitors.  We waited patiently for an opening, and beat a hasty retreat.  It seems Sundays are popular tour days for convoys of coaches doing the rounds of local interest spots.

Sign posts and Google maps disagreed on the actual distance to Ronda . . . was it 2.5 kms … 12 or 20?  Perhaps one was as the crow flies? Nevermind, it was close by.  Entering the city from one direction, Ronda looks like any other city, but it was the iconic ancient arches, bridge and sheer cliffs on the other side – that was ‘The View’ we wanted.  Details were punched into Miss Google, and we eagerly awaited for a route to appear . .  . surely that can’t be right?  It looks no more than a cart track … and on the wrong side of town.  We tried again, with similar results.  An actual street map and road signs initially looked hopeful, until all road signage vanished into thin air.  Exasperated, Glen decided to trust in his internal GPS and located a promising-looking lane leading in the right direction. Apparently, no ‘regular’ road takes you there … and this one certainly couldn’t be referred to as regular..  GASP!  Sudden application of brakes as the lane ended in a sheer drop-off …  and an unbelievable view of Ronda across the valley, towering on its massive bluffs.  What a sight!  But how to get there? That tiny, pot-holed, almost vertical ribbon couldn’t possibly go through, could it?  And narrow … did I mention it was narrow? Barely wide enough for one car – with rock walls and fences on either side –  what if we meet another vehicle? Expecting at any minute to arrive in someone’s private driveway, on we went, over cobblestones … past well-kept farms, haciendas, horse training establishments – is this the only access for these residents, too? What about farm vehicles?  Over a stone bridge and under an avenue of shady olives … there were a couple of cars, but everyone squeaked through unscathed. And then, there we were … at the base of the bluffs … looking straight up at those arches, and the white buildings high above, like icing on a Christmas cake. Such an astounding view, one could only stand and stare.  A smattering of people had hiked in … others could be seen as tiny specks on the viewing deck way up there.

Reluctantly leaving that jaw-dropping view – it’s like something out of a Cervantes novel –  the car scrambled its way up the loose gravel and back onto the narrow but paved streets of Ronda.  Up until now, we had been fortunate to encounter only the polite and courteous Spanish driver – unlike the current testosterone-charged idiot in his gleaming black sports car who jostled impatiently mere inches from our back bumper.  We decided to let him pass by ducking down a convenient side street, intending to drive around the block and rejoin the road further on. Despite Glen’s finely honed diving skills (acquired from weeks of squeezing through impossibly tight lanes and alleyways) the sharp 90 degree turn at the end, combined with overhanging walls and hefty bollards ground us to a halt.  Only scooters or tiniest of cars could have made that corner.  A kindly resident just returning home, saw our predicament, and came over to help . . . the whole process conducted entirely in Spanish.   Atras (back) … a bang on the roof to stop … Adelante (forward) … bang!  Izquierda un poco (left a little) … bang!  Inch by inch the car was straightened up.  Ahora, de regreso (now, straight back).  Profuse thanks to our rescuer, who smiled and waved us on.  Relieved, we drove back through the older, much nicer part of town … a plaza and playground with children playing – the surrounding tavernas and cafes quiet in the golden light of late afternoon.  Further on, the picturesque village of Cuevas del Becerro (Calf Caves) and a delightful community park created along a stream and duck pond.  A walkway with orange trees – the green fruit just beginning to ripen – and some chickens wandering freely through the undergrowth before flapping, ungainly, into branches above to roost.