December 2- December 3, 2009- Malaga, ES (day trip to Ronda, ES)- Apartment of Suzanne
I felt uplifted after my coastal bus ride and grateful after I received a warm bienvenidos into Malaga by Suzanne who was waiting for me at the station. We made the trek to the center of Malaga with my bag in tow- the weight of which felt like nothing when I saw a familiar glimmer off in the distance. Finally, Christmas lights in all their glory! From Madrid on, I had walked street after street in beautiful Spanish cities, gazing up at dormant strands of lights, wondering what on Earth they could be waiting for. So accustomed was I to the States where Christmas commercialization starts after Halloween, the lack of holiday hoopla seemed a bit strange.
Here I was informed that most cities, sans Malaga, were holding off their ceremonial lighting until just weeks before Christmas, opting instead to save money during these trying economic times. A true sign that in our global society, America is clearly not the only country suffering from the current economic recession.
The colors bounced of the crisp white of the pristine marble walkways. We passed high end stores and high class fashionistas. I've never spent time in California's wealthy seaside communities, but I had to imagine that they look something like Malaga. Its Christmas 90210 style- decorated, clean and shimmering- it made me feel a bit under dressed. This was where all the money in Spain was hiding, the lit Christmas lights being just one indicator.
We had a beer at one of Suzanne's typical hangouts- a smart looking café' and then moved to her local watering hole favorite located conveniently near her apartment. At both places it was apparent that Suzanne had made a lot of friends. My Spanish comprehension, minimal as it is, was most certainly ahead of hers, but she was learning and trying to speak with people and they loved her for it. I was truly amazed by her courage and no fear approach to cultural immersion. I spent the night trying my hardest to converse in Spanish and actually felt proud of myself at the end of the evening- I could see how living in a country, and really making an effort could progress language learning capability several times what any classroom could provide. It made me want to stay in Spain for months rather than weeks more.
The next day I embarked on my much anticipated day trip to Ronda, a small village inland from Malaga. Pablo had told me about it when I was in Madrid. It is one of "Los Pueblos Blancos" (the white villages) and his description made it sound spectacular. I had to agree as I sat on the bus, my mouth gapping wide. Staring through the windows I thought to myself that there had not been such a dramatic accent between such lush, rich and rolling hills since my most recent adventure to Hawaii in March. Ronda is surrounded by mountain ranges, the height of which make access to the town difficult. We twisted and turned, winding our way up through quaint villages- appearing so fragile amongst the towering hills- until we reached our final destination. At that point, the bus ride had felt like an excursion in itself, one that I wasn't quite ready to end, but nonetheless, I was certain their was more of a reason this place had come so highly recommended.
Tromping my way in to downtown (its difficult to walk daintily in my hiking boots), I arrived first at the bull ring, a key stopping point in the town distinguished as the birthplace of modern bullfighting. At this point, it wasn't my first bull ring, nor I was certain, my last in Spain, so the adjacent visitors center carried a bit more weight for my directional challenge, which always requires a map (even if I never read it correctly).
Map in hand, glimpses of a conversation I had with a man at the bar the night prior came flooding back. With my limited translation abilities I had picked up that there was a place in Ronda where I was to make a downhill climb (only to go up again) something that would be quite strenuous- but worth it. He also told me, of course, to visit the Old Town (new stuff in Europe never seems to be quite as interesting). I didn't know what this down hill thing was about but the old town appeared to be just across a bridge, I decided that was a start at least.
Up ahead I spotted a familiar sight, hoards of Asian tourists, signaling that there had to be something of note up ahead. The bridge, as it turned out, was just the attraction I was looking for. It straddled a huge gorge (the El Tajo) that carried the river (rio Guadalevin) through the center of town. Looking downwards at the ant-esc people below I gathered that the climb down into the gorge was just the challenge my bar buddy had recommended. The view from the bridge and surrounding escarpments was incredible. With the pure rocky perfection of the Serrania de Ronda Mountains looking lovely from every angle.
The nature girl I am, I was giddy with excitement to finally do some real hiking that didn't involve pounding pavement. I crossed the New Bridge, slightly confused by what all the excitement and rounds of photography was all about, sure the landscape was scenic, but the bridge from above looked just as advertised, "a new bridge"- what a find? My mind was distracted by the question of just how I was to get down in to the gorge, but kept following my feet which, in a moment of untypical luck, sent me down the right path, for once. An obvious set of downward slopping stairs made for a easy start to the dirt walkway decent which eventually brought me to heaven on earth. So awe-stuck was I by the sight that had seemed so common place from above. A wonder of human creation from this subservient angle, the New Bridge from below was perfectly carved out of the canyon with natural arches that fit the structure of the surrounding rocks to a "T". What little burn I felt on the climb back up was tempered by the euphoric high of my first true off-roading experience, the sight of man and natures harmonious work and the company of two women from England I chatted with on the way up.
One of the oldest towns in Spain, Ronda has preserved much of its historic charm, with hints of Roman remains, Arabic and of course, Spanish influence. It was an easy and relaxing tour the rest of the day, but the map stayed in the pocket once the initial highlights were covered. So sorry to say, I can't tell you exactly what I saw from there on out, only that I now have a romantic image of a little mountain village that will forever remain a part of my memories of Spain.
I arrived back in Malaga that night excited to share my experiences, as much as possible, in Spanish, to my new barfly friends at Suzanne's nearby hangout. With laughter, music from Jack Johnson to Michael Jackson and Jay-Z, I had the perfect night cap and ending to a better-than-I- could-have-expected pit stop, on my way to Granada.
Cheers,
Em