Ronda

Today we went on a walking tour of Ronda, with local guide Marta. By now, the howling wind and pouring rain of yesterday had ceased, and the weather improved. Nevertheless, it was cold enough (48 degrees) for me to wear my puff jacket as we set out at 9:30. Marta first took us to the bullring, left over from the 18th century and talked a lot about bull fighting. Then she took us to the Alameda del Tajo. Alameda means “promenade” in Spanish and Tajo is the name of the river and also means “cut.” 

I walked all the way along the marble promenade to the end, and poked my head over the side. The view was absolutely breathtaking. Apparently the name Ronda means that is is surrounded by mountains and even today, communication between Ronda and other towns is not easy. And one can see why, for there is this enormous plunge down to a boiling river below. Marta told us that we were 300 meters up from the surrounding countryside, or about 1000 feet. 

After taking some wonderful photos showing the morning mist,we walked along the escarpment back into town, over the New Bridge (from 1795) and into the Old Town, where we visited the Cathedral and various palaces (all with lovely gardens boasting beautiful views of the surrounding mountains) and back through a charming square (the Plaza de Maria Auxiliadora) from where the footpath descends to views up of the New Bridge with the waterfall.

We had an hour to rest, and then we had a Tapas lunch at the Parador de Ronda where we are staying. After lunch, I zipped off back across the New Bridge to the Mural of Romanticism, then just past that, left and down to visit the Old Bridge (built in the Renaissance) and the Roman bridge. I must have climbed down one thousand feet to see it. Of course, I thought the Roman Bridge was the Renaissance Bridge, which is still very high up from the boiling stream below. Of course, I was standing on the Roman Bridge which is still open to car traffic.

I didn’t stay long as I had promised to go on a walk that the Odysseys tour guide had organized for us, staring at 4pm. This time we went over the New Bridge as before, but on the other side of the road, turning right opposite the mural, and passing through a charming square before finding the footpath to the right that must have descended another one thousand feet. 

Oh dear, I had to go slow as my knees were now bothering me. But I made it down all the way to the view (which, as promised, was of a steep waterfall falling from under the New Bridge) to find the tour guide waiting for me. I took some time for a breather, and then (of course) I had the task of climbing up yet another 1000 feet. Telling him to go ahead, I went up slowly, as slowly perhaps as I did on that trip to the Pyrennees, where Francois our guide had insisted that we go slowly up the very steep paths. Eventually, I made it to the top and was very pleased to see I was not out of breath. I spent some time taking photos of my charming square before heading back to the hotel, where I spent the rest of the evening resting. 

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