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I've often wondered how poets, writers, photographers and artists can say that they've been "inspired" by a place. Our arrival and subsequent days in Ronda have made me understand. How can you communicate a place in words that is beautiful beyond the limits of words and language? How can you capture the perfection of a place through one image (be it photo, painting, sketch), when it is so much more than that? It's like the ultimate challenge; to share your experience with others and do the place justice.
First of all the travel from Tangier across the Gibraltar Strait and up through Andalucian Spain was captivating. Picture rolling green hills dropping off into the lapping Mediterranean Sea on the Moroccan side. Small houses, villages and crumbling walls sparsely scattered across the green landscape serve as a reminder that this strip of land was once the most sought-after strategic point in Europe. I can't comment much on the ferry ride across the Gibraltar: apparently a lifetime growing up in boats does not immunise one against the wooziness a gentle rocking ferry ride will induce. But once over the north side, we were greeted by the sight of a dock unloading monstrous cargo ships with cranes and the great hulking Rock of Gibraltar standing silent sentinel over a small and absurd strip of British land that defies all laws of geography. The subsequent train ride up through the Spanish countryside revealed a huge statue of a bull standing proudly atop a hill in the distance. Eucalyptus trees that would dwarf many of their Australian cousins were tumbled alongside quaint and sprawling whitewashed Andalucian towns sporting terracotta coloured rooves.
The dense vegetation, mountains and valleys were a stark contrast to the rolling sunburnt, desert landscapes we were used to on the African side. Eventually the train rolled into Ronda: the jewel in the crown of Andalucian Spain. We knew almost instantly that two nights here would not be enough.
The small town is perched atop and either side of the El Tajo gorge: a fissure standing over 100m deep which splits the town in two. On one side is the "New Town" - picture cobblestone streets and malls where tapas bars and cafes overflow onto the road, and locals and visitors alike while away perfect afternoons drinking, eating and enjoying the views. The "Old Town" is joined to the new by three bridges spanning the gorge; the newest and grandest of which was build in the 1700's. The town itself has stood inhabited since the 9th Century BC, and this extreme age is highlighted through the scattering of historic buildings and monuments across the Old Town: walls which have seen Moorish and Arab invasion alike, as well as the Spanish reconquisition and most recently, times of peace. Fortunately for us, the significance of these historic landmarks was spelt out in both English and Spanish on signposts around town: my Spanish is still lacking but is a damn sight better than Sjane's.
For us, however, the true pleasure of being in Ronda was in the landscape in which it was set. Looking out into the valley from atop the rocky cliffs, one could see small olive groves and patchwork quilt farmlands that brought idyllic Tuscan afternoons to mind. No matter where you went in town, you were greeted by these panoramic vistas that made you want to take up painting and while away the days in the presence of this natural beauty. Small pathways snaked their way across the valley and it was here we spent most of our time whilst at Ronda - in the great outdoors. Just like we always seem to!
Strolling across Ronda's countryside was one of life's simplistic pleasures. Every 100 metres or so revealed a new and different and spectacular view of our surroundings. Aside from the occasional tune floating across the landscape from a lone guitarist strumming away, the silence was only broken by the steady hum of bees sampling the variety of wildflowers growing rampant at the edges of every pathway and across the fields. At one point we found a small Christian place of worship on the quiet southeastern edge of town. Sjane promptly started a circuit workout and added her grunting and heavy breathing to the chorus of birds chirping and skittering across the treetops. On another adventure we stumbled across an unexpectedly large stream in the valley. It was deep and fast enough to be potentially problematic, and put me in mind of the "Bear Hunt" song. 'We cant go over it (too wide to jump and the rocks too sparse for a crossing), we can't go under it (my forays up and downstream proved this); we'll have to go through it!' Shoes and socks off; and after the initial shock of cold, the icy stroll through the stream refreshed our weary feet and gave us a good excuse to stop and enjoy some morning tea beside the stream (waiting for our feet to dry). The TwentyFifteen Plan continues to deliver on wonderful picnic destinations. A different day again saw us stumble upon a garden restaurant and bar hidden behind an old church. Aptly named "The Secret Garden", it offered yet another unique view of the countryside; as well as some assorted tapas, my first taste of sangria (yum!), and a cool and relaxing spot to unwind after a day of hiking.
Like the great writers before me; I do hope I've done this place justice. For us it really is the most idyllic incarnation of romantic Spanish countryside there could possibly be. It is a place that transcends self-promotion, modernism and development. It is peaceful, elegant and beautiful; and I hope it stays like this forever.
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