Ah, Ronda

heading out of Granada the train took us through flat land with the constant accompaniament of the mountains sitting just to the south. Ronda from the station was just another little Spanish town, with the special Andalusian touch of white-washed walls and black steel window grating. A quick stoll reveals Rondas most striking feature - it is situated on the edge of a cliff, which drops over 100 meters to the plain below. This rather strange topography also affords Ronda a deep gorge which now seperates the old town from the new. There are the usual assortment of old churches, houses and decrepit defenses, some tasefully left unrestored and beyond the usual tourist range.

Last night we took our little picnic dinner down the cliff and sat amongst the ruins of an archeway dating back to the Muslim occupation of this region - 800-1400 AD. Tidy.

It is still a bit of a gamble trying to figure out just when any given store will open, but we are coming to really enjoy the stillness of the midday siesta, and Rowena is making sport of spotting old men in hats sitting beneath trees, on benches, or around a card game.