Wedenesday 11.10.2010


Help, Help Me Ronda

Note: Brother Joe has been hinting through email that we have to figure out some way to incorporate the title of an old Beach Boys song into our blog while we're staying in Ronda. As a person with multiple communication degrees, he should know that would be way too obvious and too much of a cliché, even for us. Not going to happen.

We have chores on our list this morning. The housekeepers here all wear pink work dresses and they are flitting around like a flight of butterflies this morning buffing and polishing glass and wood while they wait for the guestrooms to become available. John nods an hola as he hurries into town for a haircut. It was suggested that he be at the door at about 9:30 where he finds a sign that says Barber Juan Jose will open at 10:00.


We have made another aborted attempt to buy Alhambra tickets on line, so John decides to kill the half hour to try the Caixa Bank office again to see it they can help with the purchase. We have learned that bank lines take forever, but a young lady employee is working her way down the line to see if she can help dispense with some easy stuff. She understands the Alhambra issue and walks John over to the ATM and has him put his card in. She then steers him through the process and lo and behold, out pop a couple tickets to the Alhambra for Sunday afternoon. Who knew you could buy tickets from an ATM. John also scouts out the laundry since that is also on our list, but that too opens at 10:00.

Juan Jose finally shows up at 10:20 and seems to be apologetic—a woman came by earlier who said he would be poco tarde and John didn’t know if that was a little late, or if he would come in a little later. The nuances kill us. Haircut accomplished, Alhambra tickets scored, let’s get on with the laundry.


Mary and John haul two big bags of dirty clothes, almost everything, the better part of a mile to the only laundry in town. After confidently plopping them on the counter the lady tells us that today was not possible. Tomorrow morning? No way. Maybe tomorrow afternoon which means after 4:00. We’ll be long gone. We haul the same two bags another better part of a mile back to the hotel where we spend a while with the desk person to see if there are other options. There aren’t. We will hope for the best that there is an option in Nerja tomorrow afternoon and Mary washes out some underwear and socks.

The day is chily but there are some peeks of sun so we want to do the town tour today. We start at the gorge, a 360 foot deep, 200 foot wide chasm that runs right through the middle of town. Our side is the old Muslim city with whitewashed plaster buildings, narrow alleys and former mosques that are now churches. The other side is the "New City" built by the Spanish when they kicked out the invaders in the 1400's. This is where most of the commercial areas are along with the bull rings and swarms of hotels and restaurants (McDonalds). Standing on the edge of the gorge you can visualize the Moors throwing barbs at the Spanish and the Spanish throwing barbed things back at the Moors. This is where the tour groups mostly hang out and the photo ops are incredible, although the bottom of the gorge probably only gets an hour of sun a day.

Walking the very nice terrace that runs along the length of the gorge on the "new" side brings us to the city bull ring, the Plaza de Toros. In the late 1600's and early 1700's bullfighting became favored by those in power and bull rings popped up all over the country, probably financed by a 1% hotel and restaurant tax. Ronda was an early leader in the sport and is considered the birthplace of the modern style of bullfighting with the capes and flourishes and one fellow on foot with a sword at the end. There are tons of artifacts, costumes and gear along with an impressive firearm museum and equestrian school. They still hold bullfights here every September but the rest of the time the museum and a walk through the bull ring itself is the attraction.

It's mid afternoon and time for our Spanish time late lunch. We cross back over the bridge where we coax a ruluctant lady to wait on us and sell us a couple big burgers (which is what happens to the bulls at the end of their afternoon in the ring). We toast them with a Coke Light and capuccino before hunkering down for a late afternoon break.

It's tapas again tonight. Last night we made it to Bar Lechuguita, Tragatapas and El Porton which were all good. Tonight we start at Bar Faustino where we make the mistake of being led to a table. It is a good thing in that we avoid all the smoke in the bar, but once again our server gets busy and disappears while we wait to pay and leave. We are tapas professionals now and the unwritten rules require that you eat and move and here we are thrown off our timing. Finally we move on to Bar Maestro where there are two bartenders, a cook and us. Obviously the service is better here so we stay put to finish our evening.

It's still cold and we have limited protection since most of our clothes are still stuffed into a laundry bag so we hustle back across the bridge to be with the ghosts of our muslim predecessors. No help from Ronda.


Today's Picture: Ronda's Muslim Quarter, Gorge and New Bridge.