I am sitting in our house right now on another glorious day in Gib--feeling like death on a cracker. I don't feel good. I am achey and fatigued and have a raging sore throat and maybe a fever. I had the undiluted pleasure of trying the Brit version of cough syrup---'Bell's Cough Linctus' last night. It tastes like licorice and sulphur. I think the main ingredient is 'horehound' -which let's be real- sounds like a dirty old dog.
So I am intaking mass quantities of orange juice and just had my first dose of Ibuprofen for the day. Work, dang.it. The Linctus did work though as I was able to sleep through the night.
The plan for today is going to the siege tunnels and doing one last gasp of touristy goodness before we pack up and move along on our journey. I think I am dreading the lo-o-ong drive back to Vitoria. Yesterday was about an 8 hour day of touring and driving, and yet it involved lots and lots of stops and walking about. But it was still a long day, and at about 3pm my body just said "Hold up."
Not that I mind all of the history and the experiences, the beaches and such, but I don't know what to talk about after 8 hours together. I also don't like the constant human contact and constant need for chatter. I feel bad admitting to that. And we have loads of time together in the new three months. I am looking forward to getting into a more normal school routine and having their days more structured and productive as far their education goes. There goes my Mother of the Year award.
But anyway...yesterday we fulfilled Beloved's long-lost dream of exploring the Andalusian area of Spain called the Spanish Hill towns. These are a series of white-washed jewels of history in the more central area of Spain. We followed the 'bible' of world travel, the Rick Steves handbook on Spain. He recommended three cites: Arcos de la Frontera, Zahara and Ronda. Arcos for the 14th c. cathedral, Zahara for the Moorish castle and Ronda for the bullfighting ring and the incredible gorges where these crazy Spaniards built up their homes.
Arcos was crazy. Not like in a drug-smuggling boat ride up the beach kinda crazy, but in a corkscrew tunnel of death sort of crazy. The roadways through old town were so tight that we held our breath when we'd squeeze through a tight spot. Beloved caused two (yes, two) dings on the rental car. One of them was he reversed the car too aggressively and banged into a wrought iron ornamental bar, causing two parallel divots in the rear bumper. The other was caused by him not turning wide enough (impossible) in old town Arcos and scraping a rather large section of paint off our car. Thank you to The Company for all-inclusive rental insurance on our vehicle. We will send you the bill with our DEEPEST regrets. As a result, Beloved is not a huge fan of Arcos.
But who can blame him. Even with our tiny hatchback, the roads were not meant to navigate in a car but on a motorbike or even on burro.
Arcos was regardless beautiful. It was tiny and picturesque with nothing much to offer. Beautiful whitewashed corners and shadows and staircases with an old 14th. century Church of Santa Maria full of gasping saints in glass boxes. Okay I have to ask---what is UP with encasing life-size models of dead saints? Most of all of them hold rosaries or flowers up to their chests and their eyes roll back in their waxy heads and they look miserable! They look like a curator's exhibit in Beelzebub's Imaginarium. Ugh. If i never see another dead saint in a glass box again I will be just fine.
Sorry...the cathedral was again truly beautiful though. It didn't have the size of Salmanaca but it was a small narrow jewelry box of art. Textiles and oil paintings and wood carvings, and an incomparable pipe organ. Someday I would love to attend services just to hear that thing go.
After we got our fill of the cathedral we trotted over across the square to the try and get into the Moorish castle. No such luck. Off to Zahara.
Zahara was hot. The town is not much to look at, so we saved ourselves a drive and drove right up to the Moorish castle. The admission was free and the castle was stunning, even the startlingly intense hike up to it. Where were those darn sea breezes when you need them. The hike was steep incline, and the path was paved with flat stones, which okay after 700 years got really slick. It was a great site though and i am glad we made the effort. Walking up two flights of stone steps in near-darkness inside the castle they required the use of a flashlight. The stone masonry and longevity of this castle was pretty impressive, and i am glad we made the trip. I was also glad to be able to take the Birkis off on the decline and walk barefoot back down.
At the parking lot we learned an important lesson about throwing rocks. Tank had found an overpass next to our parking lot and dropped a large rock off the edge, not knowing that underneath there was the entrance to a fine hotel and the concierge looked up accusingly at him. I think it scared the rocks out of my son. Lesson learned.
On to Ronda. Ah, help me Ronda. How I loved you. It was gorgeous. Loved every inch. The blazing hotel plaza with the poor white horse staggering under his heavy woven blanket and saddle ready for photosnaps at 1 euro each. The poor horse that I wanted to so lovingly walk over to the shade not 1 meter away and give him a big long drink of water. The bullring (Ronda is the birthplace for Spanish bullfighting, and Ronda and Sevilla are the only cities in Spain which specifically have bullrings not town plazas) was incredible. I had this desire to cry out "I am Maximus" as I stood in the center of the empty ring on the soft yellow sand in the nailing white heat. The building seats about 5000 in two tiers of seats, and each seat is numbered with charming white and blue numericals. The doors where the bulls enter the ring were two levels talls with dark heavy stained timbers and square wrought-iron bolts. You could feel the tension. Along with the bullring was the bullfighter's museum and the matador and equestrian exhibits. Being a bit of a textile nob I enjoyed the matador exhibit immensely and pored over the detailed dressage of the horses and the riders. It was just incredible the amount of detail and effort that went into outfits that would eventually get spattered with gore. Across the ring entrance was another museum of bullfighter ephemera and posters and art. Gaudi and Picasso and lots of dead stuffed casa de toros looking bleakly back at you.
Por que? They seemed to ask.
Yo no se I had to reply. For the romance of it all.
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| Arcos de la Frontera |
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| Original 14th c. textile |
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| I was thinking of Mercer Mayer when I saw this |
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| Why so glum? |
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| Zahara: A beautiful-but we think-dead-lake. |
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| Zahara Moorish castle |
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| looks like a Van Gogh painting --- love |
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| Ruler over all you see |
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| Ronda |
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| Hey mom look at all these knives!!! |
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| Bullring |
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| Museum |
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| Authentic matador y senora costumes |
Because really, it is all about the conquering of the beast. In medieval times the kings would offer up bulls to practice jousting tactics and knife skills on. Better than wooden swords and white netted hoods, I suppose. The working holding pens and feeding stations for both toro and toreador required a quick look-over as well. (All of this was done quickly as Beloved did not want to spend 6 e to get into the museum, and the kids got in free. Tank and Bump were bored within minutes and I stubbornly refused to leave and let them walk out to meet their dad in the square).
Ronda was not only blessed with the historical advent of the toreo but also with the construction of the Puento Nuevo (New Bridge). This stunning piece of architecture was built over a ravine of 360 feet and divides New and Old Ronda. It's breathtaking, and the pictures of the bridge just don't capture the extent and span of this work. It was built over and over, with its final iteration in the late 1700s, initially being built in the 15th c. Ronda had all of the Old World Spanish flair that you think of about Spain, the flamencos and the bulls, the Moorish history and the architecture the beautiful primary colored buildings and all of the artists.
We will be back someday, but probably without the kids because...it has no beach....
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| beautiful matador capes |
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| Entrada de Toro |
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| Holding pen for the bulls |
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| Puento Nuevo |
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| Beautiful |
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| Mercado |
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| Homeward Bound |
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| Mom...make them stop |
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| Crazy sisters |
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| What did we do before the CamWow app on iPhone? Hours of entertainment |
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| Really after a week we were homesick. We love how this feels like home already. |
All in all a long but eventually fun day, ending with a meal in Ocean VIllage at O'Reilly's pub. Chatting with Matt, adorable Gib-transplant with a thick Liverpudian accent. He's a drummer and wants to study music in the States. Doe's eyes looked a little dewy when she would smile at him.
I think I have my oldest to Gib. She says now she wants to move here and work in medicine. She's never felt that pull for any other place she's been to. She's met a nice young man the nephew of our landlord and I will sometimes catch her sitting there on the beach listening to him talk. He is a charming and polite young man, and has something to offer and comment on about anything. I have never seen her so quiet and listen without speaking for so long in my entire life. I am glad they are now friends of Facebook.
