On the Way to Ronda

In his Sunday travel column today Rick Steeves writes about Ronda, a fascinating city in southern Spain. It is best known for two things: a stunning ravine that divides the city's Moorish quarter from its newer section and its bullring that was the birthplace of the modern (that is, post 1700's) bullfight. The article brought back lots of memories---many pleasant and one ridiculous!

I have been to Ronda three times. The second visit was with friend Marilyn in 1978. On that visit I gawked at the 200 foot wide "new" bridge that spans the 360 foot deep gorge, dined in a picturesque restaurant perched on the edge of the ravine, and thoroughly enjoyed watching the young women walking with their mothers in a clockwise direction around the town plaza during the evening "paseo". The young men walked counter-clockwise and ogled the young women as they repeatedly passed by each other. I also spent time in Ronda reading and re-reading the postcard I had received at the American Express office in Sevilla the previous day. Ken and I had only been dating a month before I took off on this Spain trip but I already felt there was something "big a-brewin" with him. His postcard from home simply said, "Having a great time. Wish you were here. Love, Ken"----the first time he said "love" :-)

(Note to younger readers: WAY BACK in the dark ages circa 1978, traveling without hotel reservations meant that the ONLY way people could get in touch with a wandering tourist was to write a letter to you c/o the American Express office in the city you were visiting. It was up to the tourist to find and visit that office to see if there was any mail for you!)

My third visit to Ronda was with Ken on January 2, 2006. We, as our family tradition dictates, had gotten lost driving in the winding streets late the previous night. We gawked at the bridge over the ravine and ate at the same precariously perched restaurant. We spent a long time at the Bullfight museum and took the requisite pictures of me holding my red jacket as a "muleta" or cape in the center of the sandy old bullring.

In spite of the great Ronda experiences with Marilyn and Ken, my thoughts always return to my first visit to Ronda with Lorraine in 1976....and desperately having to go to the bathroom!

Ronda is one of southern Spain's hill towns, so one has to drive around and around to get to the city on top of the mountain. In 1976, the road was quite narrow and slow-moving. On the right side of the road was a sheer cliff coming right up to the road's edge. On the left side of the road was a precipice. No shoulders on either side. No rest stops. No restaurants. Anywhere.

An hour or so into the three hour drive, morning coffee drinkers Alice and Lorraine were becoming desperate, but there wasn't even a patch of grass where we could stop and crouch--just unending cliffs and precipices. We were absolutely miserable.

Finally, unbelievably, a dilapidated and apparently unoccupied farm building appeared on a sliver of land. No evidence of humanity anywhere. We stopped and, one at a time, went in and took care of our needs alongside the chickens on the straw-strewn floor of this abandoned building. Physically relieved we walked back to the car only to see two people rapidly walking toward the "abandoned" building. We jumped into the car and took off, suddenly remembering that in rural Spain it was common for a family to live on the second floor and keep their animals on the first floor of their home. We had used some people's residence as our own personal toilet!

And they talk about ugly Americans...........