So, leaving behind a significant quantity of sea food platter, we made our way to Ronda which was recommended to Pen by a friend at the gym. I have to say it is one of the most extraordinary places in Spain, if not, I suspect, the world. It sits on a massive rocky outcrop, straddling a precipitous limestone cleft. The Puente Nuevo (the new bridge) apparently stands 100m over the gorge and is simply stunning. One wonders how on earth one would even begin such a construction.

The Puente Nuevo (new bridge) over the gorge separating the old and new parts of Ronda.

We found a cheap and cheerful hotel in the “new” part of town and then spent the rest of the afternoon and evening wandering around the old Moorish part of town soaking up the atmosphere. This is a typical pueblo blanco with narrow cobbled alleys, window grills and some amazing doors, all of which is complemented with unbelievable views across the plains below. At one point as we explored the old town the church bells started ringing calling the faithful to mass and, from an alleyway to our left we heard the sounds of rapidly approaching, running footsteps complete with, “oh, oh, oh, oh!” at each footfall as two smartly dressed men sprinted toward the church – late again.

We then spent much of the early evening wandering around the “new” town searching for some suitable establishment in which to consume our evening meal. I have to confess, this exercise was really only of interest to Penelope as my sea food platter was more than sufficient for the next several days. Still, having more or less decided on lasagne after passing an Italian pizzeria, (as I mentioned previously, Penelope is not a great fan of the standard Andalusían fare) we then happened upon the Restaurant Flores on the main road which had a significant menu which attracted her attention. Lasagne was out the window and she ordered an entrecote steak with the clear instruction to the waiter, following her somewhat initially undercooked Secreto, that she wanted “No blood” with her meal. Fortunately, the waiter understood perfectly and when he brought the finished article he explained that if she found any blood she was to return it to the kitchen forthwith. (I forget what I had but it wasn’t a sea food platter).

So, after a most pleasant and enjoyable day and evening we made our way back to our hotel. I had neglected to mention that in Spain when one asks for a double room one generally finds twin beds rather than a double. (Must be the overwhelming influence of the Catholic church, I guess). So, naturally we were delighted on this occasion to discover that our room had a Cama Matrimonia instead of the standard twins (and we hadn’t even specifically asked for one – do you think the young lady at the desk could tell by looking at us or was it the American passport that gave it away?)

There was a small problem in closing the window in the bath room which overlooked what was clearly going to be a busy street on a Saturday evening (just off the main square and littered with bars and restaurants). So, we had earlier asked the young lady at the desk if there was a “trick” to getting it closed. She explained that it did indeed close properly but it did require a certain technique which only the owner would be able to perform and that he would not be available until after 10.00. So, soon after we returned from dinner and made our way up to the room, the proprietor arrived at our door to perform the required actions. This involved a judicious application of his right foot to the bottom right hand corner of the window while simultaneously swivelling it upwards and to the left. Simple, really, when you know how so that now we had a window which might keep some of the noise at bay.

The chasm in Ronda is simply stunning; there is no other way to describe it. Because of its position it was one of the last Moorish strongholds to be recaptured by the Christians in 1485 and, once you see it, you can easily see why. We spent the next morning wandering, again, through the old town and, while taking some photographs of the bridge across the chasm, I noticed a cat making its way slowly down the side of the cliff, proceeding very gingerly, as one might say. Pen and I watched as it got closer and closer to the dozens of birds which were clinging to the cliff sides. The birds, of course, were utterly unperturbed by the approach of the cat knowing full well that if it pounced, it would go tumbling down the cliff to certain death. Perhaps it might take a bird with it but what's that to a flock? We watched spell-bound as the cat made its way underneath some scrub that was present just alongside a section of the cliff where the angle must have been only 85 degrees instead of a 90 degree sheer drop.

After the cat disappeared from view into the undergrowth for two or three minutes, another group of birds, about eight to ten, landed on the cliff face just near the shrubbery. We watched incredulously as the cat cautiously and carefully appeared slowly stalking its prey. First, about half its body length emerged in slow motion from underneath the shrubbery and then it remained still, absolutely frozen. Finally, after about another two or three minutes it pounced and, while most of the birds fluttered away and escaped, one poor scrap didn't and, after two or three minutes while the cat was fairly motionless, (we presume it was suffocating the bird) it carefully climbed the cliff with its prey safely secured in its jaws. Absolutely fascinating.

On this final tour of Ronda just prior to our departure we met an elderly and very gregarious Frenchman on the path overlooking the bridge across the chasm while I was taking the last of my photographs. His English was only slightly better than our French (and his Spanish was even somewhat less fluent than mine) but that certainly didn’t stop him exchanging pleasantries and we did surmise that he was on honeymoon and was apparently "getting it" ten times a day. On second thoughts, he was probably staying in Spain for ten days or he has been on honeymoon for ten days or he has been married ten times or something. Pen and I are both positive there was a ten involved somewhere!

And so, on the road to Cordoba.

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