On my third day in Seville I was taken on an organized bus tour to Ronda and the White Villages, hill towns in the countryside south of the city. If I had been unsure of how I felt about the trip up to this point, I assure you that today was a wonderful adventure - no complaints whatsoever.
The company (Naturanda - I highly recommend it) that took about 20 of us in a very comfortable mid-sized bus is laid back and doesn't rush - I have only found two companies comparable, one in Portugal, another in Slovenia - and I've done an awful lot of organized day trips.
The only unfortunate aspect to the day can be blamed on 4 tourists who decided to skip the trip without notifying Naturanda. This failure mucked up the schedule and we finally got started at least a half hour late. Rather than try to rush the entire day, the guides decided to skip Grazulema, so that we could focus on Zahara de la Sierra (wonderful name, yes?) and just plain old Ronda - old definitely, but anything other than plain.
I don't know if Naturanda makes a practice of this, but we had two guides, Carlos and Miguel, both expert, one rather proper, the other a bit loose. They played very well off one another, a bit like the comedy teams of Dean Martin and Jerry Lewis, Abbott and Costello, or the Smothers Brothers. If they were doing it on purpose they didn't try too hard, so the day seemed smooth and spontaneous. There was a driver too, very safe, very careful, Francisco (or Francesco), completely quiet but with a pleasant smile and a nod to each of us.
It was a pleasure simply to get out of town and see the countryside. I tried to snap some photos as we drove, but of course there is always glare from the windows. Here are a few of my better tries:
As you can see, we were headed up into the mountains. And then...
a view from Zahara - wow! And I hope you're thinking the same.
The white villages are hill towns, and I'm certain the inhabitants must have strong legs
The hands-down winner of prettiest floral arrangments:
the lovely, cosy central square:
I slipped inside the church - LOVED this juxtaposition - Christ the Redeemer, accompanied by an altar boy holding out the collection box:
just off the central square, this view
and this - rugged beauty
the daily climb
the good doctor in contraposto - the stance is necessary in order to not roll down the hill
a close-up
This church is the only building in the village that is NOT white! Non-conformist sect?
Vista with white and light
Zahara de la Sierra - a truly unique, truly beautiful place. I do believe I could find it in me to spend some time here.
Before we head off to olive oil production and Ronda, just a little history may be in order. These villages have been here for ages. Some may date as far back as the Romans, but they were certainly here by the time the Moors ruled Spain, for centuries. The Reconquista (re-conquest of Spain by Christians) came relatively late to Southern Spain, as it had begun in the north, but when come it did, it came with a vengeance. Carlos asked a question. "When the Christians finally captured Zahara, what do you think they did with the Moors? Did they take them as prisoner? Did they let some go? Or did they massacre the lot of them?"
Sad to say, the third choice is correct. For many years, Moors, Jews and Christians lived together if not in perfect harmony at least in an alliance based upon mutual need. The Reconquista gradually changed all that, and by the time of Los Reyes Catolicos (the Catholic monarchs, referring to Ferdinand and Isabella), an Inquisition had been imposed on Jews, primarily, which rid the country of most of them. At the same time - the last Moorish stronghold was Granada, which fell in the late 15th century - Muslims too were killed, sent away or, as was also the case with Jews, forced to convert.
Enough. Too sad a tale to continue. Onward to olive oil! Spain has become the number one exporter of olive oil in the world, at 53 percent. Miguel told us that now Italians, no slouches at all things olive themselves, now buy from Spain, and, per Miguel, Bottle the Spanish oil and sell it as Italian! If you ever travel through Spain (luckily enough I have gone from Barcelona down to Madrid and now of course much farther south, so I've seen it with my own eyes) you will view grove after grove of these amazing olive trees out of your car, bus, or train window. The trees themselves last seemingly forever, but their period of productivity is no more than 25 years (I'm no expert, simply paraphrasing what my guides told me). Just on the drive between Seville and Zahara I saw groves of mature olive trees, youthful ones and mere babies.
Miguel took over the narration of the tour when we were taken only a short walk away from Zahara, to a production plant. Here he is at the entrance.
The pretty plant at right is worth showing in full:
I won't go into the production itself, as I couldn't possibly make sense of it, but it struck me that it is all so natural. Miguel started outside
He explained how ripe olives are shaken (not stirred) from trees, then gradually broken down - doesn't this look like an old contraption? It is, but it works! Then he led us inside the plant
where the process continues.
Then we were led into the shop where a short video reiterates what Miguel told us. After, there was a tasting (yum!) and those who wanted to could buy some.
What is on the video screen is the oil late in its progress to becoming that which one buys in the store.
I must tell you that I LIVE on olive oil. Except on very few questions when I resort to safflower oil, I cook with it, use it as salad dressing, even bathe with it.
Aside: that last was meant only to see if you were paying attention - although the little shop also sold olive oil soap.
I'm not certain that the short period of time we spent there would be worth it for everyone, but for me it was a wonderful extra added attraction. Oh! WHY could we go into this plant and see how it all works, without the process actually going on? It is mid-October. The olives are now ripe. the season to make the olive oil is from November to January.
and there they are, ripe for the picking...uh...make that shaking.
We continued on to the city on a gorge, Ronda. Larger than the other white villages, much of Ronda is "white" as well. It is famous primarily for its bull ring, the oldest in the world, and for the vast, deep gorge, which is crossed over the "new" bridge, if you take the 18th century for new.
I had little to no interest in the bull ring. I had the unfortunate experience of visiting a Mexican border town while in USAF with some other airmen. We saw what passed for bull fights. One of the most repulsive "games" I can think of. Yes, I've read Hemingway, and I somewhat understand its appeal to some Spaniards and others. But it is blood sport, in my opinion. I hate to see an animal tricked and beaten into submission, even more so than I hate boxing matches, no matter how skillful the fighters involved. So! No bull ring for Dr Jack. I think Dottore Gianni would agree, but as noted in an earlier post, he has left me in the lurch on this trip abroad.
Above, as close as I got to the old bull ring.
Aside: I'm told that through some of Spain bullfights are no longer allowed. In Barcelona for instance you can go to the bullring, but it has been marvelously converted into a huge shopping center, with eateries at the top that feature great views.
For me, the excitement was in the gorge and the bridge over it. I have read, somewhere - and this needs fact-checking, as I may just have dreamed it - that some of the fighting during the Spanish Civil War occurred around here. Think For Whom the Bell Tolls. In fact I also read that the fascists, once they captured their enemies, the partisans, in that terrible conflict hurled them off the bridge. The only good news? Near instant death. I know, that doesn't seem good, but near instant is much more to my liking that death by prolonged illness.
So! The bridge:
This side is the more dramatic of the two sides on that road above, but the other is GORGE-ous as well.
Aside: When you live in the town in upstate NY that I did for many years you learn that Ithaca is Gorges. I have the t-shirt and the cap to prove it.
Another look at the bridge, show some but not all of the gorge's depth:
And another "View from the Bridge" (with apologies to Arthur Miller), this time looking into the gorge:
You see what I mean by "near instant death."
One more, so dramatic that I felt my vertigo kicking in:
A view or two from that side of the bridge:
Rough beauty, it is true, but truly beautiful, imho.
You can see one of the vistas on the right, and on the left, to prove that it is indeed a white village...white!
The road that crosses the bridge. The more famous view is to the right.
But the view from the left is impressive as well:
Are you feeling "gorged" yet? Sorry if that's so, but I have to tell you of my misadventure after looking at it from above. If you look closely at the following photo you can see that there is a path of sorts down into the valley. Look at up center, just past the group of houses, a small white tower. From there you can trek down all the way to a viewpoint at low right:
I tried to get there. Emphasis on "tried"
I got this far, and then tripped and fell, ignominiously. By the way there were several other hikers heading up and down. In my experiences with with ignominious falls - and I've had several - even though you haven't hurt yourself, there is always a handsome, very well-built young man who reaches down to help you up. Which of course is kind...but embarrassing. This particular young man, headed back up the path) was accompanied by beautiful young women, as fit as he, which, for this old fart at least, makes the the embarrassment even more painful. Even after you're (i.e. I am) up, he continues to inquire. Ah well...growing old - it ain't always easy, it ain't always pretty.
But as you see from the photo above I DID get a fair way down, and was pleased with the photo. But of course I had to get back up.
And I made it, after one or two huffing-and-puffing rest stops on the way. The reward for getting back up is that just before the entrance to the path down sits this beautiful, shady square.
There I sat until I drank a lot of water and cooled down. And then continued on into the old part of town, with its very tiny walkways between very tall buildings.
In part at least, I'm told, these paths were so small to ensure shade. It gets hot down in Andalusia, in fact it was near 90 degrees on the day of the tour.
From one of those narrow walkways one often enters into a pretty, and fairly well-shaded square, or patio.
with cool fountains like this one:
The lovely woman depicted here is the Duquesa de Who-de-Hell-Knows.
Or remembers. still it's lovely.
By this point my free time, a lot of it, as I noted before, a high point of Naturanda's kind of day trip in my view, was nearly up. I headed back to the meeting point, another beautiful park in the newer part of town:
I know it's just a trick of the light, but doesn't it look just for a second like some sort of vision? People making their way to heaven?
Maybe so, maybe no.
The views from that light at the end of the tree-lined walk were also spectacular. Here's one:
Thus ends one of my, if not THE, favorite days of the trip, up to now. I hope you enjoyed it. More, of the also beautiful Cadiz, to follow soon.
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