A look at San Sebastian

Our room in the hotel is wierdly located in that to get to it we need to traverse the breakfast area. Realised later on in the day that if we leave the room door open in order to vent the musty smell (suspect it's due to water sitting underneath the floating floor in the bathroom) everyone in the common eating area can see right in. Luxury San Sebastian style. Still, they pitch themselves as eccelectic so there you go.

We had a 10 am appointment with the walking tour and a 25min walk into town to get there so it was comfortable start to the day. Was hoping to stop at a shop to grab some replacement sunscreen as this here bloggers snosh is glowing and needs protection.

Unfortunately being Sunday morning nothing was open. We did manage to get some later at an exorbitant price in the heart of the old town. The price of protection in the modern world...The tour ( as always) was great. Got some insights into the history and culture of the place. It's remarkably different from the rest of Spain we've seen to date. E.g. it's history resonates from being a luxury hideaway for the monarchy. No mention of the Roman's or the Moores marauding through here, setting up shop and marketing gourds as a commodity before some other race comes through on a crusade pushing scones and jam as the go to. This local sitting on the byways of oceanic routes was populated by the Basque's who were doing very nicely with their own little fiefdoms and thus cultures defined by the mountainous ridges with the only real way of getting from one to another was via the sea. Nowadays they have tunnels carved though them (80kms per hour please) which annoyingly means people have to seriously get along.
So the towns history is one of the hierarchy wanting to spend time here and whilst it's built to olde' worlde' charm it's a bit of a farce as compared to the southern cities. Apparently it's been totally burnt down a few times (some French architect came up with the idea of houses made of sandstone i.l.o wood and they're still here...whoa..three little pigs thinking there.) through various battles and wars etc.They sided with the Germans in WW2 (only because the dude in power at the time was more right than left - hey Pauline ..lest we forget) and got away with it by only sacrificing a small amount of useless locals to that cause.

They've had their revolutions and the locals still want independence, even though they sort of have it financially anyway (all state taxes, that are then passed on to the feds). Our guide didn't really want to be drawn into the whole debate, however his attitude resonated
.. One country (get along), one continent (get along), one world (get along), one solar system (get along)...etc.
So they have an old town, built in place of one that had battlements, a newer town built in the 1950s ( thus validating  the previous comment about the Carlton tower blocks) and the Gross area. Which apparently used to be really so and one expects that's where the term originally came from. Nowadays it's full of surfing yuppies and is actually quite pleasant. So it's now the Abbotsford/Cliton Hill/Northcote vibe part of town ...with a beach. Unfortunately they let a minimalist architect build a couple of large square blocks on prominent location called them Cubes and then let everyone argue about their artistic relevance.
We managed to hit town at exactly the same time as a multitude of locals from the surrounding area for the rowing regatta.
Woo whoo. 4 days of trails and tribulations as they group wise paddle furiously out to sea, turn around and head back into the harbour, followed by a flotilla of powered vessels and watched by tens of thousands around the shores and adorning cliffs and many more on TV (as the broadcast vans are there). The notion if a couple of Aussie tourists having a quiet stroll around a quaint seaside Spanish town was quickly squashed. The place was heaving.
After the walking tour, blogger dragged non-blogger around the promotory looking for a good slow TV capture point and was disappointed to find out ( yet again) it's all inaccessible until after sunrise.

Went down to the main beach where non-blogger walked through the crowds to test the temp of the water. Wasn't inspired enough to make the effort to return (especially without shade as by now the sun was beating down).
It was pretty hot and muggy as we struggled back to the distant hotel room where the traditional siesta kicked in after walking so many km's.
Sort of re-energised, we struggled for while but eventually managed to get onto the town bike hire app and subsequently rode back into town instead of the long arduous walk. Here the local food thing is pintxos where they have lots of small(ish) serves of pretty much anything mostly sitting on top of slices of bread sticks. Lots of seafood though combined with anything else they feel is appropriate. Delicious stuff, combined with some very good local vinos we did a hop to hop thing through a few places before ending up in a pretty horrible one at the end, chosen because it was empty, and it was so for good reason.

Blogger failure here, ended up standing out the front of the laundromat next door to finish the drinks (stemmed wine glasses - very classy). On the bright side though it was still cobblestoned streets and the cool sea breeze was preferable over the smoke stained air inside (and without the loud screaming of some foreign sports commentary banging on about inconsequential events on field far far way).
Decided to stroll all the way back to the pad as the storm clouds in the distance were starting to make their presence felt. That could be the last of our hot balmy weather..
Seemed to have dealt with the smell of the room by leaving the aircon on and the door to the outside balcony open. Only problem there is it opens to a wide canyon of 10 story high blocks of rooms/ apartment balconies/windows which at the bottom is where all the bins get emptied, staff relax with ciggies, cars grind up and down tight parking lot ramps. Ahhh suburan life in tower blocks. Apparently for a significant majority of peeps in the world this is home.
Long live the bubble as the double glazed door closes for the night.

A train. A plane. An automobile

 Cadiz...pfssstt. Been there. Done that. Time to move on. Unfortunately the only flight to our next destination leaves at 5:00 pm so we have the whole day to get to the nearest airport which also happens to do the required route from the south of Spain to the north. Could've done a 9 hour drive, however that was the last option. So it's a trains, planes and automobiles day.

The late flight meant a relaxed get up, breaky at our favorite breaky place (an interesting take on eggs Benedict) and back to the room to collect the gear and wander down to the local train station. 3 direct trains to the airport today, so taking the safe option midday one means a 4 hour stopover at the Aeropuerto de Jerez where they have all the right equipment to make a proper coffee, we just don't know how to ask for it. Also lost the sunscreen at the security gate (too big a bottle - should've been in checked-in. This is what happens when responsibilty is passed on to a blogger too caught up in his own prose constructing thoughts).  

Also looks like one will never be able to pass through the screening process without alarms going off due to the new knees.

The train trip itself was pretty boring scenic wise. Through the flat tired salt farms dotted with decaying centuries old relics of buildings that would be in a museum at home, drab housing estates and concrete medium rise apparment towers looking all very uninspiring under the cloudy grey skies.

A hot muggy inland breeze drifts across the airport carpark as we trundled our way through it to the terminal from the station. Go figure, all the way out here in the drabness of urban Spain they still have trains going to the airport. Maybe one day Melbourne will grow up. Unlikely though. The wait for the plane was filled in by catching up on the world news from a home perspective. Happy to be away from it all even if all the colour of Spain seems to have been sucked away by the dull grey clouds drifting across the landscapes.

The flight was interesting in that it was full of families, lots of young kids and they all actually did what they were told by the announcements. As in, when the stewards did their seat belt, exit pointing charade they all actually shut up and watched! Then when disembarking they stayed seated until told to get up (row by row) and get their stuff and get out. Maybe this is how a civilised country actually works...was also happy about the fact that the visible crack on the wing did not grow any bigger during the course of the flight.

Upon landing at Bilbao AP it was not too difficult to find where the car hire shuttle bus would collect us. It all went well within 30 minutes we were on the roads being guided by Waze to our destination. Really difficult staying within the speed limits as kept changing more frequently than new restrictions along the Princess through Bunyip. Managed to navigate the tollways ~$20 bucks for the pleasure only to be hit by a huge traffic jam caused by police for some reason or another. It was behaving like a lanes blocked due to an accident but all of a sudden, the gates opened and we started  flowing again. No idea what they were up to but it meant we arrived in San Sebastian in the dark and too late to do anything but grab a late dinner at a recommended joint just around the corner from our new (somwhat dank smelling) dwellings.

Seems we have dropped in the salubrious scale somewhat, will know more tomorrow however the "terrace area" for this particular establishment was out the back in a modern built square surrounded by looming apartment towers reminiscent of the famous ones built in Melbourne for the 1956 Olympics. Food was good. The staff stressed yet friendly. It will be very interesting to see what it all looks like in clear light of day.

Hangin' in Cadiz

2nd free day (no set activities) so slept in and mid morning wandered out if the hotel around the corner to same place as yesterday for a most splendid brecky of French toast with berries and caramel, along with wierd coffee and fresh OJ. The weather was overcast, 10 degrees cooler yet still humid at 26.c. So quite pleasant. A stated (not set) activity was shopping for Non-Blogger. And so we went. The town really seemed very busy as we navigated past kids birthdays parties splilling into the narrow roads and back into the main plaza in front of the cathedral.

Decided to detour in, especially as it's resonably impressive outside and this is where you can climb the bell tower and view the city from a flying pigeons perspective. The cathedral itself appears to be learning from that other one where they are charging the plethora of visitors to gawk at the majestic interior.  Hopefully they'll get some cash to fund some statues to sit on the vacant balconies on the front of the building. Wouldn't have noticed this if not for our tour guide yesterday. He had also pointed that if you go into the crypt and stand in the middle your voice will be amplified 14 times back at you. So down we went. Couldn't hear anything above the constant barrage of a voice going on and on and on about ancient conquests of goodness what as it was all in some foreign language. The tour recipients looked as interested as this blogger. Not. Anyway the other really interesting thing down in the dark bowels of the church was a lifelike depiction of some dude having  been tortured. Peter Jackson style mimicry. In this case, gross. Weren't allowed to take photos. The reason probably being that if this went viral there'd be a lot less peeps handing over their dosh to get in. We left, because of grossness and we had some shopping pressures to adhere to. Did go up the tower though.

It was a spiral ramp that circled many times. Many times. Circled for many times. Round and round, up and up. Round and round. Eventually getting to the bell tower was extremely grateful that the bells were not ringing as we were right next to them. The views accross the town were great. One can now appreciate the pigeons perspective. Over the rooftops it looked like at least six massive cruise ships in the port. This explains why the streets were so crowded. The place was full of boat people. The locals who don't own shops must get really annoyed when thus influx happens as it congests the place to unbearable levels. However, they do know that by dinner time they get their city back as the boat people all return to their vessels for the all you can eat buffets followed by the caberat' show or (if you're special enough) dinner at the captains table. Woo hoo.

Whilst they were all milling around the town though, this here blogger had the joy of watching them all stream past him whilst he waited outside the store of which non-blogger was inside. This age old tradition if shopping participation has stood the test of time and has been practiced in many places. Enough said.

We did explore other areas in the vague aim of finding a shop previously walked past but in the end headed back to the market to buy some fruit and nothing else as we were still full from the late brecky.

Went back to the hotel to siesta as the amount of walking undertaken in the last 36 hours had been ridiculous. A couple of small tacos for lunch and then some time on the hotel rooftop which has an extremely small shallow pool and a derth of umbrellas, so we didn't hang too long. The chimney stack of one of cruise liners billowing smoke and the rumble of the huge diesels slowly ticking over permeated the air.

After another kip (free day - no pressure) the duo set out for a late dinner (they didn't actually open until 8:30pm) with a bit of a shop and stroll and pre's alfresco style in a typical roadside table & chairs spot beforehand. By now the locals had reclaimed their home territory as the boats carrying their people had departed (with their pizza bars, discos and casinos just firing up for the evening, bingo at 10:00 am in the morning - don't miss it folks) and we get to sit and quietly observe the locals in their habitat. There are a lot of dogs here. One of the rules is if you have a dog you also have a water bottle containing disinfectant that one must squirt on you dogs squirt. Seems to work OK. Most of these pooches wouldn't actually know what "off the leash" means or the freedom of a backyard or a run beside your parent when they're on a pushbike. Grass lawns - no. Herding sheep wouldn't even be a notion. Possibly a repressed evolutionary dream, but that's it. Mostly they seem happy. The big angry one we watched this evening - not. Body building tatts covered owner reckons he needs a tough dog to maintain his image as well as possibly a body guard for his unruly activities. Seems we have boguns in all cultures - not just at home.

Mostly though the peeps walking around in thier minimalistic clothing (women especially) were in good spirits and enjoying the warm balmy evening in their unique, very pretty city. Apparently they all stay up until the wee small hours. Not something we folks from the land down under understand.

Non-Blogger had found a recommended restaurant which we tried and after insisting that we should be inside to experience the eccelectic ambiance instead of being stuck outside in the nearby plaza we had what was possibly the most spectacular fare ever had. Being some sort of fusion of Japanese and Spanish the details allude at this point. There was though a salad with anchovies and cheese  Vietnamese rolls with mussels, pawn tacos to name a few. Amazing stuff. By the time we left, the place was jumping and peeps were queuing up outside in the hope of getting what we'd just had.

Back to room to get ready for the next big transition day. 

Cadiz

The sunrise today saw caught this blogger standing on the rocks in front of one of the olde forts (in this case Castle San Sebastian) with the gopro pointed at the olde' world stonework (recently repointed in order to draw the tourist hordes in) hoping to catch some sort of magical moment as the fresh rays of the new bourne light struck the stones in a majestic example of how the universe revolves and in  that specific moment of time that it all gets revealed to us. Nup. Just like up at Ronda the sky here this morning had a smoky haze that dulled the whole event to a "there's an old wall slowly getting brighter over the course of an hour".

Still got the video though. Took a 20 minute treck through the old town in the late nightime darkness (streets still very well lit) as the few dedicated locals moved around heading off to work, sorting out their shop fronts etc. Being on the well maintained causeway that early was interesting as the were a few keen fishermen (of retirement age) out there already and later on few kids turned up to jump of the rocks. Didn't realise until later that their presence was due to the tide being in.

Bonus for the Blogger. Whilst there, a blow hole kept blowing up through the platform of rocks upon which he was positioned. Time trickled by. That's what happens when you're out capturing events so others don't need to do so (video available on request only). Knowing that prearranged activities were pending, the new knees and associated tired soft tissues were called into action to get back to home base before the days activities truly began.

A rushed breaky at a joint around the corner (we'll come back to) and the off to join the walking tour where got spend a couple of hours restressing those soft tissues all for the sake of learning something new. And that we did. It was pretty funny watching our guide struggling to be overheard above the whippersnipers but we still got the gist of it. Akin to everyone else in the region they had been taken over by the Ventians, then the Roman's, then the Moores (aka Muslims), then the Christians (in multiple flavors) and then they found their own way called democracy. Isn't that nice. Good luck guys, 

An interesting fact is that Napoleon failed to conquer both Cadiz and Ronda as they had really good battlements (possibly attitude as well, that was implied but not mentioned).

This town is recognized as the longest living one in Europe. Being the port place that it is it still has remanents of when it was the trading hub between the Americas and Europe when it was all done via sailing boats.and trading was done by semaphore before the boats and their cargo were allowed entrance. The claim from the tour guide is this methodolgy is nowadays being used on trading floors around the world. Go Cadiz...you guys rock. ( apart from their football team, but we weren't allowed to go there).

After a taking the guides advice on the available beaches and the (quite rightly justified) expression of interest from non-blogger she also procured a Taxi as if from nowhere and we headed to the best beach along the strip which goes for km's and is basically full of locals. The initial impression thst place is full of foreigners is incorrect. This is all locals (country wise), maybe others from out of town but they all speak versions of the same dialect. Being a fly on the wall is fascinating as one can still disseminate what's going on via displayed emotions accentuating their verbiage.

So we went to the beach. Taxi there and local bus home. The bus worked really well, getting use to this place.

The beach was great. Known as the best beach in Europe the locals certainly know how to make the most of it. The searing heat meant without shade it would be impossible, dangerous even, so we  (well ..she) headed to a bunch of brollies, found a spare couple of lounges underneath one and claimed it. Good work. Inevitably a dude in a yellow shirt and a portable payment machine rolled up later. Did I mention it was hot? Woo hoo. Sand stinging the feet on the way to water. The water is the Atlantic Ocean. Oceans are meant to have a certain amount of grunt in them. Not here. It was almost Sea like.And the locals are lapping it up.

Huge expanse of a clean, wide, shallow sand with thousands of them on a Thursday afternoon all consuming the situation. Looking bothways along the waterline they merge into a vague mixture of coloured pixels into the distance obscuring what should be a clean swipe of single colour of the sand. So many people. So many umbrellas, so much humanity all framed on one side by the inevitable oceaan and on the other by the ugly monstrosities they revert back in to when day dissappears.

We partook and thoroughly enjoyed it. Manged to navigate the way home on the local bus with the driver who didn't have the time capacity to put up with us. He got his money and we got home. All good. After the mandatory washing we went in search of a couple of web posted ideas. Roof top bar for a couple of ridiculously constructed cocktails (pork flavoured? Go figure) and then suffered the indignity of choosing dinner in the midst of a touristy non-ambiance multitude of umbrellas in a big plaza setting all for the sake of getting a real paella. This is afterall Spain - can't be that hard.

Just as drinks arrived, so did a parade. There's an old song "I love a parade" ..well after the Ronda experience, here's another one. With no warning, no preparation, it just happened, right in front of the table we'd randomly picked 5 mins earlier.

Obviously people had traveled the world to get here to do this. It was vert generous of them, arranging thier tours, flights  accommodation, countless hours practicing routines etc. Without even knowing if we were going to there. Lucky for them we were. It was all pretty exhausting (for us - the paraders looked like they were going to party all night). So we paid our hosts,  slid out of our chairs and slunk around  a few well recognized corners to get home and constuct this tome.

To Cadiz

Time to move on again. 3 nights in Ronda was a good choice. Others would like to hang around and enjoy the disribution of the spoils at the end of the festivis, however that's not our thing and we'd pretty much seen and done enough to appreciate the place and create some cool memories. So it was up early again, pack and clatter our way up through the confetti littered streets to the deserted bus depot. 45 mins early just to be safe. The signage was terrible but it didn't matter as our beast arrived 30 mins early and our smokin' lady driver was very accommodating and as such it all went smoothly. Non-Blogger hunted down some vittals and coffee before we headed off on a 4 hour journey, winding our way down into the valley leaving Ronda behind as a misty silhouette on the crest of a grey ridge in the distance with the lighter higher mountains beyond framing the view. 

A direct drive to Cadiz would take about 2 hours, the amount of diversions off the main roads to visit the bus stops of small towns along the way doubled that,  however not actually being in a hurry it didn't cause any stress. Just had to remind oneself not to drink too much water as there was no bladder relief available. Apart from maybe refilling the bottle but it never got to thst stage. Saw some very quaint whitewashed villages perched high on hills and then we decended lower and lower through a well cultivated and cured landscape. Fields of dried sunflowers and corn, stands of eucalyptus (someone should've told them that's not such a great idea), other unidentified crops and the inevitable olive trees all over the place. All sorts of locals getting on and off in obscure places provides some sort of insights into the lives they lead. 

Cadiz is an extremely busy modern industrialized sea port and surrounding region. In the heart of it lies a promotory which holds the old town. Before that there are miles and miles of high rises (10 to 20 stories) lining the coast creating a Surfers Paradise like feel. This is one of the go to holiday destinations for the Spanish. The old town (where we are) has quite a long history and is the go to for international holiday makers as well home to people who live here. We've only been here half a day and the observation seems to be that there are more locals here than tourists and they are genuinely enjoying being so. There are possibly a lot of Spanish visitors and thus it's difficult for we outsiders to distinguish between them. Everyone seems happy. Vibey they are. Lots of pre-schooler kids bouncing around. A distinct lack of children older than that - suspect being the middle of the week they're all off at school somewhere. Hope so. A properly functioning human society needs this demographic more than us old farts swanning around bemoaning how life was so much harder we were young.

Our hotel room is buried in a reconstituted building buried in the heart of the old city and as such annoys this blogger enormously as there are no views to capture out the window. He'll get over it. On the upside it's right in the heart of the old city and as such we can (and do) walk out the front door, turn right or left on the cobblestones and just soak it all up. The narrow streets create shadows from the hot sun (this is on purpose, they knew about this stuff before some smart arse came along and invented air-conditioning, widened city streets and created global warming) which we happily went exploring through with no set goal knowledge gathering as we'd get that tomorrow on the walking tour. The wandering went halfway into the heart of the old town looking for the perfect place to placate the hunger yearnings yet the call of the backboard just next to our rooms that depicted jug of sangria kept calling and so back we went.

After the subsequent placation we wandered without learning in the direction of the beach between two forts which was even more insightful into the mindset  of the locals.

It's stinking hot, yet being on the edge of an ocean there's always some sort of breeze, along with fact that there's water..it's the place to be. Siesta time means everything shuts between 4 and 8 pm.

This blogger used to think they all went home and slept. Maybe inland they do. In the oldest city in Eroupe they head their beach. Carrying umbrellas, foam eskies, beach chairs, towels etc. They were doing what their ancestors had done for countless centuries before them. The foam eskies possibly being a recent addition to the overall cultural catalog.

Halfway back to our abode we used a methodolgy to stop underneath an umbrella to cool down. It was in a small plaza (5 roads intersecting). It happened to have seats under it. As well as a table. On the table was a piece of laminated paper of which some forward thinking person has listed items we could be purchased..it was all in some strange dialect that only a smart person (or a local) can disseminate. Or a smart phone. As it turned out the serving dude knew what we needed ( using the traditional intercultural methodolgy of just saying stuff in our own language with a pretend accent and expecting they'll get the gist of it). This turned into one of those experiences that you quite simply can't book for. We had a young couple with a kid in pram and one of theirs dad being an extremely good opera singer (there's a word there ...maybe..tennor?). Anywho, the dude had a voice, and was happy to throw it around the little amputheature that was the intersecting roads in the heart of the Cadiz old town. He was very generous and affable and was focusing his wonderful extrusions on a large (almost toothless) lady on the next table. No angst at all - this was just good fun with obviously a heap of years of training and practice behind it all. Whilst he was showing off (justifiably so given his talent) at the end of the interation she let loose with her own capabilities, and her voice was fantastic. Like wow.

Anyway we went back to the room, navigating the maze of alleyways with intuition and digital tools when really needed. Short reconioter and then out on a dinner mission all devised and run by non-blogger.

As it turns out we were first in queue to a place where everyone queues for. Chuffed about that. Great food, great company and good fun sitting there slowly consuming the offerings whilst there's a group of peeps jealously watching you do so.

Gloating aside it was splendid nosh full of local flavors and obviously generations of refinement to make it so. Another stroll back to base through sublty lit narrow cobblestoned roads that have guided like minded peeps for centuries and will continue to do so for many more.

It's an absolute pleasure to be part of it, at least once.

Start of the festivis

Our first free day started out by exiting the hotel just as the sky was starting to glow in the east. You need to do that if you want to catch the dawn properly. Back across the new old bridge, through the deserted cobblestoned streets of the old town and down the famous trail into the gorge. Under non-bloggers lead we commando style slipped under the chain, slid around the exit turnstile and slunk down the stairs to the lower platform. Normally you'd pay 4 euros for the privilege but they we not open this early. Set up the gopro and spent the next 90 mins capturing the day break with the majestic bridge looming large over the impressive waterfall below. Just us and the plethora of birds calling to each other as they wheeled around in the slight breezes wafting along the valley.

The light was muted somewhat by mist over the distant mountains, so there wasn't the expected razzle dazzle, however it was worth the adventure. As we wrapped up the guy that ran the place arrived and started yelling at us to get out. He even started blowing a whistle which sure did change the ambiance and give him a certain amount of authority. Offered to pay but he just furiously waved us away and said "go". So we did. Mission successful (with a slight guilt feeling). Back up to the same place as yesterday for bagels, fresh juice and coffee we had a chat to a delightful lady from India who explained that today is the first day of the local festival and her girls (~20x14yo) will be in the parade this evening. Dressed in their finery with actual fires on their heads. The cultural significance of Indian girls extruding hot air from thier cranuims whilst in the hills of southern Spain during a feastival who's main focus is the systematic destruction of proud beasts is somewhat perplexing. How we managed to be here at this specific time of the year and staying in the hotel in the middle of all this action is beyond this bloggers comprehension. Not complaining though. 

Back to the hotel for a siesta (getting into the groove of it all now) and then out for a quick bite at probs the most expensive place around. Very nice under their umbrellas and matching white linen table cloths but way OTT for this cheapskate Aussie duo. Then we ran out of things to do...so came up with the idea of doing the laundry. Being a fair way away that filled in the time before dinner. Truly stiffling hot with everything shut at that time of the day. When traveling one of the most boring and unitersting times can be sitting in a laundromat watching your dirty linen slowly become sociable. Better airing it there than on the internet (ha ha .. joke) however it's a task that one either takes on oneself or pass it over to unknowns in yhe hotel who can pass judgment on your stains which could lead to unknown consequences. The wash cycle was spent reconiotering the bus depot for next days departure. The dry cycle this blogger had sussed out an establishment that we could cool our thirsts at whilst the cycle completed,  keeping an eye on the frontage of the laundry just to make sure no one was inclined to take off with our (now stain free) undergarments. There was a continuous stream of walking tour peeps streaming past the square that comprised of the bus stop, our covered veranda and the laundromat.

Possibly the most boring and uninteresting place in all of Europe to walk through. and they kept coming. Hundreds of them. Some observations just have to go by without an explanation. Back to the clothes though, never air your dirty laundry is the mantra. In some way I think I just did. However, with our now cleaned kit held in quality plastic shopping bags we headed back down to the hotel, through the swarming tourists throngs with not one mention from anyone about the laundry we were carrying. I reckon therefore we got away with it.

So then the evening unfolded...we had positioned ourselves perfectly to sit at a recommended restaurant to watch the parade pass us by until we were informed that all the tables outside (which we were on) had to come in to cater for the event. No problem. We just kept the trickle of orders going so as to sort of own our right to be there, in that spot. Worked perfectly. By the time the parade came through this here blogger was totally at home capturing the passing event whist non-blogger kept our ties with the establishment and thus securing our spot.

The parade was quite simply an amazing experience. So much joy, fun, talent with people from all different cultures showing to us all what matters to them. Colourfull, noisy, happy (some participants tierd..understandable) all the whilst this here blogger trying to capture it all on the gopro. The kids on the floats loved the idea of throwing confetti at the camera (looking forward to the visuals when we get home). Eventually though they all moved on up the road and we had the long arduous treck of about 10 steps back to the hotel in which we could deconstruct and fall asleep whilst the town below continous to party on. 

Mostly about the bulls

 Was surprised that the time was 10:00 am when first looked. The town was very quiet early on as we had coffee and croissants spanish style in the main square next to the new bridge.

It's called that because it's the latest additional bridge that went in sometime after the old bridge went in. That one was actually the second one crossing the canyon with the first actually down fairly low and is more a river crossing bridge than a canyon spanning one which is what the new bridge definitely does whilst the old one only does half way up. The gist of all this is the folks of Ronda are really proud of their bridges  especially the new one for two reasons. 1. It stayed up after the first one fell down killing about 50 people and 2. It enables the town to grow as it connects the old town to the new town. The old town is surrounded by cliffs and a canyon, the new town by the canyon , cliffs and more land to expand in to. The canyon and cliffs are about 110 meters high. Seriously vertigo inducing stuff that this here blogger has never experienced before. Could be due to still no faith in recovering knee jobs, but still not so nice to experience. Every cliff top photo is somewhat of an ordeal.

The other thing about this bridge is it's actually very old. That is if your perception of 233 years still standing and carrying traffic is old. It looks old, feels old, has some great stories  - like it used to have jail inside where they held bandits and if they misbehaved they simply threw them outside. Even had a special balcony to cast them off from.
We learnt all this from our walking tour guide. She was from Ukraine but talked about the place as if she was a local. Our tour consisted of 3 couples, us, 2 yanks (he an ex vet with dodgy knees) and an English/Irish pair in which she had no interest in hearing about the history of bull fighting and they managed to get us all to agree that we should not hear about it from our guide as we are standing outside the only fully functioning bull fighting ring left in the country. It defines the locals culture but she (via he) totally shut it down.

It was fascinating instead to hear how they mentally translate Celsius to Fahrenheit when they're away from home.
That, and his joke about nuns bad habitts was enough to end that friendship before it even started. Hopefully they will not be on the Cadiz walking tour in three days time.
Toffy pommy gits aside the insights provided by our guide were soaked up with enthusiasm, highlighted by the fabulous calm warm/hot weather. The mountains define every horizon like cardboard cutouts (credit to non-blogger for that one) and just over that one there is Gibraltar, the Mediterranean meeting the Atlantic which dictates all the weather they get. And here's me thinking it was all under the control of the weather satellites...never mind, we also spent some time on the Camino De Santiago Trail  which is another bucket list item ticked off (even before it got on the list!). Ending up in the heart of the old town where they used to practice bull fighting in front of the main church (before they constructed stadiums to do so), we parted ways. No one looked back to wave goodbye. We hadn't been on the trail that long.
By now your blogger was on a mission to find the best spot to capture the bridge (new one obviously) for some riveting slow TV whilst non-blogger wasn't. So as the sun beat down on the deserted ancient ruins of the old battlements we too parted ways. One to strive and struggle down and up numerous steps in the searing heat,  searching for the best available visual perspective whilst the other went in search for an ice cream. No luck on the visual spot as the whole canyon is locked at sunrise. Iced cream...tick.

Back at the hotel we had renewed appreciation of the rooftop bar and swimming pool above that which overlook directly into the bullring next door. Apparently they now only get serious about this once a year and as it transpires it all starts on the day we leave. Imagine that, sitting on your banana lounge  basking in the shade of the umbrella deflecting the searing heat of the sun, Pina Colada in hand as the cool residue of the recent dip in pool slowly evaporates away.  The mountains in the distance define the horizon with promises of adventure and wonderment beyond, all to the aural backdrop of 5 thousand people roaring as one as they express their emotions of being participants in the showing of worst of human behaviors. Even better, they can stand up and watch in thier swimming briefs whilst doing so.
Luckily for us we will have left by then. We did though make the most of the whole situation and did spend a couple of hours doing all of that. Beers i.l.o. cocktails and tourists on the ring floor who get to leave i.l.o. ..never mind.
After the refreshing dip and wind down it was off into the old town for another two stage Spanish style food extravaganza, to which we fell for being in the expensive part of town. Ended up in a very costly but extremely good food and wine joint next to the main church. As the setting sun rays caught the walls of the old buildings in random ways, kissed the tiled roof tops and then the peaks of the mountains  beyond, we over ate, over spent and made the most of it.

The modillions adorning church walls peering down on us, each with their own expression of existence whilst ignoring the swallows swarming around the nests they'd built around their ears.
A very pleasant stroll through the quiet cobblestoned alleys of the old town to get back to the room and  finally realising that aircon hadn't been on at all in the last 24 hours. It is now, but maybe it shouldn't?