We drive to Ronda, a town divided by a 100m-deep gorge cut by the Guadalevín River, with the two sides connected by three bridges.
We use the town as a base to visit the string of villages nestled in the mountains on the route south to Malaga. They are known as the White Towns. We stop at a vantage point and count the villages we can see with one sweep of our eyes – six, seven villages nestled in their own fold of the mountains.
It is pleasant, but without the thrill of Seville or Cordoba. At least we think so until the municipality starts digging up the bridge and we and our car and on the wrong side to get to our hotel after a day following the route of the White Towns.
We ask and follow directions, and descend into the valley and drive along tracks (surely these are not for cars, but there are other cars travelling the route) – and we arrive at our hotel having encountered a different slice of Spanish life. It is good fun and we truly see how important the main bridge is to the life of the town.
We spend a couple of days enjoying the views across the valley, as the sun late in the year sweeps across and picks out the folds in the countryside. On the other side of the town, we spend pleasant days and evenings walking along the paths that skirt the canyon.
We go to the Museo del Bandolero. I am not keen to go, but Tamara prevails and it turns out to be fascinating. The bandoleros spawned a whole genre of romantic films about their adventures. The reality was less appealing, with executions and men hunted down across the mountains, even into the early part of the twentieth century.
It is out of season for bullfights, and the season is short. This is a view of the bullring (now a museum) – and the nearest we want to come to bullfighting.
This is the fifth and final part of our travels across Andalucia. Part four is here