Not “feeling it” in Morocco caused us to leave earlier than planned to soak in the splendors of Spain right here in Africa. Yeah – you’ve got that right. In Africa. A little over an hour’s drive from Tangier is the autonomous city of Ceuta. Where tapas, cañas and copas de vino tinto were are at our beck and call.
*click on photos to enlarge
The taxi cab dropped us off at the border of Morocco, pointed in a specific direction and said “That way”. We walked to immigration and then through No Man’s Land to get to Spain. Parts of it reminded us of shortened version of crossing into Palestine from Israel. A narrow pathway between metal rails. Spain stamped us in without a word, quick and easy.
Ceuta’s 83,000 inhabitants live in seven square miles. That’s approximately 5 miles long by 1.5 miles wide (not accurate – just an example). It’s tiny but grand. The rock of Gibraltar is a beacon on the horizon.
We stayed in its Parador (state owned hotels in historic locations) and soaked up all its historic sites.
It was just what the doctor ordered. Clean. Orderly. We spoke the language. We gorged. Stayed up too late. So perfect that we bought a ferry ticket and headed north to Algeciras, Spain where we hopped on a train to Ronda.
The scenery from the windows was whitewashed towns and acres and acres of land in production from olive trees to alfalfa to wheat.
It’s been about 15 plus years since we toured Ronda. It was a great memory for its cliffside beauty.
We enjoyed our time here but it’s overrun by tourists. Hoards of people. Rightfully so because it’s breathtaking. We stayed a couple nights at its Parador on the edge of the bridge/gorge and bullring but had to move across the street to finish off our stay since the Parador was booked. Both hotels provided bookend views of the gorge.
We ate, walked, ate, drank, walked, ate, drank – never walking far enough to outweigh the food and drink.
After Ronda we headed, by train, to Malaga. Train travel is so relaxing and the changing views help pass the time effortlessly.
Our hotel in Malaga was perfectly situated to explore the historic town center full of blooming jacaranda trees and the beach. A little bit of everything. We continued the eating and drinking fest but got to add some Italian and Vietnamese food in the mix. We even hit our rooftop bar for incredible views, playing cards and people watching. Adjusting to the late night meals seemed easier this time around.
On our last night we sat at a restaurant street side and I remarked how unusually quiet it was. We weren’t paying close attention but before long the police showed up right next to us on motorcycles to lead a church procession. Several young men carried a heavy float depicting a female saint (I presume) and the trailing band played dramatic music. We were quite lucky to be front and center. As soon as they finished all the surrounding restaurants quickly set up their tables, our front row seats became the second row and hordes of people filled the street as was customary.
The Spaniards sure know how to enjoy the outdoors, long afternoon meals and living life in the slow lane.
We soaked it all in as much as we could because we’re off to not so good food and a bit of disarray again.