Los Pueblos Blancos, the white towns of Andalucia, Spain

October 23, 2013
Isabelle and Marco, a wonderful young British/Venezuelan couple, sent detailed driving instructions to our home in Arcos de la Frontera.  After traveling the deserted and expensive toll-roads of Portugal and southern Spain, and easily following the roadmaps, we were feeling quite confident.  Just about that time, there appeared, in front of us, the dreaded DETOUR sign.  About 5 seconds later, the streets began to narrow, and narrow, and narrow. We were on a one-way road and there was no turning back.  We were in search of a very specific parking plaza near our house.  When I rolled down the window to bring in the side mirror, Yes, the streets were that narrow, I asked the lady passing by, “Donde esta la plaza por me coche (no carros here)?” She smiled an evil grin and turned around and pointed to the pinnacle from where we had just passed.  Then, she makes a big circle with her hand indicating that we must drive the complete treacherous loop again.  I’m sure we tourists provide lots of free entertainment to the locals.  Next time around, we decided to ignore the detour sign.  Smart move.  The streets were perhaps even narrower but we arrived at the plaza quickly and made our phone call, still using our chip from France, to Isabella.  She showed us the city as we walked to our new home where we would live for the next 8 days.

PERFECT!   Our home was originally built by the Moors and is hundreds of years old.  After walking through a very dark entranceway, we emerged into a little courtyard and from there on to our home.  The balcony, the best part, is perched on a cliff overlooking the valley below and where we plan to watch many beautiful sunsets.  The inside, decorated with many pieces from Morocco, including lamps made from camel’s skin, is precious, too!

We gave George a day off from driving the next day.  We explored by foot, the nooks and crannies of the city.  Lots of great artists here, we discovered, as we explored the shops.  There is a great mix of Roman and Moorish architecture and it seems this is a melting pot of sorts, where the Muslim and Christian worlds come together.   We stopped by Marco and Isabella’s shop and introduced ourselves to Marco.  They sell all sorts of interesting pieces and several scarves, throws, and spreads made of the aloe vera plant.  He says it is different that the North American variety. We then toured a great little Belen (Bethlehem) display.  It is a very intricate portrayal of the Nativity Scene hand-made by local artists.  It received such acclaim, they thought it unfortunate to have it on display for only a month so now it is open year round!  It’s the first time I’ve ever seen a cat in the stable at Jesus’ birth (Smile).  We also stumbled upon a man showing birds of prey to passers-by.  Before I understood what was happening, he removed the glove from his hand, put it on mine, with a falcon attached and instructed George to snap some photos….a quite unexpected but exciting thing.  I have to admit, I was happy to give the bird back.  Those talons, although tethered, were quite intimidating.  We found a map, and did the ‘walking tour’, actually found a place that served us some hummus.  And, speaking of food, I like it here so much better.  There are still fries with everything and there is always wild boar, rabbit, and venison on every menu but there are some good salads, chicken and fish dishes, too.  Olives and cheeses are plentiful and we have more than our share of those at every meal.

I almost forgot to tell you about the convent near our house.  We are told bout 20 nuns lived there.  It is a closed order and my Catholic friends will need to enlighten me about what that means exactly but I have a suspicion.  Anyway, we were told it was customary to buy cookies from the convent.  George and I entered and found this strange window comprised of a metal barrel and a closed cylinder with a tinted glass.  Perhaps they could see us but we certainly couldn’t see those on the ‘other side’.  A pleasant voice took our request, rolled the barrel around with our angle cookies.  We took the cookies and put the money in its’ place.  Never saw a soul.  Incidentally, the cookies weren’t that good but we consumed one or two with a glass of sangria at the neighboring restaurant next to the convent.  I guess there are no rules here about alcohol consumption near a Holy place.

Only one day off for Jorge!  We decided to explore the Pueblos Blancos or white towns of Andalusia.  There towns earn their name because, sitting high atop the mountain tops, all of the white buildings glisten brightly and can be seen for miles around especially on bright sunny days.  Unfortunately, the weather was quite the opposite of bright and sunny.  We passed through what we imagine was a beautiful national park near Grazalema but we could see nothing because of the low clouds, fog, and rain.  Once in Grazalema, it cleared just a bit. Here, we found ourselves, once again, on narrow, winding and steep streets, but this time going the wrong way.  We found some good food and an excellent bakery taking sweet smelling almond cookies and cakes from the oven.  We explored three white towns in all but passed through many more.   The town of Setenil was the strangest of all.  Homes, ancient ones, but refurbished and still used, were built underneath the rocks so many of the homes had the natural rock as its roof and some had inside rock walls. I guess these folks are modern day cave men.   In route to Ronda, we passed many groves of cork oaks.  It was amazing to see how the cork bark is harvested from the trees.  It takes 50 years for the first harvest and then the bark grows back and can be harvested every 9 -12 years.  Right after the cork is harvested, the tree is bright red.  (We’ll include a picture.) Ronda, a much bigger city, boasted an old city built on either side of a huge gorge and an unbelievable bridge connecting the two.  Built by the Romans, George mused about why “would anyone look up on this cliff and decide to build a city here and, then think ‘and while we are it it, let’s go ahead and connect the two sides with a bridge’.”

Our trip home was quicker and we would have arrived before dark EXCEPT, we once again found ourselves wandering the narrow streets.  We found our way to the parking garage anyway, walked steeply uphill, and ducked in from the rain in one of our favorite restaurants.  We actually had dinner at the local Moroccan restaurant where the owner shared lots of good information about travel there should we decide to visit.

It seem that a planning and rest day might be in store for the following day!

Oh, on a side note, did I tell you about the wheel chair race driver?  As is usual with the tourist crowd, we scrunch ourselves again the walls each time we hear a car approaching on the narrow streets.  Well, on the first night, we assumed that position to prepare for the car or moto to pass, when, low and behold, here comes a wheel chair moving faster than anything I could ever imagine.  At the exact same time, a really big car is approaching quite rapidly up the hill.  It seemed that a crash was imminent and we were only hoping we could avoid being hit by the flying wheelchair.  The car faltered for just a minute.  The wheel chair dude never even flinched, he only increased his speed and about one foot before he would slam into the car’s headlight, he veered sharply to the right and a collision was avoided.  It was amazing.  Now, we regularly see our wheelchair dude navigating the steep hills and turns but nothing has surpassed that first encounter.