Empty Vodka Bottles

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Issy tells me that I must sleep very soundly. She says that the noise from the Russians on the roof terrace kept going for a long time after I went to sleep. When we get halfway down the stairs we see that the Russians have taken over the breakfast room. Issy says that this is going to be awkward. She says that she really hopes that I was nice to them, and then makes me go into the room first. Thankfully they seem happy to ignore us and keep munching away on their food. The large number of empty vodka bottles on the terrace suggests that this might be because they're all struggling to remember me going up to ask them to be quiet at 1am this morning. This is probably a good thing. I wouldn't want them to set the KGB onto us. I wonder if they still have the KGB.

The taxi that takes us to the station hares through the neighbourhood's narrow alleyways at breakneck speed. When our driver reaches a particularly tight spot he slows right down, winds down his window and holds his side mirror back so that he can fit through. We see scrape marks all over the walls, presumably made by cars that there just a fraction wider than ours.

The station only has one platform; platform number three. I wonder what happened to one and two. Unlike when we arrived here, some trains are running, but unfortunately not on the line we'll be travelling on, so it's back onto a bus for our trip back to Antequera station. The Spaniards appear to have enthusiastically embraced renewable energy technology, and we pass a large sun farm and several wind farms. We're left wondering why this technology seems to be getting so little traction back home in Oz.

We arrive in Ronda. There are no taxis at the station so we decide that we'll try to walk to the hotel. We have no idea where it is. I tell Issy that I think I remember reading that it was on the edge of a gorge, so we should probably try walking downhill. She says that if I'm wrong, and we need to walk back uphill again, she's not coming with me. I wonder where she'll sleep tonight. She suggests that maybe we should ask for directions, although "suggests" probably isn't quite the right word. I don't like asking for directions; I think it makes it look like I don't know where I'm going. Just when I'm about to give up and ask for help, the hotel miraculously appears in front of us.

Our room has good views across the massive gorge that Ronda is built around. We read that the gorge is over a hundred metres deep and is crossed by three bridges. The highest of these, Puente Nuevo, is over 120 metres above the base of the gorge. Puente Nuevo apparently means new bridge, but it was built between 1751 and 1793. I think the definition of "new" might be a bit different here to that back home.

We rest and then go wandering. First stop is the Mirador of Ronda which is on edge of the gorge. The views from here across the gorge are stunning. We cross Puente Neuvo into the historic old town area and wander through a maze of narrow alleyways to another view point on the other side of the gorge. I climb the old city wall and then one of its towers. The rules around safety here in Spain seem to be a just more relaxed than they are back home. The steps up the top of the wall are about five metres high and less than a metre wide, but there are no handrails. If I slip I'll fall five metres onto cobblestones, and I'm not sure I'll feel all that well afterwards.

We have dinner in a lane opposite the hotel. Issy says that she wants to order black pudding, and that if she does I must eat some. I think I know roughly what's in it and I'm not sure it sounds all that appetising. She refuses to tell me exactly what its ingredients are, but then somehow gets me to agree to try some of it anyway. I'm not sure why; I didn't insist that she try horse meat when I was forced into eating it when we were in Malta last year. The black pudding is surprisingly not too bad, and in return for my brave efforts I'm allowed a plate of patatas bravas to myself.

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