Though I think to write about every two days, it seems that a month between posts has become the norm, and for the that I am regretful, as so much has happened, and it is impossible to get it down here in any kind of continuous detail.
Let me just start a little. After escaping sheep country, we drove at furious place down to another rented house in Ronda, a hill town about 45 minutes from the Mediterranean, equidistant from Sevilla, Malaga and Cordoba. Green rosemary and asparagus sprigs in the hills, caves, pine, and warm, warm days on the patio followed. Ronda has a bridge with its own species of crow, with orange beaks and feet, that dive amidst the cliffs of the old and the new city, under the bridge and into the caverns of limestone, shrieking in a delightful way. In Cordoba, I found the Sinogoga and bought my very own Menorah, as I have always been so envious of the rest of the family's plethora. Twisting streets, white painted walls, patios with roses just coming out in leaf. We took the dog for another swim in the undertow of the Mediterranean with a trip down to Malaga for the afternoon. Found a pine forest with a dozen varieties of orchids just coming into bloom on the way to a gorge with catwalk strung along its side to the east of Ronda, and the ruins of a Church/Mosque/something carved out of an entire moutain side.
Sevilla for two nights, staying in an apartment in the old city. I would commit serious crimes to live here for a long period, so lovely it was.
Now I am heading to the mountains after a weekend in Paris, a week with my friend Hephzibah in Cambridge and London, and a twisted metro trip into the centre of Barcelona, only to leave it again by bus.
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