ANDALUSIA (2/15) - From Cádiz via Arcos de la Frontera to Ronda

Wednesday, April 13:

Waking up in the comfortable hotel room here in Cádiz felt pleasant after we had finally completed the strenuous journey. At breakfast, served in a cloistered hallway with stone slabs, there were voices in a cultured manner reminiscent of Vienna's Döbling, undoubtedly belonging to a small group of older individuals from the 19th district of Vienna. Briefly, they exchanged greetings and identified themselves before continuing on their way, which, in our case, consisted of a city tour through Cádiz. We still had time until check-out, and the rental car was reserved for 13:00, which we picked up from the nearby Estación de Cádiz Adif.

However, the process of picking up the car gave me a stomachache, as it has often happened to me while traveling that acquiring a rental car has not gone without complications, and it was sometimes uncertain whether the car could be picked up at all.

Without a rental car, we would have been quite lost on this trip, and we eventually drove through Medina-Sidonia to Arcos de la Frontera, which we reached after a detour via Jerez at four in the afternoon. Arcos de la Frontera looks like a pile of thrown sugar cubes on the rugged rocks, and the walk through the town located on a hill turned out to be quite an undertaking, leading us down a steep descent to that point from which the unique panorama could best be captured.

Indecisive on our way back through the narrow streets of the whitewashed town about whether we should have dinner here in Arcos de la Frontera or wait until later in Ronda, we reached the parking garage where our rental car was parked around 19:00 and made our way directly toward Ronda, where just before nine, one of the best hotels here welcomed us at the reception in the form of a friendly lady.

Staying in pleasant atmosphere now as a couple in the room after yet another very intense day would surely have been very tempting. However, the fascination of witnessing the Semana Santa procession here in Ronda provided enough motivation to make our way up to the old town late at night, to carefully watch an seemingly endless procession of silently walking hooded figures, who dragged chains of iron around their ankles along the pavement. The bizarre scraping sound lingered in our minds for a long time. Long after we had already gone to bed well past midnight and were about to fall asleep... – my dear companion and I.