Hemingway spent a number of years here and Rainier Maria Rilke called it something along the lines of 'Heaven here on earth.' (Not to be confused with Belinda Carlile's chart-topping song of 1987.)
One of the best things about Seville was the 'sevici' bicycles that we took advantage of on day two. Barcelona had the same sort of bike-lease program but in Seville they could be rented on a short-term basis, and the freedom of getting out on the open road and proceeding to get lost in the maze of streets was refreshing. In Barcelona I don't think we would have considered risking it all on the bikes, but by the time we were in Seville we were much more comfortable with the erratic and aggressive driving of the Spaniards. And the key to safely getting around town is to be more aggressive and erratic than the next guy - so we faired just fine. The point being: the rental car and the drive out to Ronda offered the same sense of freedom and adventure that the bikes did in Seville.
The other thing I will mentioned about Seville is that it permanently distorted my sense of direction. I was so thoroughly disoriented moving around the city at all times and have since found that I have lost all confidence and ability to navigate around a new place.
While the brotherhoods displayed their contrition by processioning hours on end through the streets of Seville, our own penetential act over Semana Santa was staying in a real hostel, with Kim in the bottom bunk and me on top and six revelers that moved in and out of our room at all hours of the night. By design, our next two nights in Ronda were meant to be a reward for the suffering endured in Seville - we stayed at one of the many Paradors located across Spain. These state-run hotels and inns are former government buildings or otherwise historic sites; in the case of the Parador in Ronda, we were in the old town hall, perched right above the 1000 gorge that has defined the landscape and history of Ronda for centuries.
Kim and I co-wrote a song in Ronda, with a simple chorus and only a couple of verses because there's not much we could get to rhyme with Ronda. It was conceived of while we were having a picnic in the river valley and the next day at the bullring, the oldest in Spain. Oh, the lomo. Oh, Ronda. (If anyone would like to go in on a summer home or just a small parcel of land fit to pitch a tent, let us know.)
