“A man is not from where he was born, but where he choses to die.”
– Orson Welles
Ronda was the chosen place, he chose to be from Ronda for always. His ashes where placed here, in the garden of San Cayetano for eternity.
We went to spend an evening in Ronda this summer. Indeed this is a very belated post. We drove to Ronda through grandiose Andalusian sceneries. Located in a rocky hilly area of Andalusia in Spain, Ronda is in the province of Malaga and borderline with the invisible delimitations of the province of Cadiz. We had heard that Ronda was a beautiful place, but just how stunning it really is took us by surprise.
Ronda is a small enough town to walk around in. That day, something terrible was going on in my foot, as in I think I had some kind of fissure, so I hobbled all around Ronda in pain. Despite my stupid foot, we did walk around and saw nearly everything we wanted to see, nearly meaning Mr H. wanted to go down the bridge. But there was no way I would have made it down there and back up again in my pitiful state.
Ronda is considered one of the places where bullfighting was born. Strangely enough I did not make more photos apart from this one below of this historical bullring. Bullfighting became more extended after that, so other towns and cities have bullrings that are a lot more lavish in architecture anyway.
Nowadays bullfighting is pretty controversial. To be honest I’ve never been to a bullfight, nor do I want to ever go to one. I think most of the national spectators are the society that consists of the traditional families of bullfighters, and a handful of tourists also probably attend the spectacles.
The views from Ronda, from atop of its 723m altitude rounded rocky plateau, were gorgeous. Each and every angle was stunning, and there was no way I could capture how I saw it or felt it properly through my camera, especially later when we got to the bridge, as you’ll see.
We reached a very emotive monument of Orson Welles for Ronda. Being such a talented and cultured man, and from a far away place, and having seen so many marvellous places, it is such an honour for this town that Orson Wells chose to lay his ashes there upon his death. Again let me mention the bridge, once we saw the bridge we understood how he could have chosen Ronda.
Finally we reached the bridge. The Bridge is called Puente Nuevo (New Bridge), a terribly ordinary name, if I may say so, for something so amazing. As I mentioned before, I was not able to capture it’s full glory, but just think that the bridge is about 700m high. It felt like you were coming towards a magical town in the Lord of the Rings.
Perhaps another year we’ll have another chance to visit Ronda. If so next time we’ll try to go all the way down to the bottom of the bridge.