retiredmartin

Only one night in Ronda, but I got up early on Tuesday morning to take advantage of the deserted streets at first light. Well, 7:30. Eerie, really.

Hardly a soul about, bar the cafe next door where I woke up the matronly cafe owner to ask for an espresso and demand she turned off the Killers. Coffee is an art form in Andalucia, as much as Trieste or Naples.

Nothing beats just walking without a map down tiny lanes.

OK, add a few pubs called “Royal Oak“, “Coopers” or “Jamie’s @ 33b” and it’s even better, but that’s life.

I’d done my 10k steps by the time Mrs RM awoke at 09:00, and promptly restored the lost calories with a plateful of waffles and eggs and bacon at the San Francisco.

Which wouldn’t have been too bad, except that after ordering our bus tickets to Malaga on-line,

we found to our dismay we’d have to kill half an hour eating churros.

Those churros sat heavy on our tummies over the next hour, I can tell you.

One last admiring glance over the plains, and we took the first second train to the coast, just like Don.