Antequera
Right in the middle of Andalucia, skirted by millions of olive trees and mountains and rivers, lies Antequera, the once Roman town with its warm baths and even more ancient tombs or places of worship, the Dolmens, going back maybe 5000 years, when man first wanted to worship and make sense of the skies, the sun giving life and why he was here.
A bitter cold wind blew as we climbed higher along rather depressing looking streets toward the top where the Alcazaba overlooked the plains around, built by the Moors, and then, as happened all over Spain, where they fell.
The plaza of Santa Maria La Mayor is a lovely place, at least in the summer when one could sit high above the planes and see la Pèna, the sleeping giant, which profile ruled the Neolithic minds as they built the Dolmens with the rock in view.
Inside Santa Maria was silence, only the faint strains of the flute player in the chill morning air could be heard.
The Dolmens were earthy caverns, huge blocks of stone supporting heavy slabs of rock, the time standing still in the murky darkness. Almond trees blossomed and cypress trees pointed to the sky.
And we found one of the best cups of coffee at El Escribano by the church plaza, worth climbing up twice those endless steps and narrow roads from the town.
Right in the middle of Andalucia, skirted by millions of olive trees and mountains and rivers, lies Antequera, the once Roman town with its warm baths and even more ancient tombs or places of worship, the Dolmens, going back maybe 5000 years, when man first wanted to worship and make sense of the skies, the sun giving life and why he was here.
A bitter cold wind blew as we climbed higher along rather depressing looking streets toward the top where the Alcazaba overlooked the plains around, built by the Moors, and then, as happened all over Spain, where they fell.
The plaza of Santa Maria La Mayor is a lovely place, at least in the summer when one could sit high above the planes and see la Pèna, the sleeping giant, which profile ruled the Neolithic minds as they built the Dolmens with the rock in view.
Inside Santa Maria was silence, only the faint strains of the flute player in the chill morning air could be heard.
The Dolmens were earthy caverns, huge blocks of stone supporting heavy slabs of rock, the time standing still in the murky darkness. Almond trees blossomed and cypress trees pointed to the sky.
And we found one of the best cups of coffee at El Escribano by the church plaza, worth climbing up twice those endless steps and narrow roads from the town.