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We went on a week-long organised tour of Spain's Andalucia region in late April 2005. We became briefly acquainted with Mijas, Ronda, Seville, Córdoba, and Granada. The highlight was to be the Alhambra in Granada (a city we liked), but instead was probably an operatic walk around a city we didn't much care for—Seville.

Mijas on the Costa del Sol was a short drive from Malaga airport, a small town apparently known for being mostly white. It's true, most of the buildings there are white, although splashes of colour were in abundant evidence in the form of other tourists, tourist shops, and signs to attract tourists to poor quality eating establishments.

Whitewash, Mijas

Westward is the town of Ronda, sitting on top of a plateau and split in two by a gorge across which runs that famous stone bridge you've likely seen in photos. The views of the surrounding countryside were rather nice, with a pleasant garden and lookouts not too far from the bullring. Speaking of which, the bullring we were told is the oldest in Spain, and was originally conceived to facilitate an education in the art of gladiatorial combat.

Bullring, Ronda

Seville was noteworthy for being duller than expected. Why? We're not exactly sure—but it seemed somehow lacking in soul. We dutifully took our pictures in and around the Spanish Pavillion, the Alcazar, the Cathedral, and of some of the beautiful façades. Why is it, incidentally, that security guards get upset if you put your camera with mini-tripod on the floor to avoid using flash—but don't mind if you flash the hell out of delicate artworks? We tried the tapas, the sangria, and the local sherry—doing our best to "go native" and avoid places with English menus. Simone found eating so late difficult; I had more of an issue with the cooked hotel breakfast with complimentary oil slick. On our last evening with toured the streets with "Carmen" (an accordion-playing puppet-wielding Belgian) learning a little about the opera of the same name, but much more about the history of Seville, life in the tobacco factory, and the place of bullfighting in the Spanish psyche. So positive was this experience that it almost caused us to revise our less than warm appraisal of Seville.

"Carmen", Seville

On to Córdoba, principally to see the arches of the Mezquita—whose colours we could again fade with flash, but whose floors we could not litter with mini-tripods. Originally a mosque in the ancient capital of the Moors, Christian re-conquerors grafted their icons to it in a fit of ill-conceived surgery. The gardens of the Alcazar were a pleasant place to share the sunshine and 38 degrees with noisy school children and sweating wedding guests. The narrow back-streets offered some respite from the heat and the occasional glimpse of a well-tended patio.

Mezquita, Córdoba

And to Granada they came at last. Our first view of the Alhambra was side-lit by the late evening sun, glowing yellow against the backdrop of the snow-capped Sierra Nevada mountains. A collection of palaces, gardens, and other buildings, the Alhambra complex did impress despite the fact we never really saw it. A disadvantage of the group tour is that the guide has a schedule to keep. Ours was particularly draconian; you had time either to take a picture, or look and listen—but not to do both. You have to expect to jostle with the hordes for a (mostly) people-free shot, but you don't expect a guided tour to leave out one of the most famous viewpoints. Later, reading over what we should have seen, I was a little disappointed to discover that much is not original, but has been subject to extensive and not necessarily accurate restoration.

Alhambra, Granada

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