A Pueblo Blanco (White Town), Arcos de la Frontera, Andalusia, Spain

Flowing down the hillside like the train of a beautiful white gown, Arcos de la Frontera, is a classic hill town of the Andalusia region. It has been here more than a thousand years.  By the way, the "de la Frontera" part of the name is attached to other towns in the region and refers to "on the frontier" between the Moorish and Christian contested boundaries of centuries past.



In a timeless scene, a shepherd grazes his flock beside the Guadalete River below the sandstone cliff.....



...where the hot sun at midday, even in winter, makes mom and baby relax from their endless munching.



It is a town painted so brilliantly white it hurts my eyes if I'm not wearing sunglasses, and the narrow lanes.....



....let's just say they are not for timid drivers. Passage requires folding in the side view mirrors to fit through the impossibly tight openings. (No, I haven't scraped our car when going through - yet).



After arriving at the top, the reward is a vista of uncommon beauty and pastoral splendor.



The Guadalete River winds along the base of the mountain, with verdant fields and wildlife spread out below.



Did I say wildlife?



But empty stomachs growled to be fed......there weren't many tourists competing for locations on this sunny winter day....



....so we popped into this five-table local bar/restaurant/hostal, Bar San Marcos, for lunch. (I thought the Red Bull cold beverage case at right an ironic twist in the land of the real bull).



The owner, at right, takes the orders, clears the tables, and serves the drinks and food while his wife prepares the food in the adjacent tiny kitchen.



And what a fine feast she prepared. This delicious lunch of grilled fresh vegetables was also a great value.



And the decor is so authentic. A flamenco/classical guitar hangs from a hook and a ceramic tile scene of a bull rounding the corner toward the unsuspecting diners at an outdoor table. That's a picture that tells a story worth more than a thousand words.



When it is time to head home, we pass through the narrow street that passes beneath these flying buttresses of the church.

A fascinating mix of old and new. Glad we didn't lease a bigger (or wider) car. And if you think the streets are narrow here, try parking in an underground garage in Seville.