—The interior

 
It is said that the eyes are the mirror of the soul. Lets say then that the eyes of Malaga reflect its interior. Walking through the interior of the province is like returning to one's childhood. By waking up with whetted appebte searching for the responsible which is no other than the smell of toasted bread, peasant bread, still steaming and ready to be moistured with oil. The oil gained from the olive groves cultivated in our country with so much wisdom. Walking through the interior is like opening the window to traditions, to the cockcrow, the funny stories and the nick name. There are many typical local songs like cantos a la trilla, verdiales, fandangos, malaguenas .... there is always a good reason to create new tunes. A reason is thanking a neighbour for always being willing to greet. Or thanking for a productive working day, after which the so-calied rustled up meals are waiting, rustled up because they are cooked with the humble products from the fertile plain or the-mountain range. Walking through the interior is living a continuous explosion of colours. The colours of the Andalusian flag were inspired by the green coat of the Spanish fir forests and the white flowers of the almond trees The intensive colours of the pottery, textile mills, the prehistoric drawings in the coves, the hermitages and churche's stained-glass windows. Walking through the interior is being part of a story. Stories that sound during gatherings carefully improvised by the neighbours at moonlight. Seated on rush-bottomed chairs in front of their house doors which are never closed during the day. In the past, these stories were spread over thanks to women called avisadora, the messagebringer, who were in charge of informing about all kind of happenings, such as birth, wedding, or even death. In absence of telephones, faxes or Internet, this was done from door to door. Hidden stories in the villages of ia Axarquia, la Serrania de Ronda, el Valle de Guadalhorce, or la Vega Antequerana. From Atajate, the smallest municipality, to Antequera the village that wanted to be a town. Walking through the interior of the province is iike watching the mirror of one's soul and seeing in it the sincere reflect of oneself.
 
 


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