Chapter Eighteen
Cordoba was as close to a fairytale in real life as Esme would ever get. They’d spent the morning driving along the coast to see the fortress built to protect the early inhabitants from Spanish attacks from the west and French attacks from the north. The fortresses looked like mini castles. They were no longer inhabited by guards but were renovated into tourist attractions for the beachgoers.
They made it to the city by the early afternoon. Esme’s jaw dropped with delight when she saw that some people still rode on horseback. Others in golf carts and small European cars. In and out wove bicycles and pedestrians down the cobbled lanes where tables and tents lined the walkway like a bazaar.
Beyond the bazaar, at the end of the street, were a high street of expensive shops
