Málaga and Benalmádena
After Segovia, I headed south - not so much to visit places but to see old friends. I took the slow train to Madrid and then the fast train to Málaga, where Marga picked me up from the station. I had taught Marga’s husband Eli at the university on an intensive summer course for international students, and when he returned to Bath from Venezuela a year later with his wife and new baby, Marga and I became friends - and Rosa had her first ever friend, Autana.
Autana’s not so little any more, but as lovely and lively as ever…
Marga and family live down the coast from Málaga, in Benalmádena, home to Europe’s largest Buddhist stupa (no, I don’t know why)…
And where ‘Needed’ signs are written loud and clear (but hey, don’t we all?!)…
In Málaga, I caught up with my university friend Heloise who I hadn’t seen for 42 years! 42!!! I’d spent a week with her in her old Moorish cave overlooking the Alhambra in Granada when she was an Erasmus student (remember when that was a thing for UK students?), and we’d been in a shared house in our final year, but we hadn’t really been in touch until Facebook reconnected us a couple of years back. It was, wonderfully, one of those meetings where the years slip away and it was just like old times.
As we chat chat chatted, Heloise showed me her favourite spots in Málaga, including a bar or two, before getting her 3 hour bus home to her ‘white town’ near(ish) to Ronda. (Thank you, Heloise, for making the trek - really kind of you and very much appreciated).
Our first stop was the café of the Parador hotel up the hill where Málaga’s old castle is - with a great view: tradition and modern life in one snap…
The cruise ships are a double edged sword here, as everywhere - they bring in the tourist dollar but can swamp a city. Málaga certainly felt busier than where I’d just come from, but is a bigger city and altogether a different kettle of fish. Truth is, I’d been spoilt by Segovia and the other cities up north.
I also had to spend a stupid amount of time on a stupid numbers of trips to the train station, sorting out my train ticket home to London, which meant I had less chance to simply wander. Saying that, I saw some beautiful places, ate some great food and had a good time.
And, allegedly, Málaga is now the third most important city in the country for the arts…
I got a hotel room (one and only proper hotel of the holiday!), again thanks to Heloise, in a great location right between the cathedral and the Alcazaba, the Moorish palace…
The Alcazaba…
A view from the Alcazaba…
And a building on a nearby square…
Heloise’s restaurant tips were also spot on and got me to simple, traditional places with good food - although I don’t think we’d find the very yummy apple and avocado salad in the first place in a Ye Olde Spanish recipe book…
In the other place Heloise recommended, I had a more traditional plate of roasted artichokes. Being on my own, they sat me at the counter, where I got chatting to the young Englishman next to me - a brewer who used to run The George in Norton St Philip, down the road from Bath! Small world etc…
After my artichokes, I headed off in the direction of the port, but got caught up in a crowd. I realised something was going on and worked my way to the head of this procession…
There was a great atmosphere and I was feeling lucky to have stumbled across the celebration, when this appeared from around the corner…
!!! So lavish! Extraordinary!
This being Spain, where every day is a saint’s day, the next morning, just outside my hotel, there was another procession (you can see the H of my hotel in the background of the second pic)…
A great send off before I headed back north.