Málaga, Spain
Yet another gorgeous day! Unfortunately, a school day, since the professor had agreed to switch Friday’s lesson for today. After class, I hit the train station and went straight to Málaga. My first item of business was to hit the tapas festival. I bought 3 tickets for 1.80 Euros each. The first tapas I got was hummus and falafel.
What’s that, you say? But that’s Mediterranean food, not Spanish food! Ah, my friend, I once thought the same as you. However, the southern coast of Spain is on the Mediterranean. You can often see the Rock of Gibraltar from the beach, and on clear days, you can see the mountains of Africa. I saw them myself, just the peaks peeking through the clouds, and was amazed by how close it was. Not only this, but Spain was ruled by varying Mediterranean groups for centuries, so today quite a bit of the culture and architecture remains.
The hummus was awesome, and the falafel not only tasted better than any I get in the US, but also looked much more appealing. (It was more of a golden color than the typical dark brown color that Pita’s serves.) The second tapa I got was a pizza funghi (aka mushroom). So far I had been eschewing pizza because it seemed so American and I wanted to do European things in Europe. But I saw the Spaniards wolfing down the pizza, and I had an epiphany: Pizza is from Italy, and wouldn’t you know, Italy just happens to be in Europe! So, having thus justified my pizza craving, I was pleased when I got a slice of fresh, baked-to-order, mozzarella and mushroom pizza.
The third and last tapa I bought was a Blanco Y Negro from an heladería. (In other words, a Black & White from an ice cream tent.) Let me tell you, the US better wake up and start serving these babies! (Or at least Starbucks ought to think about it.) A Blanco & Negro is a glass half-filled with iced coffee (but without the ice) and topped with cappuccino ice cream. Like a root beer float, but with a coffee theme. Delicious! (There are also other varieties, such as with vanilla ice cream, topped with whipped cream. Mmm…)
After this, I wandered around Málaga, following a walking map that turned out to be really awful. Half the time, the alleged museums/buildings on the map completely didn’t exist – at least not in the area shown on the map – and the other half of the time, the facades were under restoration, so I could only see part. Nonetheless, I had a great time watching all the people and looking at all the architecture and the graffiti. Graffiti? you ask. Before you conjure images of ghetto alleys or city subways, let me say that the graffiti here is really, really, really good. It’s an art form. Oh sure, you’ll see a few bits of amateur art (witness the Disney scene, attached) but the majority is really well done, if of bizarre themes.
So there I am, on a graffiti walking tour of downtown Málaga. I run into a vendor selling Spanish-language Harlequin suspense novels and I bought it because I can’t not buy books. I head back to the hotel for dinner and find out that the group plans to go out dancing tonight. I borrow an outfit from Paula (I only brought my throwaway clothes, and she brought something like 3 massive suitcases packed with the cutest possible outfits) and we all head downstairs around midnight to call a cab. The older guy at the front desk says to forget calling a cab – it’s midnight on a Saturday. Better luck walking down to the taxi stand.
But, the younger guy at the front desk (later to be identified as Sebastián) says he gets off work now and would be glad to drop us off. So, four of the girls pile into the back seat, leaving me up front because my Spanish is the most fluent. Sebastián drops us off in downtown Torremolinos, although he warns us that Torremolinos is not only the San Francisco of Spain, but actually the gay Mecca of this part of Europe. Or, should I say, he warns *me*, since all of this is in Spanish. I decide to keep this information to myself – after all, we’ve arrived, and none of us were looking for Spanish dates anyway.
As it turns out, we had a great time. The atmosphere was friendly and fun, and we didn’t have to worry about scrubby drunks hitting on us. That is to say, none of the ladies of us did. When the other half of the group joined us later, Bryan for the first time in his life had the experience of random men repeatedly pinching his rear. (We women found this turn of events much funnier than he did.)
