Málaga

For Christmas, my parents generously gave me a Eurail pass and funds so that I could travel over winter break, and a little during this semester.  As you all know, I used the pass to go to Paris, Barcelona, and Zaragoza, but as of last week I still had two more days of travel, and only a week or so of validity left on the pass.  So, I decided to go as far south as I could get by train as possible, which is why I ended up in Málaga Tuesday night.

I went straight from school, so all I had was my backpack, but that backpack was stuffed full with my computer, books, and toiletries and makeup (yes, sometimes I am quite girly).  I didn't think much of my heavy load until I checked in to my hotel around 9pm and realized that checkout was the next day at noon (I suppose this should have occurred to me before, but I just hadn't thought of it). I decided that I would rather have my valuables on my person than leave them behind the front desk the next day, and I knew I would need to be well rested in order to trek around Málaga with such a load on my back, so I planned to drop off my things in my room, wander around the city a little, then return to the hotel for a good night's rest.

Which was exactly what I did.  I was staying in perhaps the best located hotel in all of Málaga, situated between the Cathedral, Picasso Museum, Roman Theatre, and the Alcazaba, and only about a 15 minute walk to the beach, so my walk that night was easy, but wonderful.  As someone who grew up in a city on a harbor, I didn't realize how important being near the ocean was to me until getting to Madrid and becoming intensely aware of just how landlocked this capital city is.  Being in Málaga, with its busy port, and gorgeous beaches, was such a wonderful feeling for me, and though it certainly isn't home, it was a nice break from landlocked Madrid.  As I took the long way to the beach that night, walking past the port, I thought of my own home harbor, and how much I love seeing the tall ships and shiny harbor-front buildings (in one of which I have worked, and in another of which my father has worked for the past fifteen years--I think estimate is right...).  Madrid may be my second favorite city on Earth, but I have realized that home for me will always be in a city near water.

I soon made it to the beach, and though it was chilly, rainy, and dark, nothing could beat the feeling of standing alone at the edge of the sea, with Málaga and its Alcazaba rising up behind me.  After tracking down a kiosk to buy pilas for my camera, and taking some time to talk to the small group of elderly Spaniards gathered there, I took some pictures, then headed back to the hotel.  Unfortunately, none of my pictures really do justice to this beautiful city due to the rather disappointing weather, but you can find them in my gallery nonetheless.

The next morning I awoke to shower, pack up, and check-out, and from the hotel I headed straight to the Picasso Museum.  I'm sure it goes without saying that the museum, and the works housed inside, are spectacular, so I don't have much more to add.  Except that, a group of high-school-aged students must have been having some sort of field trip around the city, because I ran into them at the museum, and again at the Catedral, and it made me laugh to myself to hear their teachers speaking to them in English.  Here I am in Spain, trying so hard to learn Spanish, and there they were trying just as hard to learn my native language (granted, if they are like any of the other Europeans I've met since I got here, their English is much better than my Spanish).

Next I headed to the Alcazaba, and I am surprised to say that my time exploring this magnificent palace-fortress is certainly going to be one of the highlights of my year in Spain.  Wandering (or rather, hiking, which was only made more difficult by my ridiculous backpack) through this structure was like playing on a grown-up-sized playground, with stairs to climb, hidden passages to discover, and, at every turn, a new choice to make about which way to go next.  The views of the city are stunning, and the palace itself is beautiful.  There were times I found myself, dripping in sweat and exhausted, beaming just to be where I was.

From the Alcazaba, I took in the ruins of a Roman theatre, then had a quick sandwich break to get off my feet, and get my backpack off my back.  Looking at my clock, I saw it was about 3pm, so from there I leisurely visited the Cathedral (when you look at my pictures, you will see one of what looks like a bishop driving away sinners, but the statues actually made me laugh because to me they looked more like the heavy hand of the Church punishing non-believers), and figured I'd walk to the train station instead of catching a cab.

I made it there in under half an hour (the last ten minutes I was going at a good jog because I needed to get there as soon as possible to take off my darned backpack), and I went straight to the big sign to see how long I had before my train.  It wasn't until this moment that I realized that I had misread my clock set to military time (actually, the first time that this has actually tripped me up my whole time in Spain), and I was three hours early for my train.  It wasn't worth leaving and coming back, and I knew I couldn't explore the station because my back hurt so much, so I bought myself some ice-cream and sat down to sulk.

Thank goodness I only sulked for about 45 minutes however (I savored the hell out of that ice-cream so that I could save my seat), before I decided that it wouldn't hurt see if Renfe would let me on an earlier train.  Turns out, they were happy to exchange my ticket for free, and I just barely made the 3pm train back to Madrid (had I waited any longer to be proactive, I would have had to wait anyway because the next train wasn't until my own at 5pm).

I am shocked that I was able to fit so much exploring into so little time.  Part of the reason I must have misread my clock is because it seems almost impossible that I saw so much in just a handful of hours.  My exhaustion finally caught up with me, however, on the train, and my long days coupled with the bad night's sleep I'd had in the hotel (those of you that know me well have heard my about my marvelous new bed, and now it seems I am too pampered to sleep well in a lowly hotel bed) helped me to sleep soundly the whole trip back home (so soundly, in fact, that I woke up sprawled across both of the seats in my row, with a little puddle of drool on my vest/makeshift pillow).

I am hoping to return to a Spanish beach city when it gets warmer, and right now it's a toss-up between Málaga and the incredible Valencia City.  For this trip, I will break my habit of traveling alone, so that I can also get in some of the nightlife, so where I go may depend on where my friends want to go, but I can assure you that I will be pushing hard to go back to Málaga.

Un beso.