Spanish Stroll

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We are full today, so please take any available seat. The captain’s voice was blissfully ignored by the majority, as the families continued to hunt for available seats together with enough space in the overhead compartment into which to cram their oversize hand baggage. The plane was running over on it’s turn round, so most had not been intercepted in the queue and invited to lodge their luggage in the hold at vast expense or try desperately to get it to fit the unyielding bag measuring devices. There was slight delay waiting for the checked in bag, due to yet another strike. It was too much for some as the heat built and they immediately swapped their shirts for some rather fetching vests. A new range of body art was about to be unleashed on the Costa del Sol. The introduction of yesterday’s package holiday punter and the low cost airline is not a marriage made in heaven.


We left the sun seekers and made our way from the airport. Malaga’s airport seemed to have trebled in size, since our foray to Real Betis in 1998. In this case, progress was most welcome. The very efficient suburban rail system runs directly through the airport complex near Terminal 3 and for the princely sum of 1.70 Euros, whisks you to the centre of the city in 3 stops and 7 minutes. One of the station names was worthy of further investigation – Victoria Kent. Who was the said Ms Kent? Despite the very un-Spanish name, she was a prominent Republican in pre-Civil War days before deciding New York represented a safer haven. She was a Malaga girl though and who needs a statue, when you can have a rail station.

The efficient transfer was somewhat undone by taking a wrong turn out of the station. A left turn would have resulted in a 5 minute walk. We took the right turn and it took 15. We did however spy the bus station from where to obtain the bus tickets for our next leg in the morning, but inexplicably opted not to go straight in and purchase. After checking in, we returned to the bus station. There would have been no need, had ALSA’s website accepted foreign issued credit cards to make a purchase. “Your card has been declined by your bank” is the usual response after you have patiently typed in the journey requirements. You try another card and get the same reaction. Double insult was that they were on Special Offer more than 8 weeks before the journey. Internet forums reassure you that this is not a peculiar problem to your financial situation, but you still have no tickets. The ironic situation is that ALSA is effectively the National Express of Spain and guess what, they are owned by National Express. Fortunately the counter service of ALSA was on the ball and 5 minutes later, we had both the Granada and Cordoba tickets in our possession.

It was Columbus Day – a National Holiday – the streets were largely deserted. It was siesta time, but many of the cafes and bars had their shutters firmly closed. We settled on the popular local choice displaying Cruzcampo signs within sight of El Corte Inglis and had a snack and a cana. After crossing the river ………… well a dried up concrete channel to be more precise that splits the city and serves a double purpose as an impromptu football pitch and skateboard park. We headed into the Old Town. The cranes of the port of Malaga were visible to our right, as we crossed. The majority of shops were open, but most had decided to enjoy the Bank Holiday elsewhere. We found a lot of goats though on the main shopping drag, all brightly coloured with the designs of their sponsor. CF Malaga goat was clearly the most popular. The popularity seemed to remain undiminished the following week, despite their away loss to Real Madrid. We headed over towards the castle complex and the Roman amphitheatre – both closed due to the Bank Holiday. A circumnavigation of the bull ring followed, before we headed down to the town beach. The townsfolk were enjoying the afternoon sun. The inner docks had been transformed into the usual waterfront development of shops and café bars and seemed to be the place to be and be seen. A body building competition was underway at the far end and a series of expensive looking yachts lined the dock front – not quite Monte Carlo, but going in the right direction. The shops mainly displayed similarly upwardly mobile products. Miranda was shocked at the price of La Martina products and made a mental note to be show more appreciation of her free polo shirt from the 1996 Argentine Open.

The prospects of football had disappeared with CF Deportes El Palo playing on Sunday, so we headed back for our siesta. The streets were alive as we made our way out later. After a church service, Columbus Day it seems leads to parades snaking round the streets following a large religious float. We stopped in a square for a cana. We had another. Families fresh from their services and parades continued to pour out in search of their own refreshment. The Spanish normal practice of eating late and bringing the whole family out late on a weekend night still seems alien to our UK. We moved on from the family environment further into the Old Town in search of tapas. The theatre of serving masses of small plates of food and beer in small glasses to a predominantly Spanish audience unfolded before us. It was the first night - we played safe with the Calamari, Gambas Pil-Pil and Patatas Bravas. The food was excellent, but the 8.20 bus had gone and it was time to turn in before the relocation in the morning. We would be back the following weekend.

There was no brush with the airport crew as we arrived on the AVE train from Cordoba the following week. The central station, Maria Zambrano, a sleek modern operation conveniently situated for our next hotel choice. This time we made our life easier by turning the right way out of the station. Maria Zambrano was clearly more well thought of than Victoria Kent. A writer and philosopher and another who turned to exile once Franco was in power, she had a better class of station named after her. She opted for Cuba, Puerta Rico, France, Italy and Switzerland, but came home after the death of Franco. You learn things as you travel. The Silken Puerta Malaga was a good choice, with the El Corte Ingles outlet and supermarket opposite.

Whilst watching Spanish TV, we noted that the Picasso Museum was offering free entry to it's permanent collection to celebrate the anniversary of it's opening on Friday. We dropped the bags and made our way over there. The limited Spanish had played tricks - it was the next Friday. A potential saving of 6 Euros a piece was squandered. This was our 2nd Picasso exhibition of paintings - we'd chanced on a gallery in London. No photographs. The security person was busy on her radio, warning the next room that a large German with a smartphone camera was disregarding all the rules. She followed him to the door to finalise her description. They make you think - that is all I'd say. We concluded that a few could grace our house - the Musketeer with Sword (1972), the Woman with Raised Arms (1936) - but we are really Lowry people at heart. It was what we saw, growing up - industry! Picasso's relationship with his home city was described in the official literature as "distant". Whilst many claim him, he was born there, but moved to La Coruna when he was 10. The last visit was in 1901, when he came back to visit some relations with a painter friend. He never came back. The La Coruna mention was ironic. We'd always looked at the weather forecast whilst in Spain - Malaga ...... sun, La Coruna ....... rain. At the start of the holiday, that was the forecast - it remained the same today.

As we climbed to the Castillo de Gibralfaro and the sun beat down, the rain of La Coruna might have been a welcome relief. It was hot. The Castillo offers a view and a half of Malaga, although the sun direction makes sense to go up in morning. It makes you appreciate that it actually does have a population of > 500,000 - despite it's limited geographical confines. I immediately homed in La Rosaleda - home of CF Malaga. A cruise ship had been in port last week, but was now gone. The weekend was clearly the busy period for the old docks area. A tent was in the middle of the bull ring. We walked round all the walls and visited the museum, before heading down the hill to the Alcazaba to get full value for our joint visit ticket of 3.55 euros each. In fact, we're still coming terms with just how good a deal that was.

The Alcazaba was a mini Alhambra. If you are in Malaga and not venturing to Granada, do not hesitate. OK we are not talking the same scale, but impressive in it's right. There are plenty of walls to walk on for a view, but the real attraction is the "palace" itself. We left for the Old Town and an Estrella Galicia. If the week had taught us nothing, it was that we were Galicia people - they can clearly make beer, even it does rain. We watched the people theatre near the Cathedral, including the stream of brides and grooms who, wherever the wedding, are determined to have the photos in the Cathedral area of the Old Town.

In the evening, we were back at the Estrella Galicia bar. The plan was drinks. We didn't move and ended up dining. It was arguably a mistake, as the grilled octopus was a touch more than anticipated. The menu wasn't altogether clear. It was a good view though, in the heart of the action .......... and as they say in these parts, we was on "us holidays".

In episodes of the Likely Lads ..... younger readers can cheat and reach for google at this point ......... Bob and Thelma would tell Terry that a trip to Torremolinas was aspirational. We were close. It was tempting. I think things have moved on since the mid 1970's, but maybe not in the hot spots of the Costa del Sol. A mere 3.40 Euro return and 20 minutes later, we were in the heart of the action. A main street was packed with our friends from the flight, taking their morning stroll. The street descends to the beach. Madge on Benidorm might have struggled with the steps, but this was not unique to Torremolinas............ accessibility in our opinion does not appear in the key thinking in Spain. The fish tank feet nibbling has not lost it's appeal, judging by the number of shops. Pillows supplied. The ladies looked comfortable. The partners looked on with more of a longing for John Smiths Smooth. There was no shortage of this on offer, or indeed any of the home comforts. Sports bars advertised the latest football and not to exclude, X Factor was being shown "live". An appreciation of the viewing figures was not in evidence - what about Strictly Come Dancing??

The beach was very clean, as was the rest of the town. A large Picasso tribute statue was the focal point of promenade. Madge would have been more at home here. We walked the length and had a very nice con leche. It is was it is! I wonder what Bob and Thelma would think now!

We made our way back on the super-efficient suburban train to Malaga. The waterfront was in full swing. The goats were still popular and the people were happy, despite Malaga's loss at Real Madrid. Bad back even got off the bench. The sun still shone. It was still raining in La Coruna mind!

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Photos

Calle Marques de Lorious
The street where the goats meet!

Torremolinas
Lunch

Malaga
Roma Amphitheatre

CF Malaga
La Roseleda Stadium