Málaga

I missed my 7:30 am bus to Málaga thanks to the work of a Czech and his bottle of slivovitz.

I woke up around 8:45, quickly packed my bags, and got out to the door. At the bus station, I got another ticket (it was only 20 euro) and was riding out of Madrid by 11.

The 6 hour bus ride directly south to the Mediterranean took me through some of the most lovely land I’ve ever seen. Sorry, I packed my camera underneath the bus, so no pictures.

I slept through the first few hours of the ride, though I wasn’t missing much, because the plains to the south of Madrid make for boring landscapes. However, when I woke up a few hours later in the countryside of Andalucía, things were very different.

Rocky mountains tore up through the plains sporadically, yet formed no chains. The low lands were completely cultivated with olive trees planted neatly in rows that stretched as far as the eye could see. In some places, Spanish farmers boldly cultivate the steep mountainsides with olives trees at severe angles.

Nothing but blue skies.

The further we drove, the more palm trees I saw, building my anticipation for La Costa del Sol. The bus driver put on the movie “Eight Below” (with Paul Walker) in Spanish, which I really enjoyed. After seeing the inspiring movie about sled dogs in Antarctica, I’ve decided I want to own a husky or malamute one day.

This whole trip was planned because I had a friend from Mt.Lebanon, Alex Bloom, studying at the University of Málaga. After getting settled in at the hostel, I met up with Alex at Plaza de Merced. According to the plaque in the plaza, Merced commemorates the massacre of 49 people in 1831, who “died for their love of liberty for their homeland”. Nowadays, Plaza de Merced is a happy place were parents bring their children to play, and locals come to meet.

Alex and I walked to a mall on the other side of the city to purchase tickets for the futbol game the following day: Málaga C.F. vs. F.C. Barcelona.

Holy shit those tickets were expensive! I doubted that the game would be worth it, but I told myself, “you’re in Spain!” A soccer match, especially one involving the best team in the world, Barca, was a must-see on my list.

We met up with one of Alex’s friends Matt, to grab some dinner after buying the tickets. We got lost in the main section of town, but eventually arrived at the popular local restaurante, “El Pimpi”. I couldn’t tell what was better, the food or the atmosphere. We enjoyed some staples of Spanish cuisine such as manchego chesse, Serrano ham, and Spanish tortillas (potato omelet). The food in Spain has been so good, I will have to reserve more talk about it for it’s own blog post.

Next up was another typical activity of Malagueños, drinking on the beach!

It was already past midnight, and tiendas de alimentacion (convienience stores often called “los chinos” because they are primarily owned by asian families) are forbidden to sell alcohol past 11pm due to national law. The chino store we went to, however, had no scrupples about selling us the booze, they only made sure that we walked out of the store with all the bottles in plastic bags, and told us not to take them out until we were far away from the store.

I met more of Alex’s friends from Dickenson, and we walked down to La Malagueta, a popular beach in the area. This was the first time I had seen the Mediterranean. It was quite dark, so my impression of it was altogether unaffected. We didn’t stay long at the beach because Alex’s friends were craving pizza. We joined them, though Alex and I didn’t order anything. Out of principle, I didn’t want to order a pizza because I knew it wouldn’t be as good as pizza back in the U.S. (and I was still full from El Pimpi). Within the hour, I was on my way back to the hostel to get some sleep.

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I woke up early the next day to go on a run (College Nationals is under 8 months away). I ran through the streets towards a nearby mountain, which I ascended through back trails in the woods. At the top of this hill was Castillo Gibralfaro, a mountain fortress overlooking the Mediterranean built in the 1300s. And what a view! I took a rest to take in the scenery, then continued back down the other side of the hill on a paved cut-back path. Once I had descended, I returned to the hostel through a modern car tunnel that was burrowed directly under the mountain and castle.

I had grand plans to spend the day basking in the warm sun on the beach, but a storm dashed those hopes. Instead, I met Alex and his classmates at el Café Madrid for coffee and churros (with hot chocolate sauce, not cinnamon sugar). We hung out at the Café for a few hours hoping the storm would pass. The rain made Alex and I very nervous about the futbol game planned for later that night.

While we walked to La Rosaleda (Málaga Stadium) in light rain, we talked futbol, or should I say, Alex talked futbol, and I listened. This would be the first European soccer match either of us had seen, and we were excited to see Barca play. I must admit, I was very nervous to cheer at an away match, surrounded by Malagueño futbol hooligans. I was determined to act neutral in the presence of other fans, so I wouldn’t get my ass kicked.

La Rosaleda was packed with light blue jerseys for Málaga, and the fans were fun to watch. When Barca came out, the hooligans didn’t boo the players like I had expected, but rather, whistled. They kept this up for most of the game. Any time a Barca player was in control of the ball, the stadium erupted in shrieking whistles. I must admit, as a player, I would find that a lot more distracted that a long continuous boo. Of course, the hooligans were shouting out Spanish swears all over the place (puta was a crowd favorite).

The only time I broke my neutral character was when Ibrahimovich scored the first goal of the game for Barcelona. I stood and shouted, and I certainly got some looks my directions, not only because I was cheering for Barca, but also because I yelled out, “YEAH!” in English. Whoops…

I was very impressed by Barca’s offensive, they were so patient and their passing was nearly flawless. Their time of posession with the ball had to have been at least twice as long as Málaga. The score showed how the game went; 2-0 Barcelona.

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Rain the next day…discouraged my trip to the beach. I spent the morning walking around Málaga. Wandering the city myself, I found my way to the Cathedral de Málaga. There was a plaza in front of the main entrance, with a few outdoor cafes sitting in the shadow of the enormous church. A perfect place to eat lunch.

The Cheers Café: Málaga. Where Everybody Knows Your Name. Well, perhaps not literally, but at least a lovely place to enjoy a meal outside. I asked the bartender if they sold T-Shirts, he told me they didn’t. Bummer. That would have been a great gift to get my dad, who owns a Cheers Boston shirt, and was once offered a few hundred dollars for the shirt off his back.

With a full stomach, I began touring the city on foot. I took lots of pictures.

That night I went out with friends from the hostel. I was the youngest of the group by at least 6 years, and probably the only one that didn’t speak German. Everyone could speak English as well, as for my sake, that was the language of the night. We took a stroll through the center shopping district, and found a tapas bar with outdoor seating. Cheap beer and plenty of fried seafood; it was a gastronomic dream.

We continued to drink once back at the hostel. I performed card tricks and taught everyone the popular American card game, “asshole” (or president). The night ended with an inebriated discussion of world politics, the history of Macedonia, and places I need to visit.

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Alas, a beautiful sunny day at the southern tip of Spain. Not much to report on the blog- spent most of the day on the beach. The Mediterranean is so lovely. So was all of Málaga. Just check out the pictures.

Next morning- return to Madrid!