Day Trip to the City

Malaga. Although I keep referring to the place we are staying as Malaga, in actuality, we are in Calahonda near Marbella. Malaga is about 30km north up the coast of Spain.

The night before we left for a day trip to the city, Douglas made a Portuguese stew. I admit it, initially I doubted that a stew would be something I'd want to have in the middle of August on the coast of Spain. However, he proved me wrong- and I was delighted. It turned out to be one of the most delicious, flavorful, scrumptious (though not tasty) dishes I've eaten in a long while.

Here's a kudos to Douglas, for proving me wrong and making something that absurdly amazing!




After taking two buses to the city center it hit me: not that I was in Spain, but the smell of the city. The city reeks of sewage, and once, I actually saw a crew pumping the city waste into a truck. The heat of the city doesn't help the smell one bit. But once you look past the smell, there is a remarkable place before you.

At one point, Elise asked me if Spain was like Mexico. No. From what I've seen of Spain-it's a cleaner version of Mexico. As if Puerto Vallarta and Orange County had a pretty baby. A pretty baby that just pooped its diaper.







Malaga is the birthplace of Pablo Picasso. Although he rarely returned after he moved away, the city considers him its pride and joy. Just across from Plaza de Merced is the casa natal of Pablo Picasso. It was so unassuming that I overlooked it more than once on our quest to find it. Fear not, I used my SUPERB Spanish to ask a kindly tattoo shop owner for directions. Nearby, a (slightly larger than life-size) statue of Pablo Picasso's likeness had been erected.

One of the city sites was the Hall of Justice...no wait, that's from Wonder Friends--home of The Justice League (containing Batman, Superman, Aquaman, Wonderwoman etc...). It was called the Palace of Justice. At some point it probably held some government authorities, now, it was vacant.

What can be said? Maybe there is no justice in Spain. Or, maybe, there is so much justice...it no longer needed its own oceanfront palace.

Either way, it was one of the most disgustingly rundown things I'd ever seen.

One of the great draws to Malaga is the old Moorish fortification, Alcazaba from the 11th century. Here I am outside the Roman amphitheater located right beyond the walls of the fortress. We didn't have time to visit the entire thing that day, but there should be time in the upcoming days.



There are very few books I can say I outright disliked. One of them I read in 6th grade: Red Badge of Courage. The other I read my freshman year of high school: The Sun Also Rises by Ernest Hemingway. It's not that I dislike Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms is one of my favorites (subcategory Romance & War). But something about The Sun Also Rises always rubbed me the wrong way. I wonder if going back now I could appreciate it more. Now that I've seen the sunsets of Spain, fed the Spanish earth my blood, sweat and tears (literally). One thing I've yet to do? Bull fight.

Ancient Rome had the gladiators. The South has dogfights. Spain has bullfights. It might be gruesome, but something about the spectacle has attracted sold-out crowds for centuries. And when we get right to it, its not about the people, but about the money to be made.

I already got a warning text from my grandfather warning me of the dangers of bullfighting, but I assure you all-- I will not be actually fighting the bull myself.

I know what you are thinking. Yes, I did read the story about the spectators recently injured, but SERIOUSLY, if the bull is trying to jump into the crowd, wouldn't you move away the FIRST TIME? It was the third attempt. Didn't they know that the third time is the charm? Or does that not translate into Spanish?

On the way back, the bus stop was like something out of a circus freak show. There was a one-legged woman, a one-eyed woman, a man/boy/child that was much too large for the stroller he was having a fit in (it may have been a full grown man), a couple other oddities, but I have to say, white trash family deluxe took the cake.

What is white trash family deluxe? It was the all-in-one stereotype fulfillment. The "mother"--who looked suspiciously like a hobbit--smoked a filthy cigarette while pushing her baby to the busstop in his stroller. The poor thing was locked into a torture device forced to breathe cancer air. Then she took the baby out and held him on her lap, while she smoked. Then her husband walked over, and he shook like a junkie and was missing a tooth. They also had a daughter who ran on the bus ahead of them. Then they both got on, and then he left, at which point he waved at them through the window. Then they left him. I could see the daddy issues beginning to form in the little girl's mind. That was weird enough. Then the woman starts talking on her cellphone--loudly. People began to stare. She snarls at them-revealing that she has a missing tooth to match her husband/baby daddy/pimp/drug dealer. Then she gets off the phone and starts screaming at her kids--louder still. More people stare. Since the screaming isn't working, she starts spanking her kids. Everyone looks away. That's right--no one wants to be an accessory after the fact to child abuse. I wonder, what do you call white trash in Spain? Hemingway never covered that one.