well i’m on my way…

We got out of our 60 Euro a night fancy hotel and booked into Hostal de Palma, near the thick of things in Malaga for less than half the price a night.  Combined.  There was no air con and we had a shared bathroom, but otherwise it was fine.  Who needs luxury? 

We unloaded, quickly put on our suits, and headed for the beach.  It was a bit pebbly, but the water was blue and clear even though the port was visible and so close that you could hear the mechanisms of what was going on.  The European way to go on the beach for all ages is topless, so I willingly joined in.  Silly me, I didnt´put sunscreen and I got really burnt.  This seems to be a common theme throughout this blog:  Laura is Sunburnt.  Maybe I should change my blog title?   Whaddya think?  

We took a nap and when we woke up and showered, tried to go for tapas.  The place was packed and there was a wait, and we were weak from hunger so we had Chinese instead.  We walked around, trying to decipher signs and street names, before we would let tiredness win.  There was no way we could drink, it still being at least 85 F and it was 11 at night!  and we were feeling the effects from the sun still.  I don´t know if i was because we just left Morocco, or the fact that I know a bit of the language, or something else, but I feel very comfortable in Spain.

Next day we went to the post office, which was interesting.  No one spoke English, so I resorted to Spanish.  No problem.  I even had to act as a translator for a man, who was struggling to communicate in English.  Wow.  Must be hard.  I thought that in Europe students are taught English, and people who work in fields that come into contact with tourists speak English…not in Spain.  That´s cool.  I guess when you´re the second or third most spoken language in the world, you don´t need to speak any others.  (I wonder where France is on that list??)   Ryan was using the phone, so I waited and drooled over the Spanish men.  Most are dark skinned, muscular, have longish hair, and light eyes.  Kind of Greeklike, but a little more fashion conscious.  Yum!

Since Malaga is the birthplace of Pablo Picasso, we had to see the museum.  It was basically a gallery in a beautiful old building-an air conditioned building.  (I´ve forgotten to mention the weather here in Malaga:  hot, humid, and relentless.  I understand now how the Spanish have mastered the art of the siesta.)   The gallery was really good, with sketches and some of his paintings, but only one I recognized.  Most of his famous stuff must be elsewhere…I love his contrasting colors and his accidental impasto style of overloading the paint on the brush, then onto the canvas.  I love looking at where artists thought they made mistakes, loading up on paint, seeing what they did when–my skill as a painter has allowed me to view painting differently than most.

Took a siesta since Ryan wasn´t feeling well.  We woke up at nine and stuck our heads out the window.  It didn´t seem that the temperature had changed, even thought the sun had gone down.  We decided to brave it, since both our stomachs were rumbling, and went in search of a restaurant I spotted earlier advertising marinated artichoke salad, only to learn that they used it in a lot of dishes, but ruined it in every one by pairing it with meat.  Ugh.  So I (thought I) settled for grilled vegetables:  eggplant, zucchini, tomato, mushroom, artichoke, and asparagus all drizzled with olive oil and sprinkled with real sea salt.  Yum! 

When I went to reception before we went out for the day to pay for my last night alone in Malaga, the woman who ran the place wasn´t there, but her Spanish only speaking mother was.  I tried in my broken Spanish to explain that I wanted to pay for the night, asking for ‘la mujer’ and ‘solo habitacion’…The woman replied with ‘la mujer esta trabajando’ (the woman is working) and then rattled off a bunch more that I did not understand.  I told her that my Spanish was bad, that I only know a little.  She had us come in and to ‘Setante’, so we sat, and she told me multiple times ‘hablar ayuda’ something or other, basically telling me that if I spoke it, I would learn it.  She didn´t smile, and that was what turned me off about her.  If she had, I might have stuck around to learn some Spanish.  She finally called her daughter and let me talk to her.  I gave the woman 20 Euros, without her knowing what it was for, and left.  I felt bad that I couldn´t communicate, but I tried. 

We had an early dinner of tapas as it was our last night together: Ryan was moving on to Barcelona later that night, via night bus, and I was heading to Alicante the next morning.  We had a dip of tomoto pasty-peppery garlicy sauce garnished with fried egg, tomatoes, and olive oil; fried mozzarella and tomato pesto on a flaky tostada type thing with lots of ciabatta bread.  I don´t know what Ryan ordered since he´s a carnivore.  We splurged on dessert: Ryan ordered flan that came with a big blob of caramel next to it (I don´t like the consistency of flan) and I ordered a thin pancake (not crepe) filled with caramel drizzled with chocoal with a scoop of each vanilla nd chocolate.  Delish!

Ryan was still feeling sick, and I wasn´t sure if he was going to make his bus.  I gave him ibuprofin and all my anti-diarrhea pills, and sent him on his way.  I realized that night why I stay in hostels, dorm rooms particularly, since I´m not that more comfortable staying ina room alone. With Ryan there, I didn´t hear any of the noises of the building, but without him, they were all magnified times 100.  I had to read until I started dozing off before I could turn out the light and fall asleep.  I ended up sleeping like a rock all night. 

This entry was posted on Tuesday, July 28th, 2009 at 9:26 am and is filed under Europe. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.