Málaga
Malaga provided more southern comfort with its warm weather, leisurely pedestrian center, and flavorful food. We stayed in a cutesy hostel near the birthplace of Pablo Picasso and a museum devoted to him is near our favorite of the two vegetarian restaurants we frequented. The short trail continues across the street to the huge cathedral we examined which overlooks a long, palm tree lined avenue that begs to be strolled. That’s where we tried to meet up with Andrew Vickers for the Spanish leg of our joint escapades. Having already explored the city, Lauren and I were supposed to be familiar enough with Malaga to coordinate the rendezvous, but we accidentaly sent him in the wrong direction and then walked in another wrong direction to meet him. Eventually we all bumped into each other.
Andrew made it to the major pedestrian thoroughfare just in time to see our Hungarian street performing hostel roommate before he packed up his act for the night and headed back to the hostel to scrub the paint off his body with his pink loofah. Andrew was feeling a little under the weather and didn’t finish his hamburger at Pans & Company. A wandering homeless guy stumbled up on cue as if he were the maitre’d and Andrew had summoned him. He dug his hungry hands into the meal while nonchalantly asking if he could finish the rest. Andrew obliged and we watched him walk away with two fists full of food. These are the kind of experiences we’re having while our friend Stew is off mingling with national leaders.
Lauren and I hadn’t seen an American movie since The Bourne Ultimatum back in Scotland, so our ears picked up when we noticed that the movie in the lounge of the hostel wasn’t only in English, but words like “Gueros” and “Gary Clark Jr.” were part of the dialogue. We hurried over to watch Grindhouse until the bootlegged copy’s audio cut out and the Kiwi running the show put in The Big Lebowski. The all-American antics of The Dude quenched our thirst for a taste of home.
Tags: Travel
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