Chapter 3

Day 29, Málaga.  Soon I will travel back in time to Granada where I spent three days before arriving here. But for now, in Málaga we are.

Parts of the city have had a facelift in the last couple of years and in the very centre, in the immediate surroundings of Plaza de Constitución, the results make it an attractive and pleasant area to wander around in. They’ve done a lovely job buffing up the pretty faces of the old buildings. They’ve laid marble down on the pedestrian streets and somehow squeezed in a good amount of expensive shops without making it feel too tacky or, weird enough, overly commercial. Can’t believe I just said that. I guess I find some comfort in the familiar European feel of it as I’m struggling to get used to the South. Also, it still feels very local. In the vicinity of the one-armed cathedral there are more tourist shops than people who would want to visit them. In other parts of the historical centre, the necessary work still continues to restore the facades and it’s hard to see the history for the tarpaulins and scaffoldings.  That is, if you manage to look up without falling into one of the many gaping excavations which are left unfenced and wide open for the general public to stroll into while the workmen are repairing the streets. Coming from a nanny state I love the fact that the people here are not only allowed, but actually expected to use some common sense.

Once outside the oldest part of the town, the contrast will unexpectedly slap you across the chops. The rest of the town is a hasty collection of the ugliest architecture of every decade of the last century. Aiming towards the sea you’ll arrive at what could have been, or should be a pleasant beach front promenade. Instead of that, you’ll find yourself in a tangle of dual carriageways and a massive roundabout lined with high-rise blocks and garish shop fronts offering cheap goods which are imported into the monstrous dock nearby.

Apparently in Murcia there is a village so ugly that the locals say not even dust wants to settle there. I found out where the dust has decided to settle instead. On Malaga beach. Along with cigarette butts, drinks cans, plastic bags, bottles and containers, condoms, food waste and piles of other garbage of unidentifiable origin that the freezing waves carry in from the sea. I suppose if they attempted to clean up the mess using whatever the normal beach cleaning machinery may be, the beach itself would fly away with the hot wind. So they just leave it. As they seem to do in the surrounding areas as well. The otherwise attractive paths around Alcazaba, the ancient Roman palace, are strewn with broken glass, litter and stick-thin kittens and the pavements are streaked with dog shit. On Plaza Merced the heroin addicts stoop on the benches in front of the sad forgotten corpse of an old movie theatre.

Once you get past the uncharming filthy exterior and restrain yourself from going out too early (1am should be sufficient), you will find hordes of the edgy southern people fuelled by sweet local wine, enjoying themselves in the countless bars until the sunrise around 6.30am. Spirits are especially high when Spain wins a football match. Last night I was one with the crowds cheering for our heroes, most of the time even at the correct moment.

Level of Spanish: disgraceful. The accent is impenetrable and I get disheartened very quickly. English takes a lot of head space as I’ve finally started applying for work. Another course is needed to switch the poor frazzled brain into the correct mode. Going outside might help, too. I have a common language with my new friend though. Like me, she is called Rubia. Unlike me, she is very very small and ugly as sin, has four legs and a waggy tail. Unfortunately she is rather neglected and spends most of her time bored and lonely on the balcony next door. Fortunately, the balconies have a minidog-sized hole which she crawls through several times a day and we keep each other company while I struggle with my applications. I finally have some of the canine company I’ve been longing for since Bilbao.

Quizás nosotros también podamos aprovechar una migración de pájaros silvestres para evadirnos.

(The Murcia quote was kindly provided by Pauline Loriggio. Thank you.)