ADVENTURES IN MALAGA | PART TWO
DAY 6 - DECEMBER 17
The main attraction that captivated all of our attention was the Alcazaba and we dedicated our morning to seeing the fortress. We decided to ‘splurge’ for a guided tour, and although my husband and I try to do most things in Spanish when we travel, we wanted to be sure our kids would benefit and it turns out that we were glad we splurged. Not only did we learn a great deal about the Alcazaba, but our tour guide was incredibly kind and patient with my son who asked dozens of questions.
We learned so much about the strategies behind the building of the fortress and the influences of Roman, Muslim, and Christian architecture. My son especially loved hearing how the Christians were uniformed and were taught to fight right-handed while Muslim soldiers were taught to fight with both hands. All in all, we learned a great deal about the city that was the last stronghold before the complete reconquering by the Christians of the Iberian Peninsula.
The views are incredible from the top of the Alcazaba, but before reaching the top there were several levels of winding gardens and pools near different rooms. I loved the feeling of the Alcazaba with its gardens and quiet corners. We finished our tour and took our time to walk along the winding passageways to see more of the different alcoves and places scattering the large fortress. I felt at home there amongst the orange trees, the intricate stone walls and the breathtaking views.
We left the Alcazaba and traveled to a restaurant we had scouted for the World Cup. With the big game the next day and not wanting to either miss it or be stuck for three hours at a terrible restaurant, we found a table at Los Marangós, a place we had passed the day before and knew they had a television. We were seated at a comfortable table, my husband and I ordered a bottle of wine and some seafood while the kids chose their customary burgers and pasta.
We watched Croatia and Morrocco in a playoff game that would determine third place in the tournament. As we were just over a hundred miles away from the Moroccan border our whole family got in the spirit of the game and rooted for Morrocco. Sadly they lost, but we had enjoyed ourselves, the food was excellent and the wine, hailing from the region, was also delicious. We put out names down for the next door securing a spot of the final game.
Well-fed and happy we returned to the Plaza la Merced for the evening. This was a the day that my husband looked over at me and said, “I really like this city,” then I responded, “Me too.” We both felt a stirring in each of us that Málaga was calling to each of us. We settled in for the evening happy and contented that we decided to venture down into Andalusia and hopefully for what the next day might bring.
Day 7 - December 18
The next morning we rose around ten in the morning and my husband visited a local market to pick up some essentials. The kids took a long time to be roused since they had been up close to midnight and were still adjusting to the time. The rose did a little homework, we ate a simple meal at our apartment, and then set out the Castillo de Gibralfaro.
There are two paths to reach the castle, one by way of the way of the Coracha and the Camino de Mundo Nuevo. The Coracha path follows the walls of the Alcazaba and passes a wonderful viewpoint, famous for a view of the Mediterranean, Plaza de Toros, and the coast of the city. The Camino de Mundo Nuevo, we were told, was a quieter path without the majestic view and more of a local path. We thought we would take the Coracha path going up and the Camino de Munda Nuevo down to have both experiences.
Even on a late December morning, I warmed quickly regretting that I had worn both a sweater and a down jacket. Before we reached the famous viewpoint about halfway up I had begun to sweat. I removed the no longer needed winter jacket as my kids also shredded their outer layers, happy to feel the sunshine on their skin.
The hike was fairly steep and we had to take a break before we reached the top. Once at the entrance and paying for our visit, we climbed some narrow stone steps to the top of the castle and could then see over the whole city. The Spanish flag caught me by surprise, so used am I to seeing the red, white, and blue, I had to remind myself that we were really thousands of miles away in one of the most romantic countries on earth.
We followed the paths around the castle, a more distinctly Christian architectural movement, and although we learned about the castle and Spanish history, the tour was a slight letdown after the wonder of the Alcazaba. The details of the castle were plainer and less ornate. There were shrubs and greenery, but fewer flowers and was less garden-like. The curvature of the doorways of the Alcazaba also created a more romantic picture while the post and lintel lines of the castle’s architecture seemed far more practical and somewhat primitive.
With the kids worn out from the climb, my lack of enthusiasm and my husband’s anticipation of the afternoon game, we stayed for only a short while before descending on the other side of the castle to follow the local path back into the Centro Historico. The Camino de Mundo Nuevo followed a paved path and winded through woods with small dirt trails venturing off in random directions. I loved this section of the city. It was like I was back in the Pacific Northwest, traveling through a dark wood filled with the scent of pine, green undergrowth, and damp earth.
Halfway down the path, we discovered a small wooden playground and my kids squealed with delight and rushed to its swings and slides as if in their minds, that old playground had descended from heaven. Their youthful energy was released after a morning of sightseeing.
The timing was perfect because my husband wanted to rest and I wanted to spend more time under the canopy of trees nestled in a quiet corner away from the city below. We watched our kids hoot, holler, climb, run, slide and imagine a whole new world on that playground while I let my husband put an arm around my shoulder and we sat in peace and wonder on that wooden bench happy that we had traveled all this way even if it meant spending thirty minutes at a random wooden playground.
Hunger began to pull at our stomaches and we all decided to pull the kids away from the rope swings and continue our path back to the city. The path ended very near the Plaza de la Merced, bringing us full circle to where we began the morning. It was an easy walk through the curved streets to return to Los Maragós and to settle in for the World Cup Final.
We arrived just in time for pregame preliminaries and seated ourselves with an easy view of he large television that hung along the northern wall. There were a few others there also intent on watching the game, but a family of four with kids close to the ages of my own arrived decked out in blue and white and waved an Argentinian flag with pride. Everyone’s spirit rose as we saw the family enter, feeding off the national pride that clung to them and our hope that the greatest player on earth would, in those few hours, hold high the World Cup trophy.
My husband and I decided to try the restaurant’s paella knowing that we had plenty of time for not the preparation and consumption of the nation’s most famous dish. The kids enjoyed their favorites from the day before and once a bottle of the same local wine had been delivered to the table, our family settled in for several hours.
I do not need to tell you about the game as anyone can look it up and watch it, but the experience of being in a European country watching fútbol was quite different than anything I have experienced in the States. For one, fútbol is a world sport and winning such an event like the World Cup is powerful to witness. Second, although Spain did not make it to the final, it felt as though Lionel Messi was an honorary Spaniard after his long stint in Barcelona. Few, perhaps no one was rooting for the French which elevated the excitement and made us feel as though we were watching with a home crowd.
Not only was it a fantastic game, but when the last penalty kick hit the back of the net, the whole restaurant erupted. Everyone was jumping up and down and the Argentinian family was shouting and smiling at everyone. It was a joyous day and after paying our bill we stumbled out of the restaurant in wonder at the history we had just witnessed. I reached out and grasped my husband’s hand and we slowly began to walk back toward our apartment hearing a Spanish guitar playing as we passed the Cathedral.
As if there was not enough for one day, we decided to return to the Calle Larios to see the light show again. This time the Plaza de Constitucíon was packed and it was difficult to find a place to stand. The show was still wonderful to watch even if the initial magic of the setting had lessened slightly. When the show was over we followed the crowd under the lights until we reached the pathway near the water.
Something different about traveling in Spain was how often we heard music. Another was that we did not see homeless people like we do in the States. Every person we saw on the side of the street or building was providing either handmade wares, a street show or playing music. It was refreshing to not see the personification of a nation’s neglect. The music that could so often be heard added to the romanticism of the city and made wandering through the curved streets even more enticing.
We walked along the boardwalk near sway boats anchored near the shore. We watched street dancers, and magicians and admired paintings and ceramics on blankets. Like a beacon, a small playground glowed under one of the street lights beckoning my children to go to it. Like a shot, they ran over to the plastic playground and joined several other kids in play as the evening light continued to lower behind the distant hills.
My husband and I, again, sat on a bench and allowed ourselves to breathe. We have found that traveling with children is actually a very rewarding experience, but no matter the itinerary, playgrounds have to make the list as well as times in the day to stop and breathe. The chilly evening meant the kids would not have as much time to run around, but we sat for a while listening to the water slosh against the pier and watched a throng of people walk lazily along the boardwalk enjoying an evening stroll.
No longer able to sit still with the chill and the time for dinner approaching we called the kids to us and we all returned to the Plaza de la Merced to revisit one of the restaurants we had tried before knowing there would be food for me and for the kids. Along the way, we could hear honking and cheering. The same happened when we had been seated for dinner as people with Argentinian jerseys walked by and people in taxies with blue and white flags hanging out the window cruised near our street. There were honking, shouting, cheering celebrations erupting through the city, everyone still in awe of the World Cup final score and the hero Messi winning the ultimate championship.
Finishing our meal earlier than usual (close to 10:30 pm) we wandered back to our little apartment, changed into pajamas and we all collapsed on our beds. The day had been a wonderful success and we were sorry that the arrival of the next day meant our departure from Málaga as we were meant to leave Andalusia for Valencia. Although I did not want to leave Málaga, I held out hope for the next city on our list as it was the city I had determined would be our favorite. My mind and expectation began to teeter as I thought about the day and our time in the southern city. I had felt a pull, perhaps even a calling, in Málaga that I had not expected, and would have to see what the future held in that regard.
