and the heat begins

My first direct contact with the Mediterranean Sea, and I was lounging at the top of a colorful rope jungle gym on the beach with two little girls and my travel companion. Little girls of their age – about nine or ten – haven’t yet learned small talk skills, but we had nonetheless fallen into the tried and true discussion of travelers – languages. I thought they were speaking French when they first ran up, but they later interjected British English into our conversation, asking where we were from. It turned out we knew five languages between the four of us, English and Spanish of course, and three others that one of the girls proudly rattled off. They soon skipped away down the dusty beach, taking some of the pressure off the rickety jungle gym and leaving me to contemplate the ocean, the sunset, and the Spanish air that suddenly got warm.

Malaga looks like Hawaii, like Puerto Vallarta, like Oregon, and the little inlet and stretch of Goleta Beach off to the east side of UCSB’s campus. It’s Sevilla without the high fashion, the skinny, cobbled streets, the shopping, and the construction. It’s slightly industrial on its shores, but its sea breezes whisper “vacation…” Perhaps because I was just there on the weekend, but it seemed sleepier than Sevilla somehow, even though I slept five floors up on the main road with my windows open. I have heard from several Spaniards that Malaga’s beaches aren’t ideal, and it’s true: the dusty sand turned my black shoes to tan. But the stunning views of the deep blue Mediterranean didn’t stop me from realizing how much I miss living on the ocean…

We spent our first three hours there wandering around the area west of downtown laden with backpacks, trying to find the cheapest hostel in town. At around four we started to get a little worried, our map and directions weren’t very good, and it was hot. We rode the bus downtown to try our luck at other hostels the guidebook recommended, and ended up in a 40€ room in a two-star, fifth floor hostel in an office building with a Ukranian front desk attendant that spoke thickly accented Spanish and addressed us with “ustedes” (you formal) like no Spaniard ever would. The room was painted yellow and white and had a shower and a sink in one corner, and a window in the other corner that overlooked the ocean. The plaza across the street played Latin American music from 10.30 to 22.30, and the cars on the busy street below ran and beeped all night long. On Sunday morning we threw leftover peanuts at passersby and watched as policemen attempted to stop traffic on the street for 15 minutes in order to let marathon runners go by.

Malaga is most famous for being the birthplace of Pablo Picasso. They have an amazingly comprehensive Picasso Museum with the most paintings by Picasso I’ve ever seen in one place… they also had a free concierge where we left our bags for the whole day! Some of Picasso’s most famous works, including Guernica, are in Madrid, but Museo Picasso was nonetheless amazing. They also have a big hill where the Alcazar and Catilla are located, a grueling walk, but worth it for the amazing views.

I’m going to stop before I start sounding like a guidebook.