|Not just an ordinary bakery, but a "bread boutique."|
I planned this Spanish getaway in a last-ditch effort to relax beneath a fiery sun before the cold, gray winter sets in up here near the North Pole.
Ha ha. I could practically hear the weather fairies guffawing as I rode the drafty RER to the airport.
|Who is this Santa Aurelia and what's her story? Still figuring it out.|
"You've brought us good luck," said Mario, my Airbnb host. "It never rains like this in September, and we really needed it after months of drought."
|The letterbox belonging to an average house on an average street in Malaga. Pretty!|
|The hibiscus and other tropical flowers didn't seem to mind the rain.|
|A fanciful stone walkway--one of many throughout the old city of Malaga.|
|My daily Spanish breakfast|
|Public gardens teeming with fruit-laden lime trees.|
So, what's a girl to do when she's stuck in a drizzly Mediterranean town in late September with four free days all to herself? Museums. Restaurants. Cafes. Long walks on slippery cobblestones beneath a borrowed umbrella. It wasn't exactly the balmy Andulician holiday I was yearning for, but it was still pretty OK.
Malaga is the city where Pablo Picasso was born (oh, and Antonio Banderas, too), and, as seems fitting, there are two museums dedicated to Picasso's life and work; I went to both. (If there was an Antonio Banderas museum, I never found it.) There are also museums dedicated to flamenco, wine, and modern art, among many, many others. I visited as many as I could--usually two or three each day, breaking for a long lunch in between, then mixed things up a bit by popping into covered markets, the occasional vintage clothing store, and cafes where salty nibbly things are always served with your glass of €1.50 vino dulce.
|A typical afternoon apero.|
|A walkway to who-knows-where.|
|The old cathedral, built in architectural styles spanning the centuries. It's still not finished! (The church keeps running out of money. Ahem.)|
|I bought a kilo of these delicious clementines from another stall and paid €.50. My kinda prices|
|Inside Malaga's Altarazana market, which dates back to the 14th century. Avoid the fish and meat aisles if you can; the fruits, veggies, olives, nuts, and other goodies are off to the right side.|
|Funny olives stuffed with pickles. Mmm .... different!|
|A little organic stall inside the covered market.|
|Lunch at Loving Hut. They're everywhere, and I'm pretty happy about it!|
|The vast white gallery inside the museum of modern art. I loved this place!|
|In the courtyard of the Museo de Artes Y Costumbres Populares.|
|Sampling the local wines at a popular watering hole. Your tab is written in chalk on the counter top.|
|Barrels and barrels and more barrels of local wine. All sweet. Very sweet! And delish.|
|One of more than a dozen flamenco-costume shops clustered in the north of town; this one geared toward the (really) young set.|
|A fanciful wrought-iron gate in north Malaga.|
|The lunch possibilities at El Piano, one of two vegan restaurants in Malaga.|
|And for dessert, we have ... lots of yummy-looking things that I did not try.|
|I never knew San Miguel was a Spanish beer. There's a giant brewery near the airport, where they may or may not make their "Eco" cerveza.|
|The soy yogurt selection at the supermarket.|
|Cauliflower soup at El Calafate|
|Afternoon hot-chocolate break.|
|con churro! (Singular--those things are deep-fried and dangerous--one was plenty.)|
|La playa at moonrise on my penultimate day.|
|Fake meat in a can! Woot!|
|Why, si, yo gusto bien un otro vino bianco. Gracias.|
|A Spanish sunset.|