The Alcazabar, Malaga

On Saturday June 30th I walked up to the Castillo Gibralfaro, admired the view, came back down again, and went to the Alcazabar. (See Entrada 2) The two are connected, but tourists have to enter them separately, and to be honest, you need a break in between.

Here is the lovely garden on the Paseo del Parque, - first stop for the bride and groom after the ceremony at the town hall next door. That's the Castillo Gibralfaro behind it.



Gazebo: spot the pigeon!








And those are the walkways. It gets steeper further up! By the way, that view of the tower blocks and the bullring is taken from the castillo. 1116 metres up.





And the Alcazabar.



















Thursday. Tech-mess as usual. Some pics won't load, and I'm respacing these because I've somehow bent the template, and my sidebar's heading for Timbuctoo. Fingers crossed.

.....and once more.....

Nail-biting finishes and more fun

I got my bag! I got paid!! England got beat! That was some match! I watched in La Buena Sombra, which I noticed yesterday in passing. It was actually quite hard to miss because they had the doors and windows open upstairs and down, and lots of people roaring at ten plasma screens in glorious colour. So in I went, and asked for a cider, which is a Spanish speciality, but I must be too far south. So I asked for a vodka and coke instead, with lots of ice. He put lots of ice in a pint glass, then poured in almost half a glass. Measures? No. Bad idea. Really bad idea! So he poured some of it away (standards?!) and charged me €5. I added 2 more bottles of coke (Pepsi actually) and more ice before the end, but still sat there dry-mouthed and clutching the table through the extra sessions and the penalties - me and the rest of the bar! By the way, they had something I've never seen before (in my sheltered years in Dubai) - self service pumps built into some tables. There was a computer monitor mounted high that listed how much each table had poured - so you can keep track when there's half a dozen of you!

On my way here afterwards (in my nice clean clothes, with freshly washed hair - yay!) I passed an open doorway and discovered the Ateneo de Málaga, on the final day of Fotógrafia de la Naturaleza, an exhibition of the winning photos from Wildlife Photographs of the Year 2006. Faaaaaaaaantastic! Foxes, gorillas, owls, whales, bears (black and polar). Those people are so talented, and so skillful. (How do you spell that?) Also African drummers playing African drums for a festival -´I'm going back there now. There was also a Japanese woman (I think) practising flamenco in a small theatre, but I think she gave up when the drummers started. She was loud (I thought someone was slamming crates down) but it was no contest.

Right, off to get some African culture! There's apparently no end to what Malaga has to offer!

Entrada 2

Still no bag, but if you tried the hotel link, I expect you didn´t get far either. Recontacted Manchester and hope for best. No dratted salary yet either. Should have landed Thursday. Not penniless, but like things tidy! Grrr.

En route for Alcazaba yesterday, accidentally found Museo Picasso. Have realised that with every teeny calle (cay-ye - my street map is a plano callejero) marked, Centro Historico looks bigger than it is. Stopped for lunch at Laperia deli-bar, but exhausted and grumpy so back to hotel. Much better after snooze.

Back to Museo just after 6. Gorgeous building, very well spaced and lit, and very interesting collection. 85 pieces donated by P´s son & daughter-in-law. Saw my first 'live' Picasso in Barcelona last year, and was totally thrilled with the pottery he did in his 90s. Definite case of world's most famous artist saying ok - done it all - now for some fun! Goats, bulls, fish, men, women, with all the vigour and clarity of a child's work (up til he starts being told to stay inside the lines....sob!) but infused with an artist's skill and a grown man´s knowledge of the long artistic heritage of the mediterranean.

The Malaga collection is mostly paintings and drawings, with a few pots, some lithographs and some lino prints. Very well mounted: no ornate frames, just free hanging within plain wood frames (Ikea!) with non-reflective glass that's only noticeable when you wonder and check. Picasso makes me want to draw. He makes it look so easy, but also so essential - everyone HAS to draw! How can anyone NOT draw! That's how alive his work is. It's as if he's in every drawing, still making it, and you're in there with him, watching him make it, seeing the model, the room. Even his jokes - I get an impression of a wicked individual sometimes - the Grand Old Man of art putting down something silly and mischievous, just to see if we'll dare laugh, or feel compelled to rub our chins, and blether on in deep seriousness about the line, the composition, tidah-tidaah-tidaaaa. It's a JOKE!!!!! Wicked.

Rapid fade-out again. Not wearing a watch this summer, and the long light evenings are confusing after Dubai's sunsets which always make me think of a tennis ball plopping over a net. Two minutes' peachy aftermath and lights out, that's your lot thank you and goodnight!

So, to the cafe, for an iced tea, freshly made. Took glass to table and spotted GARDEN. Oh, the garden. Oh my. It has to be one of the most beautiful, most perfect little treasures in the whole wide world. A courtyard, paved and with four steps down from one level (tables and chairs) to the next, with big ceramic pots of geraniums in rows on each step, and a long narrow rectangle of quietly bubbling water that brought pigeons and sparrows in ones and twos for time out from the business of flocking around tourists. Miniature orange trees in pots. Natural hessian blinds, black wrought iron, plain windows, cream exterior walls bars. Conifers and vines. Bells from the church. Voices from the street. A secret garden of tranquillity.

Restored, I went to the archaeological site excavated below the building. The Phoenicians founded Malaka (uhuh) in the 7th century BC. The more I see and read about the Phoenicians, the more I realise our debt to them. They had a tremendous impact on Asia and Europe, and their influence is all over Jordan and probably Syria and Iraq too. Artists, traders, farmers, chemists. And where does our Roman alphabet come from? Begins with a Ph!

Back for more Picasso, until informed that the Museum would be closing in 15 minutes. Great restraint in the bookshop: postcards only, and no, I won't be sending them! 9 o'clock.

Essay in mediocrity at Cafe Tren: some kind of plastic cheese and oragano toasted on tinned tomato. The bread was crisp on the outside and fluffy on the inside, but did not compensate. However, the chocolate con ron was very sweet, smooth, thick and delicious before bed, though I don't believe the 'ron' bit for a second.

This morning, I took camera and video camera and went out at 8.30 to beat the heat - er yeah, that really worked...... Walked to the port, along Paseo del Parque, and up, up up 1116 metres to Gibralfaro. Met an old man near the top, and had one of those funny conversations you can only have when neither of you speaks much of the other's language, and you know you'll never meet again, but you've taken a shine to each other. We compared our knowledge of each other's language, and of French, and talked in a mix of all three about Malaga and our school experiences and what I'm doing, with lots of sign language and exaggerated facial expressions, and louder and louder voices. It was brilliant, and we were totally delighted with ourselves and each other. Then he went back to his newspaper and the view.

I went back to climbing that darn hill. Surely fortification was unnecessary: any soldier who made it to the top could be felled by the flick of a finger. Gaaaaaah! Tremendous view, though, even on this muggy morning. Didn't actually go into Gibralfaro. Very hot and all outdoors except for a military museum which doesn't interest me. Bought bottle of orange and mandarin juice (yum) and got the bus down. Stopped to photograph a wedding (It was fun!) and then walked to secret entrance to ascensor (LIFT - oh THANK you!) to Alcazaba.

Alcazabar is beautiful. The stonework is handsome, the rooms are surprisingly small (Al cazabar means a fortress palace) but high celinged, white and airy, and the architecture is Islamic. It was a very enjoyable experience to wander through this foreign but familiar place, appreciating the cunning use of space and water that turned a defensive structure on quite a limited footprint into an enchanting labyrinth that drew the eyes and the feet to one courtyard and outdoor corridor after another, all beautifully paved and planted, and designed to catch and divert every breeze. Finished films and batteries! I am so glad I went.

So, that was my morning. I´ve been here in the a/c for a couple of hours, and it´s about time to get out there again. Back to the hotel, fingers crossed for my errant bag, but not really hopeful today. I explained to the manager's father last night.

"Avion de Dubai a Istamboul, dos bolsas. De de Istamboul a Manchester, una bolsa! Questo (indicating clothes) es todo!"
"Solo?"
"Si!"
"Aahhhhhh..."

Actually quite pleased with my Spanish. Very messy but getting by. And I´ve bought a copy of Holá, and have been reading the local free newspapers. Nouns and verbs very similar, though this can be misleading, and I've got enough of the useful little words to make sense of quite a bit. Tiring though, and my lips move!

Entrada Nueve: Knickerless in Manchester

Shameless Tabloid Title! Hola Guys.

I'm here and it's lovely, even though I'm whacked. I calculated that from getting up for work on Wednesday morning, to climbing into my comfortable hotel bed at 12.30 a.m. this Friday morning, I did a 44 hour day yesterday. Licence to ramble more than usual. I'd skip this morning's entrada if I were you, cos I'm writing it all down before I forget it.

Got everything done as hoped, and left work at 2.30 yesterday, having promised poor Habibi Í'd knock off at 2. Had to do it, Habibi! Sorry!!) Big job done! Yay!

Down at Jebel Ali Club at 3 for fish & chips and a pint of the golden apple with Habibi. Pleasant afternoon light shopping. Pleasant evening doing pre-hol household stuff, and relaxed packing while watching 'Rip Girls', Hawaiian teenage surfing rites of passage movie. Creeping realisation that I have to leave Habibi behind - yes I already knew this - which meant that he wasn't coming too - yes I already knew this too - butbutbut 11.00 taxi and time to go butbutbut..... I discovered that it's one thing to go away on my own for a conference or a course, but it's quite another when it's a holiday, even a working holiday. ¡sniff! Soppy bit. (MY blog - I can be soppy about my habibi if I want to!) OK. Done that.

Turkish Airlines have a romantic new advertising campaign on the airwaves (Where else?). I flew budget, so expected basics, and got basics. Basic check-in queue about which desk crew appeared to care very little. But I felt very sorry for this group of nine Indian workers trying to get home to Mumbai. All waving tickets, but nine passengers into five seats will not go. I noticed them because they started off at the Yemenia check-in desk next door. All waiting in a patiently subdued posse as various others talked over and round them, heads turning and holding in group formation like meercats. Poor things. They got moved to the Turkish Airlines desk. Then somewhere else. Who knows.

Not sure what type of plane, but certainly sardine class from Dubai to Istanbul. Pretty upholstery, nice cabin crew, naff food, and if we left 40 mins late due to a late connecting flight, the pilot must have pedalled hard, because we were only 10 mins late landing. (Note: their A/C couldn't cope with tarmac-strength power. We sweltered. Get one of those little handheld fans. A woman two seats ahead of me sat fanning her husband almost throught out the 4 hour + journey, mind you, he struck me as a domineering individual.)

However, time was obviously critical for luggage transfer: letter to Manchester Airport Customer Services

Hello there,

Your Ref.

I flew in from Dubai via Istanbul with Turkish Airlines yesterday and they appear to have left half of my worldly goods sitting on the tarmac en route. TK165/29JUN/TK1993/29JUN. I gather from the very professional and kind red-headed guy who was on customer rescue service yesterday that this is something they do a lot. I suppose the upside is that you get lots of practice at retrieval and return, which gives me hope of being reunited with my underwear in the next twelve hours.

OK. I´m the one that was flying on to Málaga with no forwarding address until I'd found one. Here it is: Pension La Mundial, Hoyo de Esparteros 1. 29005, Málaga http://www.pensionlamundial.com/

I was told that there are three services to Málaga after T.A. land in Manchester at 12.30 p.m. today. I don´t have a phone, and will be out doing fun stuff today, not sitting in my hotel room letting TA ruin my holiday! The manager knows that I've got a lost bag coming, so please instruct your courier to sign the bag over at reception.

Thank you for your time.

Yours in hope, Mama Duck (Names changed to protect the simple-minded)

Got a bus from the aeropuerto to the central estaçion de autobuses for E1.50, to check that there is a domingo service to Loja. There is, so I'll stay tres noches in Málaga. I bought a map and asked the woman in the shop in execrable español about hostales baratos (cheap). She directed me to those between the estaçion de autobuses and the estaçion de tren (¿¡Are you getting this?!). Useful for Sunday (and for the RENFE service when Habibibaba and I head out for Valencia). I subsided onto a chair at a pavement cafe facing the RENFE station, and studied the map over the very good cafe americano the grumpy owner brought me (Bloody English can't string a simple sentence of Spanish together...).

I decided to ask at a couple of places along that stretch, but thought that I'd probably find winding streets and cheap places in the Centro Historico, quite close to the places I want to visit. €54 a night (about the same in $. App. 250Dhs.) Too much. I folded my map open and started walking, heading for the Puente de Esperanza, which I felt had been put there specially for me. I found Pension la Mundial just across the bridge. All they had was a double room, not a habitaçion individual, but it was only €25 - €75 por tres noches. OK, let´s look further in.

Further into the centro was very handsome, with old buildings refurbished, or in the process, and public sculpture all over the place. There are wide pedestrian areas too. Trees. Space. Husbands and wives walking hand-in-hand and arm in arm, and occasionally giving each other a kiss. A five year old in a pink tutu walking home from ballet class with her mother. People sitting and standing in bars and cafes chatting and laughing. I have noticed how quietly lively this place is. Not rowdy, but wherever you look there are people sitting talking, standing talking, walking and talking.

Not just here. At Manchester Airport (which I liked very much: not glam like Dubai airport, but with more open spaces for people, not broken up into outlets and lounges). It was so alive! Mind you: this was afternoon, and the last time I was there was for a red-eye, and quite different! There were two hen parties there. Beck and her girfriends were en route for a high time in Tenerife, according to their orange tee shirts. Beck´s tee shirt was green, and she had a cute mini veil and tiara for identification purposes. The other bride-to-be was in hot pink, right up to and including her wedding veil, which also featured horns. Don´t know where she and her friends were going, but her sash said they were going for a GIRLS' NITE OUT. It´s going to be some night. Also on the plane was a group of ladies in their 50s, all wearing England flag stetsons trimmed with sequins. One of them had a hot pink feather boa. Odd pink ostrich feathers marked her movements on the plane. Beck and co in 25 years. Great fun.

Good flight with Jet2.com. I was brain-dead, but that was ok because I wasn't driving. Lots of photos of clouds, England´s green crazy patchwork broken by classic fluffy white clouds and grey cloud shadows.

Slept over France.

Blue blue Bay of Biscay in holiday mood.

Brown patchwork of Spain.

Moving south above fields and fields of olive trees on mountains and plains. Black dots on more patchwork of tan, rust and beige. Little white rectangles of farmhouses, some with their own reservoirs: circles and rectangles of dark green water. From that height it was like a dot matrix image. Who was it did the pop art? Reminded me of being on a bus with one of those advertising decals on the outside.

Further south and greener, greener, greener, lower, lower, lower. Cloud formations straight out of Roger Dean's portfolio. And now I'm here! I walked for four and a half hours last night, exploring (ok, lost!) carrying a 6.5 kg backpack and another couple of kilos of stuff. Not much, but enough! Good night´s sleep.
Desayuno in a pavement cafe, with Málaga having its own breakfast, buying its lottery tickets, browsing shops, heading for work. All well-groomed, right down to the squawky old lady in floral print who walked stiffly and purposefully across the piazza with her metal crutch, to disappear down a narrow calle on the other side. She reappeared a little later with a wad of lottery tickets clipped together with a wooden clothes peg, and sat down next to an old man on a bench within spitting distance of a Lotto kiosk. Next time somone walked past her, she shouted at him, 'Ayayayay!' She was selling lottery tickets too! Anyway, the memory of breakfast prompts thougts of lunch. I'm on holiday, you know! Loose plan for the afternoon: Alcazabar and the Castillo G. The Arab connection for the new arrival from the Middle East!

One day

A Google Image search for Málaga yielded this!

Oh - My - G-..............


In mesmerised disbelief, I clicked on the site, and was happily surprised to find a really excellent introduction to the city and the region, courtesy of CarMalaga.com. Ignore or enjoy the second language typos; the information is comprehensive but not overwhelming, and conveys affection and and some pride. I don't drive, but on the basis of their website, I rather like the sound of CarMalaga.


But I also rather hope that these colours are more accurate!

Both are shots of the Plaza Toros de Málaga, but this second one is from the Spanish language tourist site, Sevilla Info.com.

Not that I shall be visiting the bullring. Done that.

I had an au pair job in Biarritz in the summer of 1979, and one day the family took a trip across the border to Santander; my one and only foray into Spain before last summer.

I remember the canopied quayside restaurant which served the most delicious seafood. Oh yeah. Sitting by the water on a breezy sunny day, eating bouillabaisse in good company. Oh yeah.

I think that part of my passion for seafood is that I do associate it with the smell and sounds of the sea. Family camping holidays in Whitby and Robin's Hood Bay. An early morning ride out from the campsite with my father, when everyone one else was still asleep, to watch the fishing fleet come in to Scarborough - of course they were already in by the time we arrived, but the morning was fresh, the gulls were wheeling and shrieking, I was on an adventure with Daddy, and it was lovely! Years later Habibi and I lived in Liverpool, by the Mersey, and Bristol, by the Avon, and visited perfect Poros, and somewhat less perfect Corfu. The English and The Seaside. Altogether different from 'the beach'!

Anyway, at Santander they took us, including 6 year-old Cyrille, to a bullfight. I watched, but really didn't see the point of terrorising and weakening a powerful animal to create a more equal contest for a snazzily dressed man with a cape and sword: to me, this sort of entertainment belonged to the past. Cyrille's reaction was interesting. He was neither excited nor upset - physical distance creating emotional distance? He was just baffled. What were they doing? Why were they doing that? Why were we there? I left the family to explain that one.

Another strange and vivid memory from that day is of walking down a narrow and very respectable residential street between high walls with small, grille-caged windows, and finding one wall daubed with a crude, life-size, black paint graffiti of six stick-men cut in half by a spray of red paint bullet holes. Incidental terrorism - a silent reminder for all the people who happened to pass it on their way to school, or the baker's, or to do any of the normal things we should be able to take for granted, that they could not. Basque territory.

I was familiar with such images from TV footage of Belfast, but it was a sobering experience for a summer day-tripper in Sunny Spain. Of course now both the IRA and ETA appear to be moving on. Regimes do change. Armed struggle does become redundant. Peace is possible after all.

And I'm going to Spain veeeeeery soon!

Have I shopped? Not yet, but I've made a list.
Have I packed? Not yet, but I've ironed everything.
Am I really going to be ready in time? Of course!
Jajajaja!

Two days to go afore I go

I have tickets! Thursday 2.30 a.m. Turkish Airlines to Manchester. Then Jet2.com to Malaga. (Hadn't heard of them before, but definitely easiest, clearest budget airline website to navigate.) Find hostal. Dump stuff. Buy phonecard. Phone Habibi and try not to sound too outrageously pleased with myself. Find tapas bar, sit, order small yummy things and a glass of wine, and ver pasar a la gente (watch the world go by - straight out of the dictionary!) til bedtime.

Friday plan: walk, sit, walk, sit, walk, sit. Saturday plan: ditto. If I'm feeling energetic, there's the Alcazabar, a fortress-palace begun in the Eleventh Century; the Castillo de Gibralfaro, which I think was was begun earlier and finished later; a Roman amphitheatre at some stage of excavation (though after four amphitheatres in Jordan, it's not exactly a priority); the new Picasso exhibition; and the Museo de Artes y Costumbres Populares. If I'm not, there's the new Picasso exhibition, and lots of ver pasar la gente. And I'm going to find some tourist flamenco, because I'm a tourist.

So there you go: stroll in the sun, sit in the shade, visit cool and ancient castles, a gallery, a museum, squeeze into a flamenco bar, and probably blog it while it's fresh in my mind! That will do me.

And on Sunday, I'm heading for El Molino La Ratonera for a month's work on land, orchard and vegetable garden, and tending their biscuits. I am so excited I'm almost airborne! Go see - it's a very interesting set-up, in a beautiful place, and they do holiday lets.

Howsoever, I've stayed up far too late, I've got to be up for work in the morning, and there are only two more days in which to get everything done before I GO!

Buenas noches.