R&R in Malaga

In my mind’s eye Malaga resembles Naples: a city with a rich history and culture, but a bit worn around the edges and past its prime. Happily, I am mistaken. It has a rich history and culture, yet is clean and safe. The town realizes that tourism is its lifeblood and invests heavily to ensure those areas are well-maintained, patrolled, and brightly lit. The fallout from the economic crisis is visible in subtle ways: that gorgeous sparkling airport that opened in 2010 is not air-conditioned. The tourist corridors are pristine, but off the beaten path shuttered buildings and deteriorating infrastructure are more apparent.

Our strategy to ease the children into Spain seems to be working. Initially, we planned to travel directly to Granada after arriving in Spain so that the children could acclimate to their temporary home. Later, we decided that it would be silly to pass on a few days at the beach during the heat of summer, especially since Malaga is “Spain light”. With so many British and German tourists, English is generally spoken in restaurants. Still, the kids use their Spanish for those transactions most dear to them: namely ordering ice cream, cheese and bread. Otherwise, they’ve both been clams. While I do the heavy lifting of dealing with information, taxis and bus tickets, Zoe stands at the ready to supply a word or correct my mistakes.

Call it jet lag, or call it inertia, but we have fully embraced Spain's crazy late schedule. Restaurants open at 8pm for dinner and it’s a leisurely affair.  The way we explain it to the kids: in Spain it’s not dinner and a movie…it’s dinner OR a movie. On a weeknight, a single waiter might serve 8 tables, so no matter what we order, a couple of hours just flashes by. After dinner it’s the obligatory search for the best ice cream and before we know it, the kids are staying up til 11pm each night and sleeping in until 10 each morning.

I had moments when I worried about what JT would find to eat, as he has grown increasingly picky over time, but he has managed quite well. His reaction to gazpacho: yum!..it’s ground up salsa. The boy who won’t eat potatoes in any form: falls in love with patatas bravas (fried diced potatoes with a spicy red sauce). At home, a sandwich isn’t a sandwich without Nutella. Here, JT regularly demolishes his own invention known as the “sandwich of paradise”: an open faced version consisting of bread dipped in olive oil and layered with a hard sheep’s cheese (oveja curado), and salami or turkey. And of course we all love the ice cream.

My only complaint: Malaga is full of tiny dogs. While I am personally not a fan of the toy variety of dog, I don’t begrudge others their choice of pets. At home, I think: coyote food. But the city, and our apartment building in particular, is full of elderly women who take the dog to the nearest post (right in front of the building) to do their business. It reeks like urinal and the cleansing fall rains are a couple of months off.

After 5 relaxing days in Malaga, filled with little more than building sand castles, swimming in the Med (cold, but not by Tahoe standards and murky by Tahoe standards), and the search for the perfect ice cream, Tom and I realize it’s time to focus on reality. School starts in a few days and while we've enjoyed this past week, it’s time to transition the kids to a school schedule. On Wednesday, a week after our arrival in Europe, we board the bus to Granada (a much more pleasant experience than Ryan Air on numerous levels) to start a new chapter.