Day 11
We arrived at the Granada train station well in advance of our departure to Malaga, so we found a bench in the sun next to the nearby light rail and put our bags down. The walk had been long and I was tired. Then, a couple in their sixties walked up to us and started gesturing. I was confused at first but as they guy mumbled, he said “move” in English. At first I thought they were Spanish people that saw our backpacks and assumed we were foreigners who didn’t know any Spanish, so might as well just wave us away. Then I noticed their pinkish hue and realized they were probably members of the very large British retiree community of southern Spain. I couldn’t believe the behavior of a foreigner just walking up to people and trying to get them to give up their spots by just waving and muttering. It was true that we were taking up the whole bench with our bags (something I don’t like when other people do), but there were more empty benches nearby. Lise and I just got up and left.
When we got to our seats on the train, we found that there was a man in his 50’s or 60’s sitting in Lise’s seat. She showed him her ticket and he got up, but kind of acted like, well who really cares, just sit wherever you want, it’s fine. Then I noticed that he had been sitting in front of his two mates. The three of them, Irish I believe, were kind of loud and obnoxious. One of the guys behind us kept loudly playing music and youtube clips on his phone, without headphones. It was getting obnoxious and when he put on some bag-pipe-laden nonsense, Lise turned to him and asked him to put on headphones (I mean, those are the rules of the train afterall). He said ok, then turned to his friend and loudly said “I guess she doesn’t like Irish music”. That made me so mad. Like he was just going to remove any responsibility and blame the disagreement on Lise’s intolerance of his culture’s music. Luckily they weren’t too obnoxious during the rest of the trip.
We got into Malaga after a pretty quick hour and a half train ride. Then we easily got a bus, with the help of a friendly bus driver, to our neighborhood. I immediately liked this fairly large, coastal city. It had a lot of character and a vibrant atmosphere. Sure the center was a bit glitzy, the cruise ships unloaded loads of losers on the daily and some neighborhoods seemed pretty rundown and sketchy. However, it still had a lot of the rustic Spanish vibes that I’m always looking for. Just between the bus stop and our airbnb, I saw two or three restaurants that I definitely needed to try.
Our neighborhood seemed like it was in the middle of a being hit with a gentrification bomb and we weren’t helping. Half the streets were torn up and getting a face lift. Facades of run down buildings were quickly being painted over with colorful murals. Lots of front doors of buildings had big padlocks indicating that they were infested with units converted to airbnbs. Our place actually looked like it had once been a hostel, but was now exclusively used for airbnb. Our room was nice and the roof had a very cool common space with nice views.
We headed back out and popped into one of the spots that I had seen a few minutes earlier. It was this really old school bar, full of locals enjoying each other’s company over afternoon drinks and tapas. I was shocked to find that when I asked for a menu, they server pointed to the qr code. Ok, well, I previously vowed to never stay at a place that only has a qr code menu and we’d left at least one place in Granada for that reason, but I wanted to stay here too badly. So we ordered something off the specials board. We got albondigas en salsa de almendras (meatballs in almond sauce) and a couple of vermouths. The meatballs were pretty awesome, and we scooped up all the extra sauce with bread. There was a lot of other stuff on other tables that I wanted to try, but without a menu, there was nothing we could do. Plus, we really just came in for a snack. We went back to our building to relax and have a siesta on the rooftop, trying to get as much sun as we could while we were here.
When we headed back out we did some shopping. Not normal people shopping, but we went to a couple of “everything stores”. These are a genre of stores, often Chinese run, which sell all kinds of cheap household products, tools, kitchenware, and lots and lots more. We have them in France, but in our experience they are way more interesting in Spain. Lise mostly wanted to find a specific nail polish that she had once found in Valencia. We also went to a pop up thrift store/fundraiser for a religious organization. They had some weird stuff for sale that was interesting to look at, but nothing really worth buying.
That evening we tried to go to one of the other restaurants that I had wanted to try in our neighborhood. I was attracted to it as their menu looked kind of classic, with some original twists as well as an emphasis on sherry. Southern Spain is the sherry region and I have very little experience with it. I think it’s probably way more common in England than in France. I can never find it. And down here there’s such a huge variety and I wanted to get to know them a bit. Unfortunately, when we showed up, the place was all booked up for the evening. We walked down the street, wondering what our next move would be, when we passed a fairly empty bar with a band playing. Well, why not go check this place out? The band was semi-casually playing jazzy tunes when we walked in. We sat at the bar and ordered a couple of beers. The bartender, a young-seeming, but probably middle-aged hipster explained that there was a band, so the cover was $6 each. We’re usually too cheap to pay for thing, but it wasn’t too expensive and we were already sitting down, so we leaned into the spontaneity. People, who mostly seemed like regulars, slowly filled the space and the band got started. They played fun, bouncing music, most of which seemed like covers of old American jazz tunes. The bartender, efficiently supplied everyone with drinks and food all while contributing to the percussion session with pairs of tongs or spoons or whatever he had in his hand at the moment. I never learned if he was the owner, a manager or just an employee, but he really seemed to be enjoying himself in a way that showed that he had a deep connection to this place. He was almost as enjoyable to watch as the band. It really looked like this neighborhood was about to get super hipster.
Day 12
In the morning we enjoyed our coffee on the rooftop before heading to the center to check out the market. We got there fairly early and it wasn’t too crowded. Within five minutes though, it was like a cruise ship unloaded in front of the market and it was suddenly inundated, mostly with foreigners, so we quickly got out of there. I didn’t feel like I had missed much as it was kind of pricey, though I had wanted to find some dried wormwood in hopes of making homemade vermouth when I got back home. We stopped at a simple cafe next to the market. Lise wanted another coffee and we got some pretty good ham and manchego sandwiches. The server accidentally gave us two coffees, so I got a second coffee too! Bonus. Then we went on a stroll through the center, where we passed several wedding parties. Then it was off to the beach, which was maybe a twenty minute walk from the center.
I’ve been to a lot of beaches in my life and most of them, frankly, are disappointing. Maybe it’s incessantly windy, or there’s no waves, or it’s filthy or the water is full of algae or maybe it’s too crowded. There’s always something. I wasn’t expecting much out of this beach, but it turned out to be shockingly good. It was pretty clean, not too crowded, the water/air temperature was just warm enough to swim in, but barely. There were guys walking up and down the street selling drinks and beach blankets and women selling massages, but they weren’t annoying or pushy. It was a great beach! We stayed for a couple of hours before walking back through the port area. There four cruise ships in port, spewing holiday makers into the mall-like shopping area that faced the sea. Then we passed through the botanical gardens before reaching our neighborhood. We stopped at a grocery store for apero things and went back to our rooftop. For our whole time there we would have the rooftop to ourselves. We were very lucky. We set out our little apero stuff, which consisted of olives, Iberico ham, cherry tomatoes and a can of mussels. Then, right at 8 o’clock, we headed out to that nearby restaurant that we had tried to go to the night before. I had seen online that they had “chicharones de Cadiz” a local dish of pork belly that I had made at home before, but still hadn’t tried it in its natural habitat.
I’m just gonna say it. This highly anticipated meal was disappointing. First, we ordered two different sherries. Lise got the oloroso and I got the fino, the driest of the sherries. It was…really really dry. I had previously tried the Pedro Ximenez sherry and that one is like syrupy and so sweet, but kind of too intensely so. But the opposite of the spectrum fino, wasn’t really my thing either. We ordered a plate of blue sheep cheese from the “Peaks of Europe” in northwestern Spain. That would probably be the highlight of the meal. There weren’t a ton of vegetable options on the menu, but we got some marinated tomatoes. For $7 we were served a pretty sad plate of seven slices of tomato with some garlic and olive oil. It was out of season (maybe my fault, but maybe I thought late October might still be ok in southern Spain) and tasted of water. Actually, sorry, if it’s out of season, you shouldn’t have it on the menu. Maybe it’s a Spain thing. It’s such a tomato-obsessed country, but does that mean eating them all year even if they’re tasteless? Anyway, we also ordered the solomillo en manteca, or pork loin in lard. This was a local specialty that I had heard about. It’s basically what it says it is, pork loin that has been cooked in lard, usually spiced and colored with smoked paprika. When I had seen this been sold in the market, the chunks of pork were bathing in a bright orange liquid. When it arrived at the table, I was surprised to find that it was cold and the lard was in solid chunks. The plating was also mystifying. I couldn’t tell if they were trying to be kind of old school or rustic, or if they just didn’t care at all about presentation. Big chunks of pork were haphazardly lounging among a big pile of lard that just seemed to be smeared onto the plate. I also realized that this was less of a dish to be eaten on its own, and more of a charcuterie product in the same category as rillette. It was also pretty bland, under seasoned and could play about two notes: Heavy and fatty. I don’t really want to criticize if this is how it’s supposed to be and if that’s the case, it’s not my thing. Finally, we got the dish that Lise had ordered, the flamenquin. She had loved the flamenquin bocadillo in our favorite sandwich spot in Granada. That version was simple and petit, something small enough to put on a roll. The restaurant version of the flamenquin was an unwieldy monster of rich, fatty layers all rolled up. As a reminder, it’s a slice ham, wrapped in pork loin, stuffed with cheese (usually), breaded and fried. This one was enormous, nothing close to elegant and pretty delicious. It also, felt unbalanced, though. There was almost no acidic element to cut through the richness that piled onto your palate with every bite. The little dish of tomatoes was no match for a pile of pork in lard and a tube of fried pork
stuffed with cheese. It was nice to have kind of a special dinner, you know, a normal restaurant experience, which we don’t do all that often. It was just too bad that I had gotten my hopes up. I was also disappointed that they didn’t have the couple of the things on the menu that I had seen when I looked online that I had been excited about. Anyway, what can I really complain about? I got to travel to Spain and have a pretty awesome time, but the nice restaurant was less good than I’d hoped? Whatever.
Day 13
I had wanted go to one of the Malaga’s other markets, since the main market had been something of a let down. Unfortunately, they were all closed as it was Sunday. In France, Sunday is one of the most common market days, but I guess Spain is just too Catholic. So instead we decided to head up to the Alcazaba, the Moorish era fortress that sits right there in the middle of the city. We figured it would be good to go early on a Sunday morning to beat the crowds. We were at the ticket kiosk when we two things happened simultaneously. First, we saw that starting at 2PM, entrance would be free. Second, a huge group of people came in right behind us. Well, we weren’t beating the crowds, so we might as well come back later for free. And it was still sunny, so we headed back to the beach. It was another nice few hours at the beach. For lunch we went to one of the seafood restaurants that sat directly on the beach. They had massive barbecue pits set up where they were grilling all sorts of seafood, including long skewers of sardines, an iconic culinary tradition in Malaga. We had to wait in line for a table for a while. When we got to our seat, we saw that the sardines were the only reasonably price thing on the menu, but that was fine as that was what we were there for. The sardines were nice, nothing fancy, just some grilled fish with salt and lemon. Lise especially enjoyed it. The service was quick here as this restaurants mission was volume. They had us in and out of there in probably 35 minutes. We didn’t mind, though, as we had plenty of things to do.
At the strike of 2PM, we entered the Alcazaba for free. It was definitely more crowded than it had been earlier, but it wasn’t that bad. The Alcazaba sat right next to a 2000 year old Roman theater that was re-discovered in the middle of the 20th century. Malaga has a ton of history. It is believed to be founded by the Phoenicians in 770 BC and is one of the oldest continuously inhabited cities in western Europe. Considering that, the Alcazaba, constructed and re-constructed from the 11th to the 14th century, seems like relatively recent history. The fort was a network of passageways, towers, gates, gardens and stairways. It was really fun to just aimlessly explore. When we’d seen pretty much all of it, we took the very long walled corridor up to the top of Mount Gibralfaro and the Gibralfaro Castle. This hilltop has served as a fortified lookout point for various occupiers of the city, including the Phoenicians and the Moors. It was even partially destroyed by the French during the Peninsular War in the early 17th century. We walked along the top of the wall that surrounded it, taking in the excellent views of the city and the mediterranean. Underneath one of the walkways there was what seemed to be some prison cells, which also had great views. There wasn’t a lot to
see inside the walls, as a lot of what had once been a castle had been destroyed. The central building did contain a museum which was moderately interesting. The walk back down the hill to town was tough on my knee, but eventually the pain went away.
We walked through the center and stopped at a little liquor store called “Supercaro”, which had a goofy green logo and a silly name (Super Expensive). They had an incredible selection of obscure liquors, liqueurs amaros and apertivos from Spain and all over the world. The prices were pretty nice too. I had to choose very carefully what bottles I would bring home. I could have bought have the store as they had so many things I’d only heard of, but never seen or bottles that would normally have been too expensive to buy. I ended up with a local bottle of vermouth, a Basque anise and sloe flavored liqueur called Patxaran and Cynar (Lise’s choice), an Italian artichoke-infused amaro.
Our sardine lunch hadn’t exactly stuck to our ribs, so we headed to a little tavern I had noticed the day before tucked away in an alley. We sat on stools around a big wine barrel table and ordered vermouth, a moscatel and some fried eggplants. We hadn’t tried moscatel, a fortified wine, but it was a bit too sweet for us. The eggplants were a specialty from Andalucia and they come drizzled with some very dark cane syrup. It was really delicious and unique. We also ordered some other specialties from around here that I’d been hoping to try. The bocadillo de Pringa, a sandwich of pulled pork seasoned in warm spices was awesome. The gambas al pil pil, or shrimps cooked in olive oil with garlic and paprika seemed directly related to the Mexican dish of Camarones a la Diabla. Obviously it was good, though I probably prefer the Mexican version. Lise also wanted to get a smoked salmon and roquefort bocadillo. I thought it seemed like an insane sandwich, but she loved it. I mean, it was good, but seafood+cheese combos are already controversial, so taking two of the strongest tasting items from their respective categories seemed culinary radical, if not downright illegal.
We spent the rest of the evening strolling in the center, looking at some old churches and what not. We headed back to our neighborhood, hoping to stop off at one of the local bars for a final drink and/or snack in Malaga, but being Sunday, everything was closed. So instead, we bought a couple beers from a shop and had a final moment enjoying our rooftop views of the Alcazaba and the Gibralfaro Castle. Then we packed up and got ready for our journey back north the next day.
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