Picasso and going solo
G’s off early to the station to book his ticket home while I use the lavanderia. (No, it’s not the lavatory, it’s the laundry service.) Breakfast’s included in the 12 Euro bill but Chief doesn’t respond to an SMS calling him back to base. It’s already 1130 when the drier reluctantly lets go of my clothes.
Slipping into solo pilot mode, the m.o. is clear. Head towards the closest tourist information centre, get a map and trace one of the recommended paths through the town. The path snakes in and out of beautiful cobbled streets and past a makeshift stage where local artists play rock on a sunny morning.
First stop is the Museo Picasso Malaga. The guy’s said to have said that it took him 60 years to learn to paint like a kid and how right he is. The pencil sketchings convince me that my Biology lab records have a future at the Louvre but I leave well entertained.
G’s been lost from my radar for 2 hours but I’m enjoying the solo trip and make no attempt to radio him. Pescado is too expensive and I settle for a pollo baguette and a chocolate cone. Admission to the Alcazaba (fortress) is free from 1400 but not at 1345. Fifteen minutes are filled with a visit to the remains of a Roman amphitheater, a stone’s throw away.
The Alcazaba is pretty, filled with gardens and provides a splendid view of the Malaga port. The Castillo Gibralfaro (a Moorish castle) is too far to tempt me into a visit, especially with the beaches of Malaga still to go. I head in the direction of the coast and the estacion, walk through manmade clusters of Mediterranean vegetation, and chance upon an Internet centre.
All mail accounts and instant messengers checked, an idea pops up. With 4 days of the ‘weekend’ left and only fuzzy plans to explore Granada, Madrid and maybe Lisbon, I google for info on the Andalucian beaches. What I read more than convinces me to head back south after Granada.
The train to Granada via Bodadilla leaves even while I’m mapping my route using the Eurail time-table. Directions to the autobus estacion from another uniformed officer and a friendly Nigerian who hands me anti Roman Cathloic Church propaganda take me to the bus station and about three hours later I am in Granada.
Granada
The tourist office is open even at 1830. An hour of map reading gets me to Albergue de Junventud. There are no single rooms on offer and I check into a room which is already occupied by a sleeping bag and a copy of National Geographic’s guide to Andalucia. A glance through the Nat Geo indicates that our partner for the night is not quite straight.
A shower later, I get to meet my German friend. He’s nice and polite and gives me his extra bus pass for Granada and directions to cheap eat-outs, both free of cost. I decide it’s time to find out what LP means by nightlife and strike a path for the ‘happening’ centre of the town: Plaza Nueva.
Just past the mandatory cathedral, a board advertises a Mughlai restaurant. The prices are high but the hole in my stomach :) is large. I fill it with my most expensive meal to date: 16 Euros of rotis, rice and vindaloo xyz. The nightlife hunt resumes post dinner and remains unsuccessful, despite what msb later claims.
The night trip has made my plans for Sunday clear though: check out the Alhambra and clear out from Granada. The walk back to the youth hostel is through desolated streets. Even the University area is bereft of all but one old man walking a dog and one young couple sprawled all over a park bench.
Slipping into solo pilot mode, the m.o. is clear. Head towards the closest tourist information centre, get a map and trace one of the recommended paths through the town. The path snakes in and out of beautiful cobbled streets and past a makeshift stage where local artists play rock on a sunny morning.
First stop is the Museo Picasso Malaga. The guy’s said to have said that it took him 60 years to learn to paint like a kid and how right he is. The pencil sketchings convince me that my Biology lab records have a future at the Louvre but I leave well entertained.
G’s been lost from my radar for 2 hours but I’m enjoying the solo trip and make no attempt to radio him. Pescado is too expensive and I settle for a pollo baguette and a chocolate cone. Admission to the Alcazaba (fortress) is free from 1400 but not at 1345. Fifteen minutes are filled with a visit to the remains of a Roman amphitheater, a stone’s throw away.
The Alcazaba is pretty, filled with gardens and provides a splendid view of the Malaga port. The Castillo Gibralfaro (a Moorish castle) is too far to tempt me into a visit, especially with the beaches of Malaga still to go. I head in the direction of the coast and the estacion, walk through manmade clusters of Mediterranean vegetation, and chance upon an Internet centre.
All mail accounts and instant messengers checked, an idea pops up. With 4 days of the ‘weekend’ left and only fuzzy plans to explore Granada, Madrid and maybe Lisbon, I google for info on the Andalucian beaches. What I read more than convinces me to head back south after Granada.
The train to Granada via Bodadilla leaves even while I’m mapping my route using the Eurail time-table. Directions to the autobus estacion from another uniformed officer and a friendly Nigerian who hands me anti Roman Cathloic Church propaganda take me to the bus station and about three hours later I am in Granada.
Granada
The tourist office is open even at 1830. An hour of map reading gets me to Albergue de Junventud. There are no single rooms on offer and I check into a room which is already occupied by a sleeping bag and a copy of National Geographic’s guide to Andalucia. A glance through the Nat Geo indicates that our partner for the night is not quite straight.
A shower later, I get to meet my German friend. He’s nice and polite and gives me his extra bus pass for Granada and directions to cheap eat-outs, both free of cost. I decide it’s time to find out what LP means by nightlife and strike a path for the ‘happening’ centre of the town: Plaza Nueva.
Just past the mandatory cathedral, a board advertises a Mughlai restaurant. The prices are high but the hole in my stomach :) is large. I fill it with my most expensive meal to date: 16 Euros of rotis, rice and vindaloo xyz. The nightlife hunt resumes post dinner and remains unsuccessful, despite what msb later claims.
The night trip has made my plans for Sunday clear though: check out the Alhambra and clear out from Granada. The walk back to the youth hostel is through desolated streets. Even the University area is bereft of all but one old man walking a dog and one young couple sprawled all over a park bench.
posted by Chan at 23:59
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