A dark cloud suddenly blots out the sunlight and a flock of seagulls takes flight from the nearby pier. We are now onboard the Seabourn Spirit and will be sailing away in a few minutes. We arrived in Malaga yesterday afternoon after over 20 grueling hours of travel time which were made a lot more bearable thanks to a check-in upgrade to executive class for the transatlantic flight; the Air Canada "pods" are good for overnight flights, they are very good indeed.

Since our time in town would be short we took the shortest of cat naps (did I say cat? I'm already missing my kitties) and then set off from our hotel, wonderfully located in the heart of the old town. The agenda was to visit the Alcazaba and Gibralfaro, a moslem palace and fortress combo perched on a hill on the edge of the old town, off what was once the medieval city wall. We toured the Alcazaba, a beautifully restored palace dating back to the 11th century with restrained Arabic architecture, where a succession of courtyards with pools and fountains gives a sense of peace and serenity, far removed from its bloddy history of attacks and invasions. Afterwards, inmersed in the scent of orange trees, we climbed the steep, strenous slate path leading to Gibralfaro, the fortress built to provide protection to the palace and the town. A 360 degree view of the city from the strategically built fortress ramparts brings to life its original purpose and the important role it once played.

Malaga is a big city and most of it is of the "anywhere in the world" kind. Its true gem is the old town; an intricate maze of narrow winding streets, some no wider than the span of my outstreched arms. Its balconies so quintessentially European, every pedestrian-only street paved with a different type of natural stone or tile. Its charm can be seen, heard, touched, tasted and smelled, there is a sensory feast taking place anywhere you go. This is Easter Week and, in stark contrast with the chocolate eggs and stuffed easter bunnies of Canada, it is big.

Spain, a primarily Catholic country, knows how to do Easter. While my upbringing in South America exposed me to much the same, nothing could have prepared Blake for it. It took a while for him to understand that this is not a parade, nor it it a fair or a street party; and that the men dressed like members of the KKK, with tall conical hats and robes following the altar with silver staffs and burning incense, are nothing like the clan; they are in fact called "Nazarenos" and are deeply devout men serving their God, no racial connotations whatsover. It is a centuries' old religious tradition which brings out people of all ages; entire families in fact, to line the streets on foot and on chairs and bleachers set up for one purpose: to re-live the passion of Christ. Out He comes in ornate, gilt altars carried aloft by dozens of pious men, followed by armies of believers.

We are caught in the sea of people, entire streets are blocked for the processions and we are late for our 9:00 pm dinner reservation at "Meson Lo Gueno". After a while we give up on my "innate sense of direction" and, barging through the crowds, Blake finally leads us to its doors a good half-hour late. It is a charming old world restaurant and yes, they've kept our table. We order beer and the house Rioja and let the waiter suggest a few tapas. Delicious, wholesome, authentic, fantastic dinner. The names of the tapas are quite familiar: paella, gambas al ajillo, jamon, etc., the taste is nothing short of fantastic. Afterwards we attempt to redeem ourselves by walking it off but our efforts are thwarted by a well placed street car selling "Bunuelos"; light and fluffy mini-doughnuts smothered in chocolate sauce. We stroll arm in arm, scraping the bottom of the cardboard container, licking the sauce off of our fingers. It's almost midnight but you'd never know it.

The streets are still filled with people having tapas and wine. The time change and long hours finally catch up with us, we call it a night.

This morning we set off in search of shoes for moi; alas, it is a holiday and most places are closed. Most but not all! perseverance and a handfull of bandaids for my blistered feet pay off and we score a beautiful pair of shoes and matching bag. Yeah.

Shortly before 1 pm we head to the cruise terminal. In minutes we're whisked on board and shown to our cabin where a nicely chilled bottle of Nicolas Feuillate awaits. We finally leave Malaga and set off for Mahon, Menorca.

Pics tomorrow.

Alcazaba

Alcazaba Courtyard

Balconies in Malaga



From Gibralfaro 

Meson Lo Gueno 

Nazarenos

Pea in a Pod?