After decades of abstention, I'm planning four air flights on one year. Now it's me Diz and Mole at Yeadon, checking in with Ryanair. Lola has to go thought extra machine on her own, and my suitcase is searched cos of the container of talc.
After what seemed like and actually was three hours, sitting in one small cramped place! we arrived at Malaga, hit by that wonderful first waft of warm air that Britain just doesn't do. Luke arrives, and we take the coastal road to Torrox and turn left up zigzag hill.
Our tent is a sight for sore eyes. Worth all the terror, no, not Luke's driving, I mean the flight, of course! The tent is beautiful, the night view down to the coats is magic, we celebrate in the customary way.
Our companions on the glampsite site are Grainne (pronounced Gronya) and her son Tom who is nearly eight. As Lola is nine this is perfect for childhood happiness. Plunge pool, play pool, splashing about. Chill out day for me, shopping on Torrox Lidl for them. Julian opens the Dom Julian cocktail bar this evening. We drink. Daisy, Grainne and Lola and Tom dance. That is all understatement.
Next day we walk down the zigzags in the hot sun. This takes 1 very hot hour and ten very hot minutes .
Find a bus stop near the puebla and we don't move till a bus appears at it. Ice creams and a paddle on the beach at Torrox. This is how the Rough Guide describes the Costa de Sol:
"on the coast it's easy to despair . . . Costa del Sol, Europe's most heavily developed resort area with its poor beaches behind a remorseless density of concrete hotels and apartment complexes" and, of the approach to Torremolinas, and the town itself, " a drab soulless landscape of kitchenette apartments . . and half-finished developments." and "a vast grotesque parody of a seaside resort."
I wasn't immediately endeared to the place.
Taking the fast bus now on the coastal road to Malaga. Every summit, every dry piece of earth seems littered with buildings, a few derelict and decaying, some small and some with fabulous turrets and intricate details, all mostly orange, or yellow.
Malaga is well old, absolutely stunning and architectural. Somehow Angie and Grainne find me a room in a house for the night. This is as cultural architectural as it gets. The house is part of a terrace in the north of the town, there is courtyard with winding gangly plants reaching to the roof and a fat Burmese cat; the room has a balcony overlooking the alleyway below. there's no breakfast because the landlord declares, there's plenty of cafe bars around who can provide breakfast better for less. Lol.
We all walk dine and drink around pedestrianised Malaga, pedestrians have massive right of way. Angie's friend at Los Gatos helps us locate the Riad and also charges her dying phone. He asks if I am a rock star; I agree that I am, and give him our steelband card.
At sevenish they all leave for the bus back, and I take too big a turn about Malaga. Arrive back at the Riad with a bottle of white, can't even finish it! Do find wifi thankfully, needed to put an event organiser's mind at rest, hope I did!
See below the beautiful lampshade, the balcony over the street. Loving it! See the buildings, the riverbed [where did the river go]. From a glamping haven to a Spanish heaven.
Next morning, up early at 7.30, decide to walk down along the river to the train station. Discover the perfect trendy hippy breakfast place, stay un poco too long there. Find the river, but the river was dry. Can't find the nearer station, walk on to the bigger one, try to take a normal train, should be on the light train, different set of platforms. It is now 10.45; boarding closes at 11.35, the train arrives at 11.13, aero puerto at 11.25' race at the boarding gates. Which one? Panic, go through. But it miles to gate C37, arrive there at 11.38, and am not the last!
Contemplate crying with relief. Can't be bothered with aerophobia, but three does seem to be a hole in my window! Now it is home and Manchester Carnival. On closer inspection perhaps not a hole.
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