As a freshly minted college grad, while my friends immediately headed into the working world after receiving their diplomas, my next step in life was quite different. I headed in the opposite direction.
After eighteen years of being immersed in study, an extended vacation was in order. Loading up my 1976 lime green VW Westfalia camper, I embarked on an 18-month solo travel adventure exploring every nook and cranny of our amazing country, and in the process, myself. One of the stops I was looking forward to the most was going back to our annual destination for family summer fun when I was growing up – Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. But what I discovered was that returning to one’s familiar stomping grounds after many years have passed often results in much different outcomes than originally envisioned.
In my mind’s eye, everything would be exactly the same as it was in the early 1970s… as if time stopped. I pictured pulling up to the same picturesque seaside town with the small boardwalk at its’ epicenter. The same place where my siblings and I spent endless hours frolicking in the surf and tunneling under the boardwalk, hoping to find the lost change that fell through the cracks from the window transactions above. But pulling into town almost two decades later, I was grossly underwhelmed with what welcomed me. I found endless cookie-cutter strip malls and gaudy McMansions where the quaint neighborhoods with small summer cottages used to be, an endless array of tourist traps and neon signage for as far as the eye could see, and a boardwalk that went on for miles in all directions as opposed to the few short blocks I had remembered. Definitely not the place that was ingrained in my memory.
The experience of returning to Málaga proved to have the same kind of visceral wrestling match with my cerebral cortex, but in a very positive way. As with Seville, I had called Málaga home when I visited my father in Spain as a teenager. Exploring the city, the first thing I noticed was the new construction everywhere you looked. It definitely wasn’t the same city I had remembered. The harbor was still there, but it had been greatly expanded to accommodate the large cruise ships and navy vessels which occupied the berths. The entire harbor area had become a premier destination with up-scale shopping, chic restaurants, a brand new contemporary art museum, and a large promenade with rows of free-standing sculptures. The improvements were made initially to capture the arriving cruise ship passengers’ attention and hard currency. But you will find just as many locals enjoying the harbor area as you will tourists on any given day, which speaks volumes in terms of the success of the city planning efforts.
Everywhere I went in Málaga there was a contagious vibrant new energy swirling around that I didn’t remember being present three decades earlier. The same amazing antiquities like the Catedral de la Encarnación and the Mercado de Atarazanas were still the showpieces of El Centro. But oddly enough, something totally unexpected was added since I had been there last – new antiquities which exponentially increased the charm. But how can a city possibly add new ancient structures to its footprint? In 2011 the ruins of a near complete and meticulously restored ancient amphitheater built in the 1stcentury AD, as well as a salting factory which was believed to have been built and operated by the Phoenicians almost 8 centuries earlier was unearthed, meticulously excavated, and opened to the public. Access routes were incorporated from the ruins to the city center and new walking paths added that deliver citizens and visitors alike up to the city’s two massive hilltop citadels, the Alcazaba and ruined Gibralfaro. From the top of the hill, you can get a full panoramic view of the sprawling metropolis below to include everything from: the Plaza de Toros de La Malagueta, the Ayuntamiento, the Fuente de las Tres Gracias, Paseo del Parque, and La Farola at the mouth of the harbor. It’s a solid hike to the top, but a must-see view for anyone who travels there.
The largest southernmost city in Europe, Málaga sits along the Costa del Sol (Coast of the Sun) on the edge of the Mediterranean Sea. Located about 100 kilometers (~60 miles) north-east of the Strait of Gibraltar, it is recognized as one of the world’s oldest cities with close to three thousand years of documented history. The Phoenicians from Tyre originally founded a commercial center there which they named “Malaca” in 770 B.C., believed to be derived from the word “malac”, the Phoenician word for “salt” as fish was salted near the harbor. The Romans then colonized Spain in 218 B.C. and stayed for more than six centuries. After the fall of the empire and the end of the Visigothic rule, it was “Mālaqah” under the Moors for 800 years, until the Reconquista in 1487 when the Crown of Castille gained control.
Many famous people have emanated from Málaga to include: one of the most influential artists of the 20th century Pablo Picasso, Hebrew poet and Jewish philosopher Solomon Ibn Gabirol, and the actor Antonio Banderas. Today there are some 570,000 residents in the city that call it home. Walking around and interacting with its inhabitants you immediately notice the wide variety of languages spoken, the number of ex-pats living up and down the Costa del Sol from countries like Germany, Britain and the USA seeking warmer climates incrementally rising since Franco’s death in 1975.
My time in Málaga was focused on visiting with my cousin Fernando, melting away the decade which had come between our last visit. From the moment we embraced at the train station the family bond was undeniable, regardless of the space and time which divides us. It never ceases to amaze me how once back together with my Spanish family it feels like no time has passed at all.
A single father and total foodie like myself, he had taken the same life trajectory focusing his work efforts on business development, selling into large corporations as an outside vendor partner. Losing both his parents as well two siblings, the transient nature of life and the memory of those who have passed before us occupied a great deal of our conversation. We spun endless family stories, discussed the political unrest in Catalan, he walked me through the necessary steps to make the perfect tortilla Española, and we introduced one another to our favorite musical artists, filling his flat with song and belly laughs.
My time with Fernando was an absolute gift and we were even able to squeeze in a professional soccer game, watching Málaga Club de Fútbol beat Celtic RC by a score of 2-1 at their home stadium. But the most coveted memory of my time with my cousin took place the night we went to eat at the Chiringuito Tropicana. The meal was extraordinary in terms of the quality of the dishes, but it was how they prepared the fish that was the memorable part. The restaurant was located beachfront. On the sand directly outside of the restaurant was a boat full of heated stones, with olive wood slowing burning on top where the traditional preparation for grilling skewers of freshly caught and generously salted Mediterranean sardines took place. The flavor of the fish was indescribably delicious, and the accompanying side dishes took the meal completely off the charts. Finishing the feast as well as several bottles of local red wine followed by several more shots of a traditional Añejo Seco for an aperitif, we hopped on his scooter and serenaded the city at the top of our lungs to the children’s classic – “A Mí Me Gusta.”
As a house guest, knowing how long to stay and when to move on to your next destination is a true art form. Regardless of who my host is and the offer to stay as long as I’d like extended, one must always be cognizant of when you’ve overstayed your welcome. My personal rule of thumb for being in someone’s care is comparable to the shelf life of fresh fish in your refrigerator – after about 3 days both begin to stink. And my other must do, always leave the place you are staying with some considerate gesture(s) or action(s) which demonstrate(s) the gratitude for the hospitality rendered.
It was Sunday morning, 5am CET (Central European Time). I was wide awake. Sunday morning, the only day Fernando had void of work efforts and able to sleep in and I certainly didn’t want to hinder my host’s slumber in any way. After a couple of hours tiptoeing around my room and doing my best to be a ninja house guest, as soon as I saw the sun beginning to crest on the horizon I decided to exit the apartment for a long walk to welcome the morning. Putting all of my clothes on and exiting his flat, I could hear the faint sounds of snoring assuring me that my efforts to leave stealthily were successful. I had managed to quietly pass two hours in a room adjoining my cousin without disturbing him in any way. With his front door closed and now in the pitch dark lobby, I searched for the light switch on the wall outside in the hallway of his apartment. Engaging it, to my horror the light didn’t illuminate. Instead, I rang the doorbell. Oh shit.
Fernando exited from his room half asleep but fully pissed. His confusion of exactly what was happening was apparent as he approached me with my sheepish face begging for forgiveness at his front door. After explaining what had happened he directed me to the light switch, stormed away in utter disbelief returning to his bedroom, the door slam an exclamation point on the entire episode.
It was quiet in the street. I left my cousin’s apartment building, drinking up the silence and tranquility of the new morning. Weaving my way down through the neighborhoods to sea level and the Paseo Maritimo, I followed the beach path until I reached La Malagueta. It was a beautiful sprawling beach which runs along the northern coast of the city, empty now but full with sun worshipers in a few hour’s time. Even in November – Malaga boasts over 300 days of sunshine per year, the high temp never going much below 60 degrees even on the coldest of winter days.
The wide marble walkway I was traversing stretches from the lighthouse at the end of the Paseo de la Farola (the tip of the harbor) all the way up Málaga’s eastern coastline heading to Benajarafe. Along the way I passed a small utility vehicle cleaning the path with an affixed pressure washer, people out with their dogs, lovers on a bench holding hands, two middle-aged men heading out on a mountain bike ride, and several others jogging along the oceanfront drive. The Spaniards enjoy their Mediterranean coast. The beaches and beachfront property all accessible, void of private homes taking up the prime views, allowing one to stroll along the length of the shoreline unencumbered.
Breakfast was delicious, another volley of churros y chocolate on my final morning in town. I was sitting in a café in El Centro, awash in awe drinking up all of the visual candy and incredible energy of this amazing city. There was absolutely no blight here, every storefront bustling with a commercial venture of one kind or another. It was so different than I had remembered, not able to recall a time when I ever came down to enjoy this incredible bustling city center with my father when he was alive and I called Málaga my home.
The mystery was finally solved when Fernando came to pick me up. He explained that about 10 years earlier they had turned the majority of the streets in the main part of the city into walking paths, making the area off-limits to cars which in turn completely changed the feel, flow, and energy of the heart of the city. As with Sevilla, this dated metropolis had been given a facelift and new lease on life.
Without arguement, the additional foot traffic the cruise ships bring to Málaga, Sevilla and any city they berth in clearly comes at a cost in terms of congestion and controlled chaos. On the flip side, the added commerce and assurance of a steady stream of revenue bring with it investment dollars and revitalization. These charming cities are keeping current, relevant and vibrant. Progress. And this time, the Spaniards got it right. !OLE!