After waking early Wednesday morning, discovering a rain of emails declaring our first flight had been cancelled, talking with the airline for well over an hour only to find no work-arounds, booking a flight with another airline, arriving early Tuesday in Madrid—back on schedule—taking a high speed AVE train to Málaga, after all that and working on two or so hours sleep we step out onto the old city’s polished marble sidewalks and take a deep breath of salt-scented air.
We are here.
Early evening, we join our small tour group of Brits, Irish, we Canadians and our Spanish guide for a tour of Málaga’s finest drink and tapas establishments. Jamon, pickled white anchovies, fried courgette, prawns are all washed down with local wines, vermouth and muscat. It keeps us going till midnight. It is only while winding our way back to our hotel that late Thursday night, after a near disastrous start yesterday morning and a thoroughly satisfying arrival this evening, that we are, finally and thoroughly, dead tired.
On with the adventure.