We came to the train station early to get tickets for what we thought was a 3:30 train to Malaga. We soon realized that there was a 12:10 train for Malaga. Thinking it might be the only one, we ran hard. Panting, we jumped onto our train at 12:08. It left two minutes later.
Malaga is beautiful. The streets are sandy from the beach, the buildings all have Mediterranean flair, and the food is awesome and cheap. We want to live in this perfect beach town.
Malaga was first a Phoenician trading colony. Later, it was the chief port of the Emirate of Granada (Muslim rule in Spain). During the civil war, it was a Republican stronghold before Italian planes bombed the city to pieces and Nationalist sympthasers were killed in 1937. Today, it is a Eurotrip playground.
We keep meeting fascinating people. At the beach, we met three Spanish girls, and we spoke in broken Spanish, and they spoke in broken English. We went out to dinner with a friendly English guy named Billy. He once was Muslim but had thrown off religion and become an atheist.
He showed us the best local discoteca, and we danced the night away. In the morning, a hostel worker came into the room saying we needed to get up so that they could change the sheets. We had slept through breakfast. It was after noon. But thats (I cant find the apostrophe on this European keyboard) life right now; we have no schedule, we wake up when we please, rest when we get lazy, and improvise each days itinerary. Today, we may go to the bull-fighting museum, or the beach (which stays light past 8:30), or both.
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michael is going to the running of the bulls. make sure he doesn't get killed. and, for the record, don't run yourself, as i fear you will.
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