Fun Stuff in Spain Part II

 I am not a good solo traveler. I have friends that happily travel the world alone, and I admire it so much. When I'm alone I feel self-conscious and anxious, I always wish I had someone to ask if we're going the right way and to laugh about going the wrong way. The exception to this, kind of, is museums and art galleries. There is something intoxicating about going in to one of those knowing that I can wander around wherever I want and IF I WANTED TO, I could go in, look at one exhibit or painting, and then leave. I generally don't, but I could! 

The Picasso Museum was in a part of Malaga with a big public square ringed by restaurants and a rabbit-warren of shops and galleries. Malaga was Picasso's birthplace, so obviously I had to go check it out. Every souvenir shop within a one-kilometer radius is filled with Picasso shirts, prints, bookmarks, postcards, magnets and tote bags. I did end up buying Angus a shirt because Picasso painted bulls a lot and Angus is a Taurus (I do not really cling to the tenets of astrology at all, until I do). 

 Entering the museum was a little harrowing. Unlike many places I have traveled where English is the first language, most people did not speak English, which is fine, but I have some French and a little German and no Spanish at all. There were two long lineups for the museum, and I had a pre-purchased ticket and time slot, which meant I could go in the line that only moved slightly faster than the other line. Then some dude was barking at me that I had to leave my purse at the coat check, but not in a way that was immediately understandable, so I was flustered and clutching my phone and wallet when I finally got in. I was also sweaty because holy shit Malaga was HOT. The only saving grace was that it wasn't very humid, so shade made a big difference and it was more bearable at night. Walking around during the day was like being a bug under a magnifying glass.

I didn't have a lot of knowledge about Picasso beyond Cubism and women with eyes and boobs in weird places. I found it interesting reading about his life and work. He was a bit of a nepo baby - his father was a painter and art teacher and by all accounts very encouraging of his son's talent, so there was no 'rebelling against your parents' desire for you to be a doctor' thing (was that a thing in the late 1800s? No idea). He was strongly anti-fascist and obsessed with brothels and prostitutes - it's hard to decide if this was in any way admirable or largely exploitive, but I guess if they're in art they're not being erased?

 Before I went to the museum I accidentally went to the birthplace museum, which is diagonally across the square from the art museum. After I saw the art I decided I did want to see the birthplace, which was much less crowded and expensive and equally fascinating, if not more so, partly because I had an audio guide for that one. 

The various toasts of Malaga

I also went on a tour of the Alcazaba and the Cathedral. That was amazing, largely because the tour guide was fantastic - young, enthusiastic, and hilarious. The Alcazaba was built by the Muslim rulers of Malaga as a fortification, and the guide led us up to the top, stopping at every turn to describe why the way it was built was so brilliant. There were double doors  in narrow corridors and sharp turns so it would be almost impossible for the attackers to get enough momentum to use a battering ram. Once they got in the first door, it was dark so the first people who entered could be picked off easily by archers from above. There were walls where boiling water (not oil, apparently that's a myth, oil was too expensive and hard to heat) could be poured down, and the floors were constructed so the water would make them slippery. Where there were two ways to go, the guide would ask us which way we picked, and then tell us whether we died or not. Then when we got to the top, he told us that all of the ingenious construction turned out to be futile, because the Spanish laid siege to the city and they ended up surrendering. This made me feel really sad for the builders, which is probably weird because presumably fewer people died?

The Cathedral was visually stunning, even though I have a very complicated relationship with churches. I still liked hearing the history. 

By the end of the tour my feet were done and I was remembering the August that I walked around Central Park in New York with my friend Marilyn and when we got back to the hotel room I said this was the wettest I had ever been while still wearing clothes (I also said "you want first shower? I'm getting naked either way!" and she said "uh, you go ahead"). I now had a new contender for that benchmark. 

I booked an Uber, but then ran into the same problem I had encountered a few times - tiny, narrow streets and Uber drivers that could not locate me and did not speak English. A lot of street were not very well marked either. I walked up and down trying to figure out where the first driver was and never managed to find him. I felt like I was about to burst into flame and I was getting the stabbing pain that happens in my right quadripcep when I'm on my feet for too long, and I was feeling slightly desperate. The second driver finally mentioned something about a garbage truck, and I said wait! I just passed the garbage truck! And found him, thank all the gods. 

I went back to the hotel and had a very cold shower. Matt had a work dinner that night, so I went out with another couple - I had met the man in San Francisco, Matt's giant company had just acquired his tiny company and his wife was there helping him at the trade show. The company is called DORC, so Matt kept saying "are you ready for your three-way with the Dorcs?" They were super fun, we drank a lot of wine and I had Wagyu beef for the first time, despite the fact that I had kept reading that it was crucial to go to Malaga and try a Galician blonde (this apparently refers to steak, not sex workers, thank goodness, but nice callback to Picasso I GUESS.)