 |
| Malaga to Madrid via Grenada, Spain |
It was as hot as hell in Malaga the next day. After the start of a busy work-week, we were keen to explore the city and visit the Picasso Museum which was about a ten-minute walk from the hotel via old streets. The queue to gain entry to the museum was thankfully short and we took to the various levels of the old building and casually inspected the 200+ paintings and sculptures that are either part of the permanent collection or on loan from elsewhere and the extended Picasso family. It was a great collection and with hesitation moved into the temporary exhibition - Andy Warhol, next. I just don't care for his work. Period. In my opinion, he morphed into what he originally criticised and is the definition of the term "sell-out." I literally can't stand his work, despite some of it being very colourful. I suppose with art, it is like having an arsehole, everyone has one.
We happened into an air-conditioned bodega for lunch. Jamon, raw tuna and cold soup were all quickly consumed along with a pitcher of sangria to take the edge off. After returning to my laptop after an extended lunch period, I put out some fires back in London and then took a nap. Travels were beginning to take a toll on me and my body was grateful for a bit of a sleep.
Not being in the mood to get dressed again only to sweat the night away in various tapas bars in this beautiful city, we found ourselves drinking pints in the hotel bar, actually using the voucher for free drinks for a change. I was pleased that I finished the final edit of one of the chapters of my book as the clock indicated that midnight had passed. Children continued to run around the lobby and babies screaming. Why weren't these children in bed sleeping? I learned that besides being the birthplace of Picasso, Malaga has quite the history and is considered one of the oldest proper cities in the world. Besides for its Phoenician beginnings, where old ruins can be explored in the basement of the Picasso Museum, to being one of the Republican hold-outs during the Spanish Civil War, there is a rich history associated with this city and I was sad that I had only booked two nights here and considered it a place to transit. I also enjoyed a walk around Picasso's house, which is not far from the Museum. Although it is a bit kitsch, it was a fun self-guided tour where the audio guide didn't tell you much.
After a morning consumed by meetings where I enjoyed the predictably cold air conditioning blasting on my near-naked body from above, I finished the last talk-fest at around 11:00 PM. We checked out and were sweating by the time we meandered to retrieve the Benz from its tomb. The back windows were lowered and we motored down the highway toward Granada. The sweat started to drip down my back again but I knew that it was a temporary inconvenience. Ninety minutes later we pulled into the Norauto. I presented myself to the staff and explained in broken Spanish that I have a freon leak and I needed the air conditioning recharged. Not a problem! We walked next door and hung out at the Burger King for an hour and returned only to have working air conditioning once again. I know that it will continue to leak freon but at least I know in three weeks that I can simply undergo this tedious process once again. After e-mailing various Mercedes dealerships in both France and Spain and getting absolutely no service, I was pleased to have this fixed again, even if it is a temporary solution.
The drive to Madrid was uneventful. I put my foot down and averaged 150km/hr along the highway and didn't live in fear of the coppers and featured on the front of the tabloid newspaper for being a "potential baby killer" like you would be if you dared travelled so quickly, yet safely, in Australia. After ditching the motorcar in the underground parking structure upon arriving in Madrid, we used the free vouchers for a few drinks in the hotel bar before finding a restaurant not far away. I indulged on the Jamon and red tuna as per usual however the quantity of wine must have got to me. At some point in the night after returning to the hotel, I woke up needing to spew. Some went on the hardwood floor and then me before I could get to the toilet and vacate my stomach. The twink slept through this inconvenient event and I begrudgingly cleaned up the mess that I made and then returned to the land of Nod. The next morning the twink mentioned that it was odd that we did not have any hand towels. I informed them that I used them to clean up the mess I made and threw them outside our neighbour's room in the hallway to be collected. He thought I was telling a lie as he couldn't believe he slept through my late night offering to the porcelain god, which in the end he was pleased that he missed out on. I blamed it on the old fish pie that I consumed the night prior but he insisted I spewed because of excessive alcohol intake, which I do not believe to this day!
