Malaga, the place to relax and get your Turkish Bath on.

Written by; Patrick Reck

Clara and I left Almeria in a Bla Bla Car on a sunny day and drove east towards Spain’s famous Costa del Sol, winding along the smooth highway, the foothills of mountains rising to the north, burnt yellow in the Mediterranean sun, olive trees stretching endlessly. We exited the highway and approached Malaga through a hilly residential neighborhood. Its charm was nearly lost on me because I really had to pee. A quick goodbye to our chatty driver, and I nearly jumped out of the car and ran to the nearest bathroom, which was the tourism office in Plaza de la Marina.

Travel Hint: Use BlaBlaCar to

get between cities in Spain.

It’s cheaper and more efficient

than trains and buses.  

Malaga is a place where we wish we stayed longer. The Andalusian tranquility is thick. The sea air itself exudes a calm and an almost effervescent nostalgia for childhood vacations to the beach. The seaside city teems with life, but at its own bubbly pace. And Malaga around Christmas time is something else.

We emerged from the tourism office and drank in Plaza de la Marina. A stone fountain and rows of centuries-old palm trees extending from the round-about to the shaded park running along the coast. European tourists stroll around admiring the carefully manicured gardens and colorful flowers. Turning to the city, you look down the heart of shopping center, Calle Marques de Larios.

The expansive cobblestone pedestrian walkway seems to stretch without end. Vibrant and bright shops on each side. Because it was the holidays, an elaborate white metal archway spanned the calle, adorned with stars and geometric shapes, crawling with lights upon lights upon lights, stretching for blocks into the city. We struck up a conversation with an elderly British couple, and they informed us the holiday light show began at 6 every evening.

Determined to come back, we veered west a few blocks and came to our hostal, The Lights Hostal. It was in an unassuming stone building, the lobby on the top, fourth floor. The staff was friendly. The dorms were accommodating. We dropped our bags and headed back out to grab a quick bite at a nearby bakery.

We walked along the marina, enjoying the sights and mild November weather. We did a photo shoot at a color block art installation, circled round the beautiful gardens in the palm tree parks, Jardines de Pedro Luis Alonso, sauntered along the walls of the medieval Moorish palace–the Alcazaba–watching the birds and squirrels, and stopped to chat and fantasize about our ancient ancestors at the ruins of a Roman amphitheater. We gazed in at the entrance of the Malaga Picasso museum, sandwiched in the tight stone alleyways of the old city, wishing we had more time, but decided to take the night in another direction.

We headed back to the Marina Plaza for the Christmas light show. Arriving early, we took a walk along the shops. Inspired by the beauty and glamour of the displays of the trendy European designers–Mango, Massimo Dutti, Desigual–Clara wanted some mascara. We went into Kiko, the cosmetics store. A half an hour later, she walked out with a full make-over, and an esthetician appalled that she would only buy bronzer.

Just in time, we made our way to the plaza for the beginning of the light show. The packed crowd stood rapt as the first notes of the electric guitar of the Trans Siberian Orchestra sparked to life. The archway roared in brilliant colors, flashing, blinking, strobing, rolling to the beat of the frenzied Christmas music. We were mesmerized, giddy with the thrill of a holiday that both made us glad to be in Spain seeing such a sight and long for home, weary from nearly six weeks of travel, three to go.

The light show only lasted for three songs, but it imprinted a memory that we’ll always carry. Impressed with the spectacle, but still tinged with the yearning for comfort and home, we headed back towards the Roman amphitheater to indulge in something we’d be wanting for weeks–a spa treatment at a Turkish bath.

El Hammam was the most pampering that I’ve ever experienced. De-robing, we went into the main spa room to wait for our masseuses. The dark, steamy atmosphere stripped away all the frills and excitement built up over our six weeks in Spain. Laying on the stepped hot marble, listening to the flowing water I felt transported to a timeless place. I was already zenned out when my masseuse summoned me upstairs.

Twisting, pushing, pulling, grinding out the stress and toxins from months of too much wine and a summer of fire and fury. I was jelly, sliding back down the stairs, cooling off in the cool shower, finding Clara in the main room, laying down on the hot marble slab, staring up at the ceiling decorated in stars, gathering the motivation to get up only when I knew if I didn’t get up then I wouldn’t get up at all.

We had a dinner that was way too fabulous, and also perfect, for our relaxed state. An early night at the hostal and we were out, lost in the Andalusian sea.

The next day we had a quick breakfast at the hostal, took one last walk to the beach, and gathered our bags to head to the bus station. Sorry we were leaving so soon, but excited for our next destination: Ronda. 

Still of the Christmas Light Show