No Longer My City

I step out of the underground train station, into the southern Spanish sun. It's like stepping back in time. I know exactly where I am, although I haven't been there in quite a few years. I'm right next to the big ugly beige post office building, that apparently is now something else, or at least turning into something else. Straight ahead is the river, or rather the riverbed. I've never seen any water in it. Slightly to my left there's the large and busy road, Avenida de Andalucia, that turns into Alameda Principal on the other side of the non-river. Across the road is the massive El Corte Ingles department store.

I've walked along those large roads many, many times. Long time ago, in a different lifetime, I walked the other left towards class. Now I'm turning right, towards the center.

It's different. Cleaner, tidier, prettier. Still noisy, but somehow not the same noisy. I turn into a side street. I used to roam these side streets. A lot. There's no apparent system to the pattern of streets. That's what I used to love about it. It was easy to get lost, but also easy to find your way to where you wanted to go, eventually. You learned. Now you don't need to anymore. Sheepishly I let efficiently trump pride and take out my phone to consult Google Maps.

The first order of business is to find a place to have a nice cappuccino. It shouldn't be hard, and it wouldn’t be, but I make it more complicated than it had to be. I find a coffee shop that seems nice. There's a small queue. This should have been a red flag. I've forgotten that Spanish efficiency isn't the same as northern European efficiency. There are two employees, one guy and one girl. The guy is clearing tables, and seems to do nothing else. The girl is taking orders. She's also making the coffee. Take one order, make the order, serve it, take the next order, make the order, serve it, and so on. Maybe they're temporarily missing a link, an employee that would have normally manned the coffee machine. My instinct tells me that this is not the case though. This is just the way it is. And always was. But the coffee wasn't too bad in the end.

I want to find the location of a shot bar we used to frequent way back when. I know it's no longer a shot bar though, but a tapas bar - Pepe y Pepa. Our Punto y Coma is long gone. I find it. I would have had a snack there, but it's not open yet. And it's pretty much a construction site, at least on the outside. Too bad. Maybe next time.

I snake my way through the narrow streets to the small street where I used to live, Calle san Agustin. I find the door to the apartment building where I lived. It's still there. We had some good times in that building. Now it's just a closed door. Looking down the street I see the mighty cathedral. I turn and walk the other way. Not because I have something against cathedrals, but because I'm simply heading the other way.

At the end of the little road is the fairly modern Picasso Museum. If I remember correctly it was a Picasso Museum also back then, in the late 90s, but nothing like what it is now. The queue goes around the corner. I've been. I'm glad it's not on the agenda this day.

I continue up the familiar street to Plaza de la Merced. It's a rather beautiful square, maybe not quite a hidden gem, but slightly off the beaten tourist path. It used to be lined by parking spots around the entire square. I know, since it's where I would normally park my old beat car and get tons of parking tickets that I never paid. Oops. Now it's pedestrianized on three sides. I walk across the square under the jacaranda - at least I think they are jacaranda - trees. A young guy, probably in his late teens, half-lie, half-sit on a concrete bench. When he sees me he looks up and say "yo, man" or something like that. I don't know what he wants, but I don't think he just wanted to say hi. I want to say "make better life choices" to him, but I don't know what that is in Spanish.

I continue past the old Moorish palace, Alcazaba. When I lived in the city it was closed, indefinitely, and it seemed like it would never open. But it did, and it's quite impressive. I went there on my last visit, so no need to linger.

On towards the beach. Now I'm a bit lost. Behind the plaza there's a tunnel. I don't remember there being a tunnel. Better not walk into the tunnel, even though it seems like you can. I walk around it, on the back side of the Alcazaba, through the little botanical garden. This area doesn't look quite like it used to. I can always navigate towards the beach, then I know where I am. But there are streets that didn't use to be there.

All of a sudden I find myself outside the large bull fighting arena. Confusing. But I can take it from here. I walk down the second place I used to live on Calle Fernando Camino. It still looks quite unspectacular. But it was only a block away from the beach, so that was nice.

I check out the beach, Malagueta. It's much more touristy than it used to be. Rows and rows of sun loungers for hire. Between the palm trees at the end of the beach I see a massive cruise ship. I used to go down, after a night out, and see if there were any cruise ships in. More often than not there weren't any. Now there are several a day. Good business for whoever has a business on the beach.

It's time for a beer. The chiringuitos, the beach bars, are all full. I would have found a seat somewhere, but I can't face the slow service that would have inevitably followed. Instead I opt for an Irish pub across the street. Good choice. It's practically empty, it's shaded, and it's decent for people watching.

Time to start heading back towards the center. I walk around what is now the cruise ship harbor, and then along Paseo del Parque. That was pretty much the only place in the city that used to be somewhat nice back in my days. It's still nice. Green and fairly quiet. Lots of touts selling tickets for hop-on-hop-off buses. Not for me.

Before taking the train back though, I want to check out a shopping mall that is still there. Centro Larios used to be rather run down. It's been re-vamped, still not top-notch, but not too shabby. And although it's not very far from the train station, it's in the opposite direction from the center, so few tourists make their way there. Not too crowded, pleasantly empty.

I spot a sign for Taco Bell. Yo quiero Taco Bell used to be a slogan, at least in the US. I used to love Taco Bell. I haven't had it in ten or so years. Maybe longer. It's a no-brainer. And as an added bonus they have beer. I get my order of junk food and opt for a beer. Because I can. It's… meh. Edible, yes, but not the way I used to remember it. Maybe they do it differently in the US? Probably not. I've gone off junk food chains, I guess.

Malaga in the late 90s was dirty, ugly, noisy, dangerous. It pretty much had nothing going for it. But it was our city. It was only for 8 months, but they felt like a lifetime. Malaga of today is organized, clean, safe, happening. Drug dealers have had to make place for touts. Dive bars have given way to trendy hipster coffee joints. There are chain stores pretty much everywhere. It's now actually a pretty nice city. But it's no longer my city.