For those following along at home, you’ve heard me mention the department store El Corte Ingles. It’s the home of thick fingers of bacon (for you JoJo), chandeliers and shoes, among other things. Ross calls it “Alice’s” – so named after the song “Alice’s Restaurant” where, according to the lyrics:

“You can get anything you want, at Alice’s Restaurant.
Walk right in it’s around the back, just a half a mile from the railroad track.
You can get anything you want, at Alice’s Restaurant”.

Ross bursts into song randomly at the mere mention of El Corte Ingles (I mean Alice’s). If you’ve ever heard him sing “King of the Road”, you’ll know what I mean.

If you have a spare 18 minutes, you could listen to the song, but it’s not really important to my story (and its 18 minutes of your life you’ll never get back)!!! Just let it be known that El Corte Ingles shall henceforth be known as Alice’s.

Inexplicably, all of the wine Ross bought before my arrival has gone, along with most of the cheese, the bread and the olives. Our staple diet now depleted, it’s off to Alice’s to restock the essentials. However, the problem with Alice’s, is you can get anything you want (refer song lyrics, above). So our shopping haul ended up including (hum along to 12 days of Christmas): 7 types of cheese, 6 vino tinto, 5 truss tomatoes, 4 types of olives, 3 winter jackets, 2 new toothbrushes and a wireless speaker box cube.

We didn’t mean to buy the jackets, but somehow we ended up with them. They are ‘Fluffy’ and ‘Puffy” for obvious reasons. We now need the Costa del Sol to be plunged into some kind of sub-zero apocalyptic weather pattern so we can fully appreciate our new purchases – but damnit, the forecast is for blue skis and balmy sunny weather for the next 4 weeks. Sigh!

Although my coat looks like the fur of cute little baby seals, it is actually made from the vicious slaughter of 80% acrylic and 20% polyestericantbelevieitsnotbutter. It’s a heady mix, and I look genuine and awesome – not at all Americano new vogue rich (!!)  #damnmyNordicfeatures #cannotpassforSpanishatall.  Anyway, enough about fashion (PS, I also bought new sunglasses).

We went to Malaga today – it’s about 1 hour’s drive away via the Autopista A7 (motorway, with a toll), where the speed limit is 120km/hour, but the ACTUAL speed is substantially more. Ross-leadfoot-Musgrove is in his element. Me, not so much. The reason for the trip to Malaga, was to have a link taken out of the wrist band of my new and very elegant watch (thank you Santa). A Swiss-crafted masterpiece, pronounced with a French accent – so, you know, REALLY fancy. It took us a while to find the jeweller in the old part of the city, and there was much to-ing and fro-ing as Ross tried to remember its location. But once there, it took “un momento” to adjust the wristband. Brilliant.

The old city of Malaga is full of beautiful buildings, narrow cobbled streets, wrought iron window / balcony bars, and geraniums flowering at every opportunity. The orange trees are in fruit, and thrive, despite the lack of sunlight, or soil for that matter, being encased in centuries old marble footpaths. Every lane (narrow enough to make you wonder if “lane” is the right word to use) leads to a plaza, some big, some small, some with fountains, some with Christmas trees, some with musicians, some with massive monuments to important people-past. There’s cathedrals and churches and magnificent buildings that are seriously old. Have I mentioned I love Spain?

Today we progressively tapas-ed. We thought we’d get a tapas dish and a drink at a number of restaurants, working our way through the old city and tasting the full array of flavours that Malaga has to offer. All went according to plan for the first 2 places: one tapas dish, one drink. Yummy. Move on. Bravo.

Funny thing – remember yesterday’s Russian Salad? Well the poor Russians must be on the endangered list here in the south of Spain (despite the pleadings from the Mayor of Moscow’s statue), because everywhere we go, there they are on the menu. One day this will stop being funny, but for now, I giggle every time.

Back to the progressive tapas …. our next stop was Los Gatos (The Cats) – and this is where the plan fell to pieces.

1. Who names a place “The Cats” (maybe the original restaurateur was an old, lonely, slightly crazy, unmarried woman?)
2. I hate cats (I have been known to refer to cat as ‘the other white meat’).

Anyway, despite the name, there was not a cat in sight. What a fantastic place!! Chaotic, loud, authentic, no tourists (well, only us), packed to the rafters, waiters (all men) with suave beards and black curly hair, yelling orders, no English. At one point, there was a queue of people waiting to get in. There’s paintings of bull fights on the wall behind us. The ceiling depicts a scene which involves a naked man with a very small penis (Ross: “It’s to ensure the men in the restaurant don’t feel inadequate”).

There are hundreds of intricately painted ceramic pots on a high shelf around the ceiling. They’re obviously Russian (each pot marking the death of a Russian, sacrificed to make the Russian Salads – OBVIOUSLY). We stayed for ages, foregoing our right to move on to the next tapas place.

When you order more wine in Spain (mas vino tinto por favour), they just bring the bottle to your table and top up your glass. None of this “here’s a fresh glass which I shall only fill to a prescribed, half-empty, one-standard-drink level” bullshittery here.

We watched an elderly, frail couple next to us, in their 80s. They ordered lunch, which arrived on supersized platters, piled high with food. Frail, my arse!!! 80 is the new 20, apparently, when it comes to chowing down. They devoured every morsel and I’m seriously impressed! Then, right on cue, old mate stands up, brushes the crumbs off his corduroy trousers, places his hat atop his bald head, and leads his wife out of Los Gatos. In my mind, I see them catch a tiny elevator to their apartment, turn down the bed covers, ready for their siesta. I suddenly love old mate, and I think of my grandfathers, both of whom died when I was a child.

For the record, I shall be ordering old mate’s dish: tail of ox (cola de buey) next time I’m there, and I hope I do old mate justice.

#IloveSpain