It has been a less than auspicious start to our holiday, as the following trio of bad news explains…… uno, dos, tres. Let’s go!

Uno – Swiping right with Uber and Airbnb

Compared to a hotel booking, the Airbnb check-in always has some complications around it, the Malaga apartment being no exception.

We had arranged to message our host, Alberto, once we were in the Uber from the Malaga airport, giving him a clear 20 minutes to get to the apartment and meet us with the keys.  Easier said than done.

Despite the wonders of GPS tracking, we could not find our Uber driver at the Malaga airport. He, like the other 25 Uber drivers, was in a black Mercedes van, all of which were circling the departure area car park like fat, shiny vultures. The designated ride-share area appeared to have no bearing on where the Uber drivers went for pick-up, preferring instead to keep everyone guessing.  It was a fun game.

Following phone calls in Spanglish, and with much lost in translation, we figured out where the elusive Uber was. He was a mere 500m away, and we now had line of sight. With baggage in tow, and the van in the cross-hairs of our vision, we trundled our way across the no-mans-land towards the other car park.  As we came closer, we realised Mr Uber was (unhelpfully) trying to drive to the location we had just left. *Cue action music* Rosco leapt into his Usan Bolt impersonation, only slightly hindered by two bags, jeans and boots. He ran the intercept line between the departing Uber and the only break in the no-mans-land fence, flinging himself onto the road and in front of the van in the nick of time.  The van stopped without hitting him, which was an added bonus.

Safely in the Uber, we messaged our Airbnb host Alberto. See you 20 minutes.  We were confident.

Alberto, our Spanish host is a tall, thin man in his late 20s.  He has short, peroxide blonde hair which sits incongruously against his Mediterranean skin and dark eyes.  His English is limited, but certainly better than our Spanish. ‘Big problemo’ he says, explaining in Spanglish he had brought the wrong set of keys to the apartment. We wait 45 minutes for him to return with the right set, numbing the disappointment with a cold beverage and some tapas. 

Alberto returns, flourishes the keys, and finally, after 5 airports, 4 countries, 18839km travelled and 40+ hours in transit, we are in Malaga, a city we adore.  We are exhausted but happy and excited.

Dos – Little keys and heavy doors

Charles Dickens once said that a ‘very little key will open a very heavy door’. Whist that might have been the case for Charlie D, it was not the case with us.

Determined to get into the Spanish time zone, we resisted the urge to sleep, and instead walked to the port area. Neither of us really wanted the walk, we were exhausted, and I wasn’t feeling 100%.  But we did it anyway, arriving back at the apartment building at 9.30pm.

As it turns out, the ‘very little key’ snapped off inside the lock when we tried to open the apartment door. Despite many attempts to jiggle it out, swizzle it around, or to reconnect it to its remaining part, it was to no avail, and we were left sweating despondently in the 6^th floor stairwell.  We message Alberto the news.

Alberto, who in my mind is now wearing a superhero cape beneath his peroxide hair, organises a locksmith, who we’re told should arrive in two hours (about 11pm).  I am dubious about the timeframe, with Spaniards not known for their punctuality. Rosco remains optimistic and hopeful, but also starts furtively looking for a hotel nearby. I’m feeling miserable and pessimistic. I may have said something whiney.

To while away the time until 11, we find a restaurant just around the corner.  The owner adds another table to the footpath, because it’s 10pm, so of course every table is full and the street is buzzing with people.  

Remarkably, a few garlic-infused tapas and some cold wine improved my mood (who would’ve known). Even more remarkable, Alberto (sans cape) and the locksmith arrive and it’s not even 11pm yet!  Rosco supervises the dismantling of the lock and takes possession of the new temporary key.  The locksmith needs to come back tomorrow to fit a new lock, but until then, we’re back in the apartment, ready for a cold shower and a long sleep.

Tres – May you catch the Spicy Cough at a time that is convenient to you

In 2021, when Australia finally started opening state and international borders, it became evident that we would all catch Covid at some stage. All I wished was that it would happen to us at a convenient time.

Despite attending numerous bars and restaurants, being huggers and kissers, catching public transport, and working in a building with 5000 other people, we didn’t catch the Spicy Cough.  All our friends and family did, but not us.  We started to think we had super immunity powers. We didn’t.

Our holiday in Spain has started with a nice big whack of the Spicy Cough. However, it’s been at a convenient time. Imagine if this had happened during those last few frantic days at work, or while we were trying to pack for our trip, or even worse, during the international transit days! That would have been a disaster!  Instead, we’re tucked up in our Malaga apartment with views of the old town, we have food and essentials.  We had no tours booked, no plans to cancel.  A very convenient time.

Even with the vaccinations and the boosters, it turns out the old Spicy Cough is not that much fun. For those of you who had only mild symptoms, I envy you. For me, I could barely lift my head from the pillow for 4 days.  Thank you, science, for the vaccines. 

On about day 5 (the passage of time is a blur) we ran out of food and the Australian cold+flu tablets we had brought with us. Rosco, being the least ill of the two of us, masked up and ventured weakly into the world on wobbly legs, like a newborn calf. At the Farmacia, using a combination of mime and Spanglish, he was able to communicate his needs, and returned home exhausted but triumphant, with a box containing the printed word ‘descongestivo’. We were confident of success.

We immediately swallowed down two pills each, and four hours later, another two. The recovery was nothing short of amazing. It was like a miracle cure and on the how-are-you-feeling-out-of-10-scale, I went from a 2 to an easy 7. It was at this point that Rosco read the instructions “I capsula cada 6 u 8 horas”. Even without Google-translate, it became clear we had quadrupled the recommended dose by having 4 tablets in 8 hours. No wonder I felt so amazing. And, the tablets were full of ‘pseudoefedrina’ an ingredient you can’t get in Australia as a reward for an entertaining mime, mainly because it’s used in the illicit manufacture of methamphetamines.

As I write this, 6 days since my positive RAT for the Spicy Cough, I’m on the road to recovery. Rosco is a couple of days behind me, but his symptoms have been different and less severe than mine, so I’m confident we shall soon be back on the streets of Malaga, butchering the Spanish language, and generally getting into mischief, to be sure.

Viva España

#KeepingItReal #SpicyCough #LittleKeys