Málaga: adventures of the unlucky pragmatic

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I AM ACCIDENT PRONE…and it does get fairly entertaining at times.
But first, Malaga.
If you’re someone who prefers an urban life but can’t get the idea of living by the beach, I have great news for you.  What I loved most about Malaga was exactly that very elaborate balance between a city life, a laid back coastal life, a very vivid but not overwhelming night life and a  striking  mix of contemporary and historical context (which to be fair is common in many European cities). As I mentioned in an older post I found Ibiza exhausting: too loud, too many parties, too much fare.  Here I had the chance to stroll the streets have a drink walk into a club dance for a bit  go home without the silly  feeling that I’m the only one going to bed at this time.
Then there was the  food ..oh the food. Freshly out of the water seafood with a bit of sea salt beats the most fancy culinary creations in my book.

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As I mentioned  am accident prone with just a dash of clumsy (somehow dancers are always a bit clumsy once they step out of the dance floor). The funnies part of this all is that I do not believe in luck and subsequently the lack of it, yet somehow I find myself in the most ridiculous situations.
To be fair I did pretty well on our way up to the fortress. No slipping , no falling, no breaking and all this on steep ramps paved with sleek slippery stones. If you knew me any better you’d be surprised at the  fact that out of the three of us I was the only one who wasn’t accidentally performing a figure skating routine. Watching them Sirtaki their way to the top was fairly entertaining, unfortunately Karma  proved she isn’t a very nice lady after all.
We sat down on a stone bench under the shade of a fig tree to catch a breath after the long climb in 40°C . As a result I ended up buying a new dress a few hours later. The only piece of clothing I got during the whole euro trip.

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Maybe I’m a bit too old for a city that never sleeps, maybe I was never much of a party girl  to begin with…

ibizas

A very belated post(sorry illustrating takes some time)

Unlike most party people  we spent most of our time on the beach
and just walking around. In our defence we tried to  get the normal Ibiza experience and  signed up to for a boat party, which according to the flyer promised good looking men with six packs, supermodels, drinks and good music. To our disappointment or partial relief we slept in, thus depriving ourselves of all of the promises the flyer made. Our second attempt at the Ibiza experience was getting tickets to David Guetta show at Pacha.
IT WAS AMAZING AND OH SO WORTH IT.

Now, let’s go back to the story.  The show started way after midnight.  There were those so called “party buses” available  to  take you from any part of the island to Pacha. Imagine a bus full of a bit drunk, really pumped up party goers . Ready?  Now, Imagine Leen and me, probably the only stone sober people there, falling asleep on the party bus on the way to the show.
Maybe just maybe we were a bit out of place.
The sleepiness did disappear the very  moment we stepped into the venue.

Once upon a time in Marseille

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As I’ve mentioned in my previous post we stayed with a lovely lady her teenage daughter and their two cats in the outskirts of Marseille. Well, one of them was a cat. I’m still not sure about the second one. His name was Leon,  very appropriate for the size. I had never seen a cat that big. He wasn’t just fat, he was huge, really really huge and extremely fluffy.
We’d  leave really early in the mornings around 5:30AM to catch the first train at 6. One of those days while Leen was trying to silently close the door without waking up the hosts, Leon sneaked out. My instinctive attempt to prevent his attempted escape left him scared and me in bruises. And Leen… she was getting a mini ab workout laughing.