It’s about time I tell this story before I forget all the glorious ways it almost backfired. 

It was in June, I believe, when I had just moved to Heidelberg, Germany and I was hoping and praying that the cold season would finally let up. Having lived in the tropics all my life and  after the initial excitement of winter and the snow I was ready for some sunshine. So when a friend, call her Laces, suggested that we escape to Spain, I had only one question. Is there some hint of sunshine? As soon as she said plenty, my bags were packed and plane tickets booked. 

Then came the madness. Because she was living in Munich, we only realized at the last minute that we would arrive on different days.We had to find a compromise meaning I would have to miss the Sevilla part of our trip and meet in Malaga, which was fine by me because -the beach of course. After a not so pleasant flight thanks to heavy rainfall in Germanys airspace, I landed in beautiful sunny Malaga. Gazing into the vast, deep blue endless ocean and beginning to soak in the sun(yes, while still in the plane because I couldn’t wait), I reached for my sunglasses and let the holiday feeling take over. “You are going to have one hell of a ride here,” I told myself.

Indeed, I did…just not in the way I meant when I said those words. I spent most of the day exploring the quaint City Centre and doing a bit of cite seeing. At 6pm, I rushed to the bus station to pick up Laces who greeted me with a “our host fell through, we need to find a new place now”. We rushed to find an internet connection and trying not to panic tried to salvage the situation. After an hour it was evident that we could do nothing but hope and pray for a miracle, I said: Let’s hit the beach. 

And we did, and my oh my was it incredible. We spent the next few hours just lying there, exploring the rocks(which she made seem fascinating by the way), something I don’t understand to this date and taking photos. 

Then it was time to panic once more, but not before we had got ourselves some of those famous tapas. We headed to the spot where good old Yelp promised we’d find the best alongside some decent Sangria. 20 minutes later we were still on the road and then we begun to suspect we had taken the wrong bus. A handsome stranger confirmed saying he was lost too, and headed to the same place. So we got off, 3 slightly lost and increasingly hungry tourists, began to walk back into town because it was too late for any more buses to be driving and hoped Google Maps really had our backs this time. 

Thanks to the distraction we had, the 30 minute walk seemed like only 10 and finally we sat to eat. Now, this is the part I tell most people that I was so hungry that I had to eat snail tapas but the truth is I loved the little slimy delicacy. Good conversation, good music, good Sangria, it was all bliss until we remembered that it was now past midnight and we were practically homeless.

Even with our new friend, we spent another hour of hopeless searching until finally Laces said: I need a drink. And with that, we dragged our little suitcases with us to the nearest bar.
…the chaos continues in part II 🤗