Malaga on the Cheap by Stephen Emms
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‘It’s like Leicester Market,’ says my partner’s mum, Julie, as hundreds of locals jostle between tables and, all around us, gruff-voiced men yell with increasing urgency. Except the Midlands this ain’t: we’re crammed into a vast beachside restaurant, El Tintero, on the furthest tip of Malaga’s lively Playa Del Palo, where camareros clasping plates of fish circle diners like gulls – and you simply grab what you fancy.
‘Salmonete! Boquerones! Calamari!’ The noise is deafening as we scoff anchovies with red pepper salad and tear apart enormous gambas whilst surveying the exuberant Sunday lunchtime crowd. ‘Imagine an English version,’ says Julie, as we roll out afterwards, ‘They’d be shouting ‘Egg and Chips!’ ‘Or Chicken Tikka Masala!’ pipes up Russell, my partner.
Malaga, still overlooked by the packaged hordes as they march westwards from its mess of an airport to the sybaritic paradises of the Costa Del Sol, is an ideal place to do ‘on the cheap.’ It’s connected by every budget airline going, yet perfectly Spanish, so prices aren’t extortionate either. Most restaurants offer a reasonable lunchtime three-course menu del dia.
Not to mention, as we soon realize, the dozens of free galleries and museums. We also avoid a Saturday night stay, when hotel prices are often higher, and it can be roadblock at the best tapas bars.
To our delight, we discover that after 2 pm on a Sunday, it’s free to visit both the Alcazaba, the magnificent Moorish fortress, and, further up the steep bougainvillea-clad hillside, the Gibralfaro Castle. Panting in the scorching sun on the ramparts, the smell of pine needles in the air, we sink a beer at its shady café after gulping down views of an urban sprawl dominated by the unfinished cathedral on one side (it lacks a tower on the west front), and turquoise sea on the other.
Waving off the inlaws, who live an hour’s drive inland, and checking into the calm spaces of our riad, hidden down a dark alleyway, Russell and I snake through the maze of narrow streets to hit the tapas bars. Some of them aren’t open on a Sunday evening, but nonetheless, of the handful we try, we enjoy Bar Le Gueno (c/ Marin Garcia), a tiny atmospheric corridor whose counter heaves with delights like bacalau, langostinos, albondigas (meatballs) and rather unappetising-looking pajaritos, or ‘fried little birds.’
Nearby La Campana (c/ Granada) is equally good, specializing in fish. As its name suggests, they ring a bell when you leave a tip. Best of all, near trendy Plaza Merced, is El Tapeo De Cervantes (Calle Carcer), whose arched windows, cosy interior and blend of “traditional and creative” dishes are a winning combination.
In between mouthfuls of tapas and glugs of wine (believe me, it can really go on all day), we even manage to tick off a few sights. We know we should be impressed with the much-vaunted Picasso Museum, and yet, whilst we can appreciate its elegance and ambition, the austerity of silent rooms coupled with the absurdity of some of the works (Minotaure with Glass?) gives us uncontrollable giggles.
‘I don’t understand Cubism,’ whispers Russell as we flee for the more welcoming spaces of Picasso’s Birthplace, which is more informal but no less interesting.
Modern art galleries are dotted around, but best of all is the Centre of Contemporary Art, an enormous converted wholesalers’ market building, whose permanent collection houses works by Louise Bourgeois, Yoshitomo Nara and Miguel Barcelo; don’t miss his astonishing Bibloteca.
‘Coaches point us out but they never stop,’ says softly-spoken gardener John Hallybone the next morning, at the city’s hillside English Cemetery, an exotic ‘paradise’ (Hans Christian Anderson’s word) with an interesting story. As we stroll in the white sun around 800 graves, some covered in sea shells, John tells me it was founded by British Consul William Mark who in 1830, after he learnt that protestants were buried upright on the seashore, consecrated ground being exclusively reserved for Catholics.
John points out sailors, missionaries, philanthropists and writers (including Gerald Brenan and Gamel Woolsey), all illuminated by captivating anecdotes. ‘But no-one’s funding us at the moment,’ he says. To which I have one word of advice: go.
Just beyond the cemetery is the handy city beach, Playa de la Malagueta, with its chiringuitos (cafés) serving espetos of tasty chargrilled skewered sardines, but more atmospheric for a sunset drink is Playa de Pedregalejo, a couple of kilometres east towards El Palo. Russell’s had to fly back to London, so that evening I marinate alone with a beer at Mandrila, a lounge bar, as the sun starts to disappear between two palm trees.
It’s 8:30 pm, and still bodies bask topless or swim in the dark water, wet shouts shooting across the air. Two señoritas walk little dogs, a man whistles on a bike and an Alsatian leaps past boats idling on the beach. This is the ultimate ‘cheap’ activity, I think, as I watch the sea sucking on the shore, the lights of the distant port beyond.
Bargain Hunter's Factboox
Riad Andaluz, Calle Hinestrosa
Owned by French couple Florent & Florence (‘just shout ‘Flo’ if you need anything!’), this former 18th-century monastery, where ‘people hid arms under Franco,’ offers seven small Moorish-influenced rooms (monastic cells, after all) around a charming, leafy courtyard.
Paseo Del Parque
Shady tropical garden near the port, with plaques identifying each rare plant, where you can soak up the roar of traffic along with the clack of exotic birds.
Browse the food market
Visit the Mercado Centrale (c/ Atarazanas) and gawp at the cornucopia of fish, outsize vegetables and mountains of strawberries, not to mention the swaying loins of the usual mammalian suspects.
Antigua Casa Guardia, corner of Pastora on the Alameda.
Unchanged since 1840, (the barmen even write the bill in chalk on the wooden counter), this creaking bodega may seem intimidating, but order a vasito (small glass) of Pajarete (sweet local wine) from one of the 20 barrels that adorn the walls and a pinchito atun queso (a skewer of raw tuna and cheese).
Tips from a local: Editor of free newspaper Sur in English
By Liz Parry
“There’s a great sunday flea market in Martiricos by the river (next to our offices on Avda Dr. Marañón). The Picasso Museum is free the last Sunday of the month. Visit the cathedral when mass is on, then you don't have to pay to get in. Climb Gibralfaro for the view down into the bullring, so if anything's happening you get a free show, albeit at a distance. Find the Tormes restaurant just by the Picasso Museum: there's a terrace across the road where you can admire the cathedral, preferably at night when it's illuminated.”
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