It was the last day before heading back to Malaga. No riding scheduled, no more brushing horses or cleaning shoes. City day in Fuengirola together with Dutch Gabriella was the idea. A bit of shopping, enjoying the atmosphere, a nice lunch, a walk along the beach, watching people. The normal touristy stuff in other words. After breakfast we took off to the bus stop along the road from Mijas to get into town.
However, as always when I’m involved in reading bus time tables, it seems like a higher art of some advanced science which I don’t master just yet. What we hadn’t taken into consideration this time was the fact that it was Sunday. A classic bus time table mistake. A long wait at the bus stop was ahead of us. Instead, we agreed on that it probably wasn’t too many serial killers out driving in the Andalusian hills on a Sunday morning and we decided to make use of our thumbs while walking down the road. Two bus stops and twenty minutes later we had almost given up. Perhaps the thumb sign wasn’t as universal as we’d thought?
Car number fifteen coming around the bend was an old Jaguar XJR and I just managed to finish the sentence about how cool it would be to get a lift with a Jaguar, when it pulled over and stopped just beside us.
The English gentleman driving the beauty was happy to take us along down the winding road and dropped us off at the bus station in Fuengirola. Almost a shame the city wasn’t further away. Or at least with a motorway on the way from Mijas.
As already noted, it was Sunday. And as in most other cities, Sunday wasn’t the best shopping day. In fact, it was quite an impossible day for shopping since everything was closed. The couple of hours in Fuengirola were instead devoted to touching the Mediterranean Sea for the first time (ever!) and having the most amazing hot chocolate ever, both while watching people. And I can only confirm what everyone says about Costa del Sol. I’m sure it’s a lovely place, but I’ll probably wait some 30-40 years before I go back again. 
The rest of the day was spent in Mijas being tourists and most of all, enjoying some great wines and tapas at Pampa Tablas y Tapas. When the Tempranillo was up, we rolled down the hill to the ranch and got driven back to Malaga.
My plan for the final night in Spain was to indulge in some cheese at an Osteria. Or in paella. Or tapas. But laziness took over and as soon as I checked the restaurants in the area of my hotel, a sudden longing for Rio, feijoada and farofa struck me. Brazilian it was and Malaga’s only churrasqueira did a good job. Don’t think it would get more Brazilian than that on the wrong side of the Atlantic. Beautiful beans and farofa like I never manage to make it myself. The caipirinhas need some more love and care though. Good way to finish off with. Adios! Or Tchao perhaps?
No comments:
Post a Comment