Mrs RM had planned this trip meticulously in January, as soon as the Covid restrictions seemed to be easing.
Ticking Spanish cities has some appeal, despite the lack of GBG entries, and there’s plenty of classics doable from Malaga Airport, though Granada was a bit of a stretch on the train so we subbed Seville.
Blimey, the Spanish eat a lot of carbs. Churros and toasties for breakfast, pizza for lunch, pastries mid-afternoon, and then a huge meal at midnight. Or perhaps that was just us.
But they also walk a lot, dragging HUGE suitcases on wheels behind them. What is in those suitcases ?
We joined the march from station to Old Town, overtaking most of them near Starbucks, the only chain near our little apartment on Calle Juan de Mena, which looks like one of those back alleys in Manchester’s Northern Quarter you don’t go down after midnight,
In Manchester, those little alleys contain This & That curry house; in Cordoba they house a small apartment block around a patio like our one;
Patio ticking is bigger than Beer Guide ticking in Andalucia.
Key collection at two, so we lugged our backpacks round the streets for an hour, avoiding the horse droppings. Almost.
In general Spanish cities seemed cleaner than ours, with a lot less litter and “pet droppings”, but there’s plenty of graffiti on the walls that even an enthusiast like myself can’t excuse as art.
But I’ll overlook the graffiti. On every turn there’s a new tiny street, a new square, a new bar selling your favourite Spanish lagers.
A quick walk down to the Roman bridge to admire the herons,
and squid and pasta at the unfussy Cafe Roma.
Only after ordering the squid did we give the menu the attention it deserves.
*UK readers – “9 to 5”