A scene from Málaga
It’s a bit chilly. We walk along the harbour in a groggy haze, towards the sun’s weak warmth. The night had made the sand cold, but I take off my shoes anyway to feel the sand between my toes. It feels wonderful. My feet feel naked. I manage to skip a few rocks on the quiet sea.
I see my travel partner is becoming hungry and impatient, so I suggest the nearest place I see in the distance for breakfast.
Here is where we find the locals. The old and wise pairing their cigarette with an espresso, and parents trying to manage two little ones with two big imaginations. After about five minutes of waiting, the server comes over. I point to the first photo I see, a baguette with chorizo and potatoes. In my best broken Spanish, I ask for an espresso and orange juice to match. It does the trick, and we’re ready for another round of exploring.