Málaga – the trip exhales by the sea
The coastal close of a two-week Andalusian rail journey – Málaga’s hilltop fortresses and Roman theater, a Picasso museum missed, the cathedral’s stained glass, and a quiet New Year’s Eve by the sea.
(29th – 31st Dec)
Traveling from the inland cities stacked deep with history, Málaga was the same but with a sea of difference. It has its own share of alcazabas and alcázars – the same Roman, Moorish, and Catholic layering we’d been tracing all along – but the setting is dramatically different: a hilly city strung along the coast, with the sea where, inland, there had only ever been more city. And it ended, as it happened, mostly quietly: B was still shaking off the flu he’d caught in Granada, so the first of our two full days was a solo outing for me – a different texture, traveling alone for a day inside a shared trip.
Quick links to main sights
Alcazaba of Málaga | Gibralfaro Castle | Roman Theater | Málaga Cathedral | Picasso Museum Málaga
Arrival by the sea
29th Dec 2025
The lucky direct train from Granada set us down in Málaga on the evening of the 29th. Even after dark, the change of register was immediate: after two weeks of inland hill-cities, here was the coast – lower, milder, the Mediterranean somewhere close by. We checked into the Hotel Don Curro. B was still low with the flu he’d carried from Granada. We made our way from the train station to our hotel by metro and on foot. Through huge festive crowds under the Christmas lights and decorations on the streets.
Málaga felt warm and welcoming for no logical reason. Because of B’s flu Granada felt like a place to get away from, and checking into the hotel in Málaga felt like home. The warm, cozy feeling was somewhat offset when we found that our hotel had zero dinner options and no room service. Out we had to trudge to find dinner: by now a familiar routine of looking for “safe” cuisines – we ended up at a decent pizzeria in a touristy street with many cafes and restaurants very close to our hotel. B looked washed out but brave.
A day to myself
30th Dec 2025
With B resting, I set out alone. Because the city is hilly and on the coast, its defences are strategically high up: the Alcazaba fortress and, above it, Gibralfaro Castle, both built to watch the sea. It was a hot, sunny day. Not wasting an ounce of the midday heat, I went climbing – thankfully the slopes were gentler than they looked.
I started at the Alcazaba, which in Málaga climbs the hillside in tiers, terrace above terrace, until it opens at the top onto a view of the sea. I took my time winding my way up, stopping for photos, walking through the ancient brick archways. There were abundant splashes of color: the ever-present oranges of the region, hot pink bougainvillea, red hibiscus, and palms among many other flora. Higher up, the fort opened into cool Moorish courtyards – horseshoe arches, still pools, the trickle of small fountains: a modest echo of the Alhambra I’d stood in just two days before.
At the very top, I caught my first glimpse of the Mediterranean in the distance: shimmering silver and blue in the bright sunlight, with ships at harbor and far out to sea. Looking inland, I saw the long winding wall that runs to the Gibralfaro: sadly the path that used to connect from here to there was blocked off permanently, unclear when.
At the Alcazaba’s foot lies the Roman Theater, sunk below the modern street – discovered only in 1951 after centuries buried underground, one more reminder of how far down these layers go here. The fort built over and beside the theater; the city built over both; the same Andalusian pile-up of eras, this time with the Mediterranean for a backdrop.
I carried on up the round-about path toward Gibralfaro, having been denied the direct path between the Alcazaba and Gibralfaro. Small things caught me, as they do when you’re wandering alone with no one to keep pace with: a street vendor who’d turned an upturned umbrella into a jewelry display, earrings hung all round its open rim. And, far below, the bull ring – La Malagueta, perfectly round from up here, innocently empty today.
By late afternoon I’d had my fill of sun and climbing, and came down to the harbor-front promenade to unwind – strolling, window-shopping the souvenir stalls. Went back to the hotel, and set out later with B (still feeling woozy) for dinner at the nearby street we had found last night. This time an Indian Mexican combo cuisine. Safe Indian options chosen. Sangria to liven it up a little. Afterwards, as a mini-post-dinner walk, we wandered the festive-lit seafront – palms strung with lights, a towering cone of a Christmas tree, and fountains cycling through purple, blue, and red: the festive glow that had trailed us from city to city, here throwing itself a party by the sea.
New Year’s Eve, and the sea
31st Dec 2025
By the last day B was recovered enough to come out. Málaga is Picasso’s birthplace and home to the Picasso Museum, which I’d have loved to see – but tickets were sold out days ahead, and we missed it, the second great museum of the trip (after the Alhambra’s own scramble) that demanded more forward planning than we’d given it.
So we did the cathedral instead. Apart from high vaulted ceilings, this one had lovely stained glass with sunlight filtering through, soft and beautiful. It was a calm space to sit in for a while. One noteworthy statue was a St. Sebastian, so handsome and classical that a label beside it called him “the Christian Apollo.”
Somewhere on the promenade afterwards we stopped to eat, and there, on the last day of the trip, were berenjenas fritas con miel, batter-fried eggplant under a drizzle of honey: the very dish I’d fallen for on the first afternoon in Valencia, two weeks and five cities ago.
It being New Year’s Eve, the city was gearing up for a long night – and we, with an early flight to catch, were gearing down. We took a stroll along the promenade, under the rippling white sail-canopy that shades the port walk – all modern curves against the ancient fort on the hill above – then past the lighthouse, La Farola, to the pebble beach at the far end. Walking past the sleek ships moored alongside, we lazily wondered about how much each would cost: 1 million? 10 million? I forget now, though we had looked the ships up by name then.
We walked around the lighthouse and across a sandy strip to the B-approved pebbled part, right at the water’s edge, and sat to take in the sight and sound of the waves. We were not left alone for long: a Thai masseuse came by with her sales pitch for a relaxing back massage on the beach. B sat firm and couldn’t be won over by her pitch. Her practiced eye spotted my weakening and she closed in for the kill. I must admit it was a pleasant 20 mins for a small amount of cash. Massage on the beach: a ridiculous bucket-list item I never knew I had, now checked off.
We lazed there some more until sunset. Looking across towards land we could see the Gibralfaro – at first clearly, and as the light faded, in silhouette, then lit by soft yellow street lamps.
Made our way reluctantly back to the promenade, where we had scouted out a restaurant which was a branch of the previous night’s place: a strange combination of Indian and Mexican cuisine, calling itself a “Steak house”. I went wild: ordered a cheese quesadilla, and an orange slushy mocktail, while B ordered steak. The cheerful upbeat ambiance of the place was only marred by an Indian boss, who was picking on waiters, and offloading quiet fury on them not particularly discreetly. We only watched him from our seats far from the action – it felt like a silent movie. My food was predictably bad (drowned in cheese, and rendered tasteless). But it couldn’t drown my contentment on this last day of 2025, a year of many travels with my beloved B.
Turned in early while the rest of Málaga wound up toward midnight. We had planned to take the early morning bus, though not absolutely certain that on New Year’s Day it would actually run. (Cab as Plan B was always possible). We walked at 4:30 in the morning to the bus stop, where there were some teens hanging around, reminding us of our young adults back home, not yet gone home from the festivities of the night. Waited with an accumulating crowd of potential bus-catchers for 45 mins, to no avail. Giving up, we hailed a cab to the airport – Plan B – and got home on New Year’s Day without further incident.
Málaga wrap-up
Málaga – lively and cheerful and every bit as layered with history as the others: Roman theater under Moorish fort under modern street, with the sea adding drama to the hills here. The city could be a destination and a hub for a trip to these parts. But for us, it served as a winding-down place, journey’s end after two weeks of travel, though unhurried, still a sensory overload. I got a bit of solo-traveler time – my default mode back in my twenties, something I rarely get to do nowadays.
