November 22, 2019
In Málaga, day 3
Here comes the desert (doo doo doo), here comes the desert, and I hope it won’t rain . . . Edward Abbey
Not many are aware that before Edward Abbey became a renowned environmental author and anarchist he dabbled in songwriting as a way to pass the time while he was cleaning the latrines in Arches National Monument. Not much of his work has been passed down, but Here Comes the Desert gained new life when George Harrison plagiarized it a bit and made it famous.
I awoke this morning to Rachael cheerfully singing this tune in bed next to me. We’ve filled some of our damp hours here by planning the remainder of the tour, much of which will be spent biking through Almeria, home to Europe’s only real desert. The rains are supposed to pass in the night tonight, leaving in their wake two weeks of warm, dry weather and a prevailing west wind. We can hardly wait.
In the meantime, it’s more of the same. Today is the wettest of our three days in Málaga, and neither of us is inclined to step outdoors into it until lunchtime rolls around; and once we do, it’s a disappointment. Lunch at a nearby tapas bar is a strange affair, in which the servers manage to misunderstand pretty much everything about our order. I order a medium sized beer, and they bring a small one (although admittedly this is better than the two beers we’ve received rather than one beer and water). I order grilled chicken, and they bring the skewer instead (which however was excellent). Rachael also orders the grilled chicken, and they bring her nada.
After five minutes waiting for her course to arrive the waiter finally walks by and we ask what the situation is. The situation is that they screwed up the order, are apologetic, and say it will be another ten minutes until her order arrives since it hasn’t been started.
Rachael doesn’t care for being kept waiting where food is involved, so she walks up to the bar and selects a pair of tapas items on display, thinking that they’ll be served right up. The waiter nods, and then leaves the premises. Ten minutes later he returns with a bag, and a minute later she is finally served. We aren’t sure what was going on, but we think he stepped out to pick up mayonnaise as a side garnish.
We had planned to go to the Picasso Museum after lunch (Picasso was born in Málaga), but Rachael’s sausage and garbanzo stew didn’t sit well with her so we went back to the room for awhile to await developments.
One unexpected development is that the weather has improved. We should really go to the museum and get cultured, but we both decide that we’d really rather go for another walk again. And so we do. As soon as a bit of sun breaks out we rush out the door and have a fine two hour walk through the gardens and up the back side of castle hill, returning to the room just as it starts sprinkling again.
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5 years ago
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For a second I thought you were talking about Bruce.
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For dinner we went back to El Meson de Cervantes, the lovely restaurant we ate at last night. And, for once, we came away with food photos.
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I tried to read Don Quixote for a class I took in Buenos Aires. Never finished it, but did somehow manage to type up a paper on one of those 1950s typewriters. My fingers were killing me by the end. No correcting ribbon and no liquid paper. Every time I made a mistake I had to start over.
Next time I'll just see the play and call it good.
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It was dry when we walked to dinner, but is starting to rain when we come out again after our meal. We are pleased actually, because it gives us an excuse to break out the cheapo umbrellas we picked up yesterday but have not gotten much value out of so far.
Not long after we return to our room we hear excited squealing outside and look out the window. It’s pouring! Hard to believe that rains are supposed to end tonight, but they do - about ten minutes later. Soon, the skies clear and a strong west wind starts rattling our shutters. Right on schedule.
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5 years ago
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5 years ago
You know, now that you mention it, I saw some faded latrine graffiti at Arches a few years ago, and it went something like, "I am saguaro, they are saguaro, I am the Sage Brush, boo boo pee do!"
It makes sense now. Apparently all of the Beatles' stole from Abbey.
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