I Went to Malaga... And Did Nothing.

January 15, 2018

Sometimes you make poor life decisions. This was one of those times.

I took one photo in Malaga, Spain... And you're looking at it.

Ironically, I went to Malaga, Spain to save money, but it ended up being the most expensive stop I've ever had in Europe.

 

I arrived in Malaga after a very few stressful days in London. (I'll talk about the 2011 London riots another day; after I've had a few fingers of whiskey.) I hadn't gotten much sleep that day, so as soon as I got to the hostel I crashed. I remember hearing someone say, "Are you sure she's alive?" And then I was out again.

 

After several hours of being dead to the world, I slithered down from the top bunk and decided to explore. I was too hungry to figure out a good place to go eat, so I stopped at a nearby market to grab a baguette and some cheese. You have no idea how many of my meals overseas have been bread and cheese. Sometimes you're poor and have no choice but to live like Aladdin.  

 

I took my brunner (that's all three meals in a day in this case; not a lunar impact crater) to the beach, which was right outside of the hostel. Malaga was beautiful, but I was over it. I felt like crap and I had to leave for my flight in the middle of the night. Trying to explore the whole city in a few hours just sounded awful. So I told myself that seeing the beach was enough.

 

I headed back to hostel, had a drink, and crashed again. I don't even remember if I talked to anyone in the hostel during this trip. As soon as I woke up, I headed to the front desk to check out. The girl working the counter asked, "Are you sure you want to check out right now?"

 

I thought, I know it's 3 a.m., but I can't be the only person that has stayed at this hostel with a 6 a.m. flight. "Yes...," I responded.

 

As she continued to look at me bewildered, I handed her the key to my room and asked her if she could call me a taxi to the airport.

 

After a long, expensive ride to the airport, I get to the self-serve kiosk and start freaking out. It wouldn't let me check into my flight, but all of the screens said the plane was on time. I finally walk up to the counter, show my confirmation, and ask the lady what's going on. She reads it, and immediately says, "Miss, your flight is tomorrow."

 

Mother. F'er.

 

No wonder the girl at the hostel thought I was crazy. I booked two nights and was checking out a day early. Why didn't she say anything to me?!

 

I was going to head back to the hostel and try to get my bed back, but I didn't want to pay that hella expensive taxi fare there, and then back again. It all sounded exhausting to me at that moment. Not to mention I had a friend picking me up in Barcelona... in a couple of hours. So what did I do? I told the lady to charge me for the next flight out.

 

€200 later, I had half of a plane to myself. (The ticket I had for the following day was only $22.)

 

 

 Above is the actual photo from that flight. This is clearly before camera phones had portrait mode. I'm just living the dream on an hour and a half "budget" flight.

 

 

What's the moral of this story? Read your plane tickets, kids.

 

But honestly, if the London riots and a stopover disaster didn't ruin my trip that summer, that's saying something. And to be honest, Malaga isn't the only city that I've visited, but didn't get the chance to explore. Sh*t happens. Don't let one bad thing spoil your whole vacation.

 

-R

 

P.S. - I have no plans of going back to Malaga.


 

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