Malaga

Sunrise over the ocean, matchless brilliance over rippling blue waters. Birds twitter in high pines and palms, sun's piercing glare on the mighty waters. But we only sojourn on the Costa del Sol, we are interested in an older Andalucia.

Malaga is Andalucia's second largest city and its white sprawl, among purple mountains, has a somewhat industrial feel. Yet the old city, like all the Mediterranean settlements we visit, has seen the succession of Phoenicians, Carthaginians and Romans, Wisigoths then Arabs, the Byzantium of the East and then Western powers--they have all owned this spot. It is still marked with delicate minarets and beaux arts mansions, while an ungraceful ocean liner sits in the harbor.

Roman theatre beneath Arab fortress

The Alcazaba is an Arab fortress standing where the Phoenicians founded Malaka in late 8th c. BC, giving my own name an ancient Phoenician spelling. This high butte had been the refuge of inhabitants under successive invasions. The Arabs, who had arrived in 711, created in the 11th c, this Alhambra-like fortress, a spiraling labyrinth of gardens and secret rooms, fountains and niches of bright colored stones and bricks on the spur of land over the water. It now overlooks the Cathedral whose mighty cupola of roseate splendour dominates the city below. With its delicate slits for armory and the Wisigoth keyhold shaped doors and delicately rendered stone lace and fluted columns it is a palace of mysterius (since all explanation was in Catalan) uses and varied origins. Descending the brick pathways between doubly reinforced batiments among bright red roses and jardin exotique, between roman columns with small Corinthian tops like mismatched heads of Roman statuary, we looked down on a Roman theatre unearthed in the year of my birth, 1951.

The old city center is graceful during the passagiata, the evening hours of strolling the stone streets. At a bar a group of Spanish men break into song, joined by other men walking down the street. A little table sits on the plaza for tarot readings. We went into the Cathedral during Mass. Inside it is like a mighty city of an elaborate stone fabric covering every surface with monumental hubris that rises high into a confection of a dome. As a priest intoned prayers, we left to circle the outside which seems to be various monumental cathedrals clustered together, so elaborate is each aspect. An old man played violin in the dusk, his daughter accompanying him. Later we took the audioguide tour of the Cathedral. A few beggars crouched outside while we paid our 5 euros and then listened to sometimes numbing detail on the artistry of the Cathedral. The massive interior has stone carved domes 40 meters high, creating a lacy ceiling, enormous altars and a gleaming high altar all filled with pomp and pious, didactic symbolism. The many chapels hold mostly dressed Madonnas and gaunt statues of Christ. The last is called the Chapel of the Fallen, for the thousand bodies from the Spanish Civil War that lie beneath.

Ancient Phoenician for Mallaka

But the grandeur became ponderous and we escaped thru the gardens, some left over from the Arabs, and at length found our way to the high fortress, Gibralfaro. Extensively reconstructed in its angular labyrinthine walls, steps ascending and descending to plazas of artfully laid brick and black and white mosaics, it is less alluring than the lower Alcazar's gardens and fountains. Placards told of the plethora of gardens the Spaniards had encountered in 1492 (and the pain for the Arabs on leaving Al Andalus behind, forever). Jasmine, figs, citrus trees, date palms and other palms for weaving baskets, oleander and medicinal plants, cypresses, olives, and vineyards tumbled over the walls and between the walls (beneath which sinful Arabs reclined), astounding the Spaniards. An Exhibition hall showed the costumes and arms of 15th-19th c Spanish soldiers who had inherited this beautiful site from the fleeing Arabs. A French family moved near us, a silent girl, thin and hesitant, who smiled with a sweet dreaminess when she sat alone, but moved hesitantly with her parents who only light acknowledged her or touched her. Perhaps she was autistic. The staff of the Gibralfaro were handicapped, and startled us with their sweet, fragile innocence.

On our return we discovered in the far reaches of Benalmaden a Tibetan Stupa, gleaming white, topped with gold, truly a spaceship to heaven. It reverberated with a lofty feeling, its interior painted in pastel murals, a strange inspired presence near a kitsch Thai butterfly zoo. The vibration was extraordinary. (My iPhone battery was suddenly drained.) The Buddha-being was slender with an intense seriousness.

As we pulled up behind the hotel, by the rough Mediterranean, a group of young people stood in the dark wind drinking from paper cups. The woman had a scarf covering her hair--they were Arabs, enjoying their clandestine drinks.