So the first half of 2010 was a bit crappy. Won't go into details, let's just say that some things changed, and some others, I made them change.
Change is good. When you choose it. When change chooses you, well, it depends. Therefore I moved to Málaga.
(No need to look for logic here, there ain't any.)
Málaga was carefully chosen by gathering the finest minds in Ivory Coast around a tea and several sheeshas at La Terrasse, a cozy Lebanese restaurant over the Abidjan lagoon, where we could reflect on the issue while comfortably watching the chimneys of the oil refinery and some other nice industrial architecture on the other side of the water.
There were criterias (there always are, with me). I needed a city:
- in Europe
- on the sea
- warm in winter
- where a language that I know is spoken
- not too expensive
My thoughtful friends suggested: Lisbon (não falo Português), Saint-Tropez (someone didn't get the “not too expensive” thing), Corsica (uh?!), and Málaga.
So here I am, after a looooong wait at Barcelona airport for which I am grateful to our beloved cousins, the frog-eaters, who were on strike in Paris.
I didn't notice before, but I traveled on the 20.10.2010. It's not the first time dates wink at me when I travel, I'll take it as a sign that I have the favour of the stars.
The second sign is that malagueños are hot.
The second sign is that malagueños are hot.
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