Malaga on a motorcycle 

I was very happy to land at Malaga. After a 12 hour transit in Amsterdam where I enjoyed my first bacon of the trip, I planned on visiting the old sherry bar in the centre and then finding a tapas bar down one of the back streets. I was happily making these plans when the conveyor belt stopped. I found the lost baggage counter and had a one sided conversation with a rather aggressive official. Our mutual understanding was just 34, so I went off to seek out that number. It was hidden away at the back of the arrivals hall, through the sort of door that you are not sure if you should open. There was a pile of bags that had come from outside the EU. 

There was a young driver outside waiting for me and after several minutes in the lift – I kept getting out at the wrong floor each time it stopped – we were on outr way.  At breakneck speed we passed the Malaga exit and kept going. Mark’s house and the motorcycle were somewhere in the mountains apparently. Perhaps I should have read the website more carefully. The countryside was beautiful, with long shadows across the olives and the sun low in he sky. We approached each bend at such a speed that I had to hold my breath. “You know the road well, I take it?” wasn’t an effective way to ask him to slow down. “I like rally driving.” To prove t we took the next blind corner even faster, leaving the road only briefly to avoid a small car that by comparison seemed stationary. 

We pulled up outside Mark’s villa at Teba (36.98069° -4.91369°) and were promptly invited to the bar for a couple of beers. The quiet village, about 30 KM northwest of Malaga as the crow flies, was buzzing with the sound of locals enjoying Friday evening. My bike was sitting outside the bar, having just been to the garage for new breaks and a front tire. 

Mark thought I was having a joke when I told him planned to leave at 6:00. We negotiated 9:00 as he bike wasn’t quite ready and Mark still had to wire up the GPS. It takes me a while to shift my day around to more normal times once I’ve left Saudi. 

The view from Mark’s villa. 



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