I woke up on the morning of my much-anticipated (and very overplanned) trip to Málaga fully convinced that sheer willpower would cure a 101-degree fever and a nonstop runny nose overnight. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. Madrid greeted me with a cold but sunny morning, and I felt exactly the same.
Harshit did the responsible thing and suggested we cancel. I did the dramatic thing and refused. Some trips, I declared, simply have to happen – health optional. And so, armed with tissues, blind optimism, and questionable judgment, we dragged ourselves to Atocha station at 9 a.m.
The train journey was…, an experience. I spent most of it half asleep, half drugged, fighting to keep my eyes open. The paranthas we had so confidently packed for the ride turned out to be wildly overambitious and mildly nauseating to me. Somewhere near Córdoba, I briefly, though very quietly, regretted my decision.
My resolve reared its head again. Surely, if rest and sunshine were the cure, Málaga was THE right place – Spain’s most laid-back city and the magical town where Picasso once lived. I dozed off for the rest of the ride, head bobbling alternatively between the window and Harshit’s shoulder, and by around 1 p.m., I found myself waiting for a bus to the hotel, feeling oddly proud for having made it this far.
Soho Boutique – Hotel Las Vegas turned out to be exactly what it promised while I was booking , and then some. At check-in, they surprised us with an unexpected act of generosity and upgraded our stay to a junior suite. It felt like an unusually good omen, and suddenly the trip was off to a far better start than I had dared to hope.
When we walked into the room, the sea was right there, stretching out gorgeously in front of us, calm and endless. It looked like it was gently dozing in the afternoon light, mirroring my exact emotions. I opened the window to balcony and took a deep breath, filling my lungs with fresh air and letting out a long sigh of relief. If this was how Málaga planned to welcome us, maybe I really had made the right call after all. The air didn’t smell sharply of salt like I expected. Instead, it was faintly sweet and clean, and the sea shimmered in a dazzling shade of aquamarine. I washed off the fatigue of the train journey, changed into something lighter, and stretched out under the soft, nourishing sunshine. It felt less like checking into a hotel and more like the official beginning of recovery – body and spirit finally agreeing that we were exactly where we needed to be.
I woke up around sunset, having drifted off in the warmth of the afternoon sun. The sky was brushed in soft purples and oranges, comforting in the way only a mother’s hug can be. Seeing me slightly more human again, Harshit suggested a gentle stroll to ease me back into the evening.
The hotel had an alternate exit that opened straight onto the beach, and soon we were wandering along the promenade, weaving past families playing catch, couples strolling hand in hand, and runners pushing through the last stretch of their routes. Málaga’s energy wrapped itself around us effortlessly, and we chatted as we walked, carried along by its easy rhythm.
The air had turned crisp, the evening chill unmistakable. It caught us by surprise and quietly reminded us how a Spanish coastal town holds the cold differently from the familiar warmth of Indian shores.
We found a humble Indian restaurant nearby, and the plan was simple – pick up some dal or curry to pair with the leftover paranthas and call it an early night. The place was run by a family from Bangladesh and was aptly named as Taj Tandoori Restaurant.
After the chilly stroll outside, my nose had clearly given away how miserable I still felt. Noticing this, the owner’s sister quietly offered me a warm beverage, no questions asked. It was a small, thoughtful gesture, but in that moment it felt enormous – a gentle reminder that comfort, kindness, and a sense of home have a way of finding you, no matter how far you travel.
I woke up the next day feeling noticeably better, though my limbs still ached. My nose was clearer, but the long hikes and ambitious climbs I had planned were still out of the question. Harshit noticed my jitteriness and gently reminded me that the spirit of this journey wasn’t about sticking to an itinerary; it was about making the best of what we had.
We eased into the sunlight as the day stretched ahead, chatting with family and friends over video calls, laughing at the same silly old jokes. Endless cups of warm beverage kept appearing, thanks to the kind hotel staff for restocking the room, and I let myself indulge, one soothing sip after another. Later, I sprawled on a lounge chair as the sun seeped into my chest, warming me and seemingly dissolving the stubborn remnants of my cough.
As my thoughts wandered, I remembered something my meditation teacher, Ms. Shoba Shekhar, used to say: it isn’t the wandering mind that’s the problem, but the effort to notice it wandering – that is the real challenge. I inhaled the sweet, clean air, focused on my whistling breath, and tried, for once, to simply let my mind drift.
For lunch, we stuck to Indian food again. On our walk, dozens of orange trees lined the streets, bursting with life and color, making us pause for photos. The meal was simple, wholesome, and comforting.
In the afternoon, I suggested we head to the main beach and sit on the rocks. Around us, people fished quietly, girls unwound after the workweek, and children ran barefoot along the shore. My gaze settled on a canoe team skimming the waves, shrieking with laughter as they neared and shouted encouragements like “pull!” It was impossible not to laugh along.
There was no pressure, no missed itineraries haunting us, no ticking off of destinations. Málaga’s vibrant yet cozy spirit slowly faded into night, with the stars twinkling above and the gentle sound of waves lulling the day to a perfect close. We closed the gate to main beach as we entered our stay and lazed around till dinnertime.
Friday night in our neighborhood was surprisingly quiet, the streets bathed in a warm yellow glow that made even the simplest walk feel cinematic. By Spanish standards, it was early -10 p.m. and we headed out for dinner, following the local rhythm.
We had picked an Italian spot called Mamma Mia. Some might argue that cheese is the last thing to eat while battling a cough and cold, but Harshit firmly believes in indulging whatever senses are still working. As responsible adults who also trust our instincts, we went for it: four-cheese pasta and cream-and-spinach ravioli.
Inside, the staff greeted us with smiles and a careful attention to our dietary preferences. Being vegetarian isn’t always simple while traveling, but when the kitchen checks everything before serving, it feels like a small but profound sense of belonging-a reassurance that you aren’t left out of the joy of a good meal.
We tucked into the rich, comforting pasta, letting the creamy flavors warm and satisfy us. Full and content, we hummed our way back to the hotel.
The next day was check-out day, and we decided to try a breakfast spot nearby called Keyzen, a health-focused café that served us pistachio pancakes and beetroot hummus sandwiches. My health was finally in good spirits, so we opted for a longer stroll along the other side of the playa. The sun was out in full glory, and so were we.
In Málaga, I didn’t just see the city – I felt it. The sunlight warmed the stone streets, the pulse of the playas energized us, and friendly voices drifted from every café we passed. The city seemed to lighten my mood, and my stuffy chest. La buena vida – A Spanish version of la dolce vita, gently hung over us.
Harshit joked that next time, our itinerary would be far more ambitious to “make up” for this leisurely trip, and I smiled inwardly, knowing that each city has its own way of revealing herself to travellers. Málaga felt instantly familiar, quietly comforting, like a place that had always been waiting for us.
By 6 p.m., we were back on the train to Madrid. I silently thanked the gentle sunlight that had lullabied me into recovery, leaving me with a “clean chest”, quite literally.
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