Having left behind the red hills and olive groves of rural Andalucia where the only sound was the deep dong of sheep bells across the valley, the prospect of an eight hour wait for my plane in Malaga was not appealing. I thought "concrete, high rise, tourist capital of the Costa del Sol." So imagine the delight of finding the old town centre – a maze of narrow streets with traditional tall houses covered in roses and wisteria reaching to the sky. After a delightful few hours in the Picasso Museum, it was time for a drink and some tapas. Wandering around the alleyways I was intrigued to find an entrance to a Tapas Bar up a steep flight of steps. At the top of the steps huge wrought iron gates opened on to a white painted courtyard where hundreds of blue flower pots strewn with ferns and creeping plants hung on the walls. A sculptural antique sink provided a focus. The tapas menu was typical – I had ‘Tostas Pimpi’ – a satisfying array of salt cod, jamon, egg, olives, salmon and anchovies on little pieces of toast. I ate and drank watching the (mostly Spanish) people from my spot in front of a pile of huge wine barrels. Well satisfied, spiritually as well as having a full tummy, I walked about 10 minutes through the passages out on to the busy main street to my bus which took me to the airport.

62 y Jardines de Alcazabilla
With the Picasso Museum on your right, walk to the next alleyway and turn right - the bar is on the right.

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