Chocolate-Smothered Waffle: Better Going Down

San Geraldo and I went last night to Feria Málaga (Málaga Fair). Last year I enjoyed the daytime festivities in the center of the old city (click here to see last year’s blog post). This year, we decided to check out the nighttime festivities that take place outside the city center and just a bit closer to where we live.

Unlike the casetas at Feria Sevilla (click here to see those pictures), the casetas at Málaga are free and open to the public. We didn’t see the horses and carriages famous in Sevilla. And the traditional feria costumes, although in abundance, were less so than in Sevilla. But there was still plenty to see and experience and I found it less overwhelming than Sevilla’s fair. The fairgrounds are beautiful and sprawling and much more pleasant to explore. The lights were enchanting. The rides were fun to watch. Given how things progressed, it’s good I opted out of going on any.

As usual, click any image to see it big time.

The Lights

THE ENTRANCE.

The food all looked really delicious. I take that back. Some of the food looked really delicious. However, there were a number of “edibles” that looked radioactive. San Geraldo and I succumbed to enticing gofres (waffles) smothered in chocolate. It was so good going down. About a half hour later, however, the waffle and chocolate decided to repeat itself. And, let me just say, it wasn’t quite so delicious on the reflux. And there were no antacids in sight. But, I soldiered on. What’s a little heartburn?

At 11 p.m., we caught the next to last train for home. It was crowded with fair-goers, so we stood most of the way. I felt fine. But we sat for the last three stops and the waffle and chocolate decided to make another return visit (I probably shouldn’t have bent at the waist).

The Food

MINE. MINE. MINE. MINE. MINE.
IGNORANCE IS BLISS.

One stop before home, I stood up, looked at San Geraldo and said, “I feel sick.” (Apologies to my third-grade teacher; I know I’m supposed to say “ill,” not “sick.” But her name was Mrs. Doody, so…) 

But back to the train. The doors opened and I signaled to San Geraldo that when I said sick, I meant I-need-to-get-off-the-train sick. He jumped off behind me at a, thankfully, dark and empty station. I quickly headed to the railing and wretched into the bushes. Now, don’t get all squeamish on me (although I would in your shoes). Nothing serious happened. Just a case of powerful reflux. And then all was well.

Truthfully, I did it all just to get San Geraldo to take a walk with me. That station is about 1.5 km (1 mile) from home.

The People

FREEZE FRAME:  THEY ONLY MOVED TO SHAKE HANDS
WHEN THEY WERE GIVEN A TIP (WHICH WAS OFTEN).

AND SPEAKING OF DELICIOUS…
WITH HIS PLEASANT (AND PROUD) GRANDPARENTS.

Author: Moving with Mitchell

From Brooklyn, New York; to North Massapequa; back to Brooklyn; Brockport, New York; back to Brooklyn... To Boston, Massachusetts, where I met Jerry... To Marina del Rey, California; Washington, DC; New Haven and Guilford, Connecticut; San Diego, San Francisco, Palm Springs, and Santa Barbara, California; Las Vegas, Nevada; Irvine, California; Sevilla, Spain. And Fuengirola, Málaga..

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