I’ve already said that almost everything about Málaga surprised me, that it wasn’t the the city full of sunburned drunken British hen parties that I expected. It’s actually one of the oldest cities in Europe – it started life around 2700 years ago as a Phoenician outpost on a trading route between Phoenicia, which is more or less modern Lebanon and bits of Syria, and Gibraltar. Ancient Carthage later took it and following the Punic Wars, it became a Roman city. Next up were the Visigoths, the Byzantine Empire and the Moors and in 1487, it was taken by Christianity and started to become a Spanish city. Whether the next move is to become part of an independent Andalusia remains to be seen.
Perhaps the jewel of these nearly-three millennia of history is the Alcazaba. Technically, I should specify the Alcazaba of Málaga since there are at least eight alcazabas scattered mostly across southern Spain, which had quite a few centuries as an Arabic territory. The word comes directly from the Arabic and you might recognise the casbah as something you rock. It means a fortress or citadel, or the fortified part of the town or sometimes the old town in general.
Málaga’s was first built in the 11th century, probably in the 1020 or 30s and substantially rebuilt in the 14th century by Muhammad II al-Faqih of the Nasrid dynasty, ruler of the Emirate of Granada, which owned Málaga at the time. Some of the stone was looted from the 1st-century AD Roman theatre at its foot, another sight worth seeing in Málaga, and especially because it’s free.
Let’s take a little detour to it. For a city of its age, the Roman theatre is relatively modern but it makes the Alcazaba look like a child, predating it by some thousand years. It’s very well-preserved, give or take the stone diverted to the fortresses, mostly because it was buried for a long time and only uncovered in the 1950s when they started to build the Culture House next door.
You enter it by the caravan-like modern building at its north end, passing someone in a kiosk that looks a lot like a pay desk whose job seems to be little more than assuring visitors that it’s free, which we might not question were there not apparently a pay desk immediately inside.
There’s a little exhibition hiding in here, some videos and displays telling you about the history and a few artefacts pulled from the archaeological dig, including what seems to be an actual human grave complete with human occupant just sitting there for gawking tourists to take photos of. Then you go outside and walk straight into the centre of the auditorium.
I’d heard rumours that despite the front half being missing, the theatre’s acoustics are still good enough that if you clap your hands, it echoes and I can confirm that it kind of does. The seating is more or less intact and you can imagine yourself performing to an audience. Unbelievably, there are some Roman theatres of a similar age still in use as theatres. I went to Pula last year which has a full circular amphitheatre where the likes of Lenny Kravitz, Ricky Martin, Moby, John Legend, Kraftwerk, Sting, Nick Cave, Lorde and Jimmy Carr (one of these things is not like the others!) will be playing later in the year. I don’t think anyone actually performs at Málaga’s theatre nowadays but you can always pretend – and I did!
On that note, although we think of Roman amphitheatres as venues for gladiator battles or blood sports, they were more often used for plays. I don’t know about you but I don’t picture Romans putting on plays. The Greeks, absolutely – even those among us who know very little about ancient theatre can probably name The Frogs, Oedipus Rex and Electra but it turns out there are 37 more or less complete plays still surviving from ancient Rome, mostly comedies. So there was more to Roman public entertainment than ritual death!
To go back to the Alcazaba: you enter from the main entrance next to the theatre. It’s free after 2pm on Sundays, which is great for encouraging people to appreciate Málaga’s history but it also means the queues are ferocious. If you don’t want to walk up to the top, there’s a lift hiding somewhere on the opposite side (I wondered if this would allow you to skip the queue but ultimately I never went to find out) but it’s absolutely worth walking up. You miss at least 60% of the Alcazaba if you don’t walk up.
There are two main parts, the outer citadel and the inner citadel. The outer is more a system of ramps, switchbacks and gates designed to repel intruders than what I’d call a citadel and every now and then you’ll find steps up to a wall with good views over the town but zero protection from falling six or eight feet onto the cobblestones on the inner side.
Despite the existence of the lift and the fact that the climb takes you up about 60m, it’s not a particularly strenuous climb. Maybe that’s because we made regular view or photo stops or maybe it’s because the ramps and switchbacks make the ascent more gradual than ploughing straight up the hill would be.
I don’t know exactly where the outer citadel becomes the inner one but there’s a gate where it begins to feel less like you’re being repelled and more like you’ve reached the bit you can explore at leisure. Esther, Catherine and I separated at this point – them to the toilets by the cafe and me to a little rose garden with a fountain in it to rest my feet and bend my legs a bit, which they desperately needed after two days of averaging 10km a day walking around Málaga.
Then everything fell apart a bit. Esther sent a picture of the view from the northern end of the Alcazaba to the group chat. You’re going on without me? So I put my sandals back on and raced up there. No sign of them. They’d clearly passed me going in the other direction, probably when I came up the hill next to the cafe.
I raced up the Alcazaba, sweating and footsore and furious that they’d left me behind. How far up had they gone?! How fast were they doing this?! Why weren’t they waiting for me?! I was missing looking at the thing because I was too busy chasing them!
At last, out of desperation, I asked the chat “Where are you??”, mentally adding “Wherever you are, just stop until I get there, and why aren’t you waiting for me??”.
Reader, they’d only just that second left the toilet queue, which was possibly more monstrous than the entry queue. They’d taken the picture of the view on the way up there.
I am an idiot. I should have known they wouldn’t rush off without me. I shouldn’t have even questioned it. Well, if for no other reason, when I found them, Catherine was having delights over the views down to parakeets and swifts below and spotting butterflies. Even if they’d gone on without me, they’d do it slowly and I’d have found them pretty soon.
Idiot.
We went upwards more slowly as a trio than I had on my own. There were lots of birds to see and lots of viewpoints. Fountains too, including one I wanted to cool my feet in. Well, to be honest, there was one that looked like a bathtub full of murky green water that I could have happily thrown myself in after my exertions but I limited myself to a fountain that looked like it wouldn’t be openly rude to cool my feet in.
Now we were definitely in the inner citadel. There’s a series of palaces built around courtyards up here and although most of them have had some restoration in the last century or so, a lot of it dates back to the 11th century.
The first is the oldest, an 11th century Taifa-period palace with decorative Moorish-style arches and tiles, perfect for a very symmetrical photo. It’s missing at least one side but between presentation and restoration, what’s left is pretty pristine.
The next two courtyards, Patio de los Naranjos and Patio de la Alberca, are both (restored) Nasrid-era with original pools. I just wish the water in the pools was fit to dip your feet in, or even have a swim in, after a long hot day walking around Málaga. The water is very green and I think I probably wouldn’t want to touch it but it’s nice to imagine it clean and ready to be used. This is quite the setting for a swim!
Beyond the Patio de la Alberca is the Barrio Castrense, the Military Neighbourhood, which is very well-preserved, not least because it’s not open to the public. Again, some of it was restored in the 20th century but a lot of it wasn’t and it includes its own hammam. Hammams lean toward too hot for me but I love the idea of having a proper Islamic bath in an ancient Islamic fortress. There’s a hammam somewhere down in town which went on my maybe-list (despite knowing perfectly well I had no intention of visiting it) but it would be an incredible experience to visit the Alcazaba’s ancient hammam – and I can just imagine the price!
That’s as far up as the general public can go. There’s an entire labyrinth hiding behind the walls up here on the hill but the rest is closed off. But somewhere there’s a corridor connecting it to the Gibralfaro castle, Málaga’s other ancient marvel and something I’ll tell you all about next time.
I Am A Polar Bear 