We finally made it.

Dude, the flight across the pond was the most uncomfortable ride I have ever endured.  Apparently, Air France doesn't believe in air conditioning, and prefers to seat the widest vegetarian Indian man in existence next to our aisle's only air vent.  Seriously, homeboy must be sneaking barrels full of double cheeseburgers out of public eye.

Despite my whining about this long, but temporary inconvienance, the personal on-demand entertainment system made the flight survivable.  I finally got to watch True Grit and The King's Speech.   Both great, but True Grit was especially bad-ass.

Our hotel in Malaga is a wacked-out, art deco meets post modern acid trip mashup.  There's even an aluminum slide that snakes from the 2nd floor to the lobby.  I suspect I will be taking this ride after a night of tapas and plenty of vino. Maybe I can surprise Monica and shove her down it!

There are all sorts crazy sacks and other lights hanging about.

Lunch today, provided us with our first taste of authentic Spanish tapas...

... and we saw a bunch of European looking stuff...

The highlight of the day was the Pablo Picasso Musuem.  He was born here in Malaga, but  boned out at the age of 19 and never returned.  However, the museum retains an impressive collection that spans almost all stages of his life. Sadly, they have a piss-poor policy against taking pictures, so visit the link above to see more art.

The most pleasant surprise of the tour goes to the temporary exhibition of one loony German named Martin Kippenberger.  Homeboy was a hilarious nut-case, and I highly suggest looking up his stuff.

Tomorrow we visit the town of Ronda....