In some insane misreading of time tables, Camille and I had booked ourselves a flight that left Edinburgh at 5:45 in the morning, meaning we had to wake up at 3. Camille was way too chipper and I wanted to kill her but we did make it– not after having to check my bag at the gate which cost me a pretty penny. The gods were not in my favor that day. We arrived in Malaga, stored our bags and had about two hours to see the city before we had to get to Granada. Luckily for us there was a festival for some battle Spain had won so the streets were packed with locals and performers and shops. We wandered through, got gelato, went to the massive church in the city square and by that time, our two hours were basically up and we headed back to the train station.