Signed, sealed, discovered

It's always the little things, isn't it? Back in the nineteen nineties at a time when cars were still seen to be trundling up and down the main street in Malaga city centre, Calle Larios, it was becoming clear that all of the road signs that pointed into town that had hitherto read 'Centro' were being methodically replaced with ones that said 'Centro Histórico.' The writing was on the wall - almost literally. Malaga had big plans to move up in the world.

Thirty years later, Calle Larios is well and truly pedestrianised. These days, international fashion parades flounce their wares where once an endless stream of SEAT Ibizas belched plumes of smoke and double-parked while their drivers sipped on coffee and anís in family run cafes and restaurants long since trampled underfoot by unforgiving franchises. Times change.

And so, it was with no little trepidation that I approached the bus stop up here in the village, the other day. Not to catch one of the two daily buses on offer, but rather to investigate a discombobulating suspicion.

From a distance, I'd spied a discarded takeaway coffee cup on the bus stop bench which was odd in itself - everyone is very litter conscious indeed around these parts. However, I had even graver concerns. I approached gingerly. It couldn't be, could it? Surely not. I squinted at the cup. Oh, Lord no! Please, no! Alas, my worst fears were confirmed. This was no ordinary coffee cup - it was a Starbucks coffee cup. Here. In the village. Here in the village where you're more likely to see a mule pop its head in through the local bar window while you're enjoying a beer (no, really) than hear the words 'Caramel' and 'Macchiato' in the same sentence. It's all downhill from here.

It's odd how television and radio advertisements for holiday destinations will often employ the word 'undiscovered' in an attempt to entice customers, as if any place featured on a radio or television advertisement could, in any way, possibly be described as 'undiscovered.' And yet, we all yearn, as visitors, to find places 'where only the locals go' which, let's be honest, is normally just the places where they work.

The city of Malaga has long since succumbed to the lure of the tourist dollar, gaining status and wealth on the one hand while simultaneously losing the essence of its identity on the other. These things are an ongoing conundrum.

Meanwhile, let's see how long we can hold back the tide up here in the village. Starbuck's coffee cups are one thing, but it'll be when they start putting up the 'Pueblo Histórico' signs that we'll really need to worry.