Málaga turned itself from the airport you land at on the way to somewhere else into the reason to come. The Picasso Museum opened in 2003, the Centre Pompidou and the Russian Museum collection followed in 2015, the port was opened back up to the city at Muelle Uno, and the old industrial quarter became Soho, painted end to end. No other city on this coast has done anything comparable.
The city sits in a bowl. The Montes de Málaga close it off behind, the Guadalhorce valley opens to the west, the sea lies in front. That shelter is why winters here are mild, and it is also why the city is dense: there is nowhere to spread except along the shore, so the barrios climb the hillsides instead, while the old centre stays walkable between the cathedral, the Alcazaba and the market halls.
Málaga is a working Spanish city rather than a resort, and that is the trade-off. You get an airport inside the city, hospitals, universities and an economy that runs all year, and you accept that daily life is conducted in Spanish, that the centre is busy and built up, and that a bilingual life arranged around golf and a beach club is something the coast west of here does and this city does not.