My exploring today wasn’t nearly as intrepid as yesterdays with you Cathy, for many reasons. One being I forgot the map!
I headed for Cutar where some interesting Danish artists are living , missed the turning, and found myself in Olias which is in the direction of Malaga.
Olias was gearing up for their anual fiesta weekend.
On entering the small village I spotted a bar/restaurant right away, so pulled over and parked, not brilliantly I admit,, but ok. It was lunch time.
At the very same moment the fish van arrived from the opposite direction, and parked abreast of me, blocking the road. The bread van then arrived and parked behind me.
There was a group of local ladies waiting for both vans. They were sitting on a low wall by the roadside. Straight behind them was a stunning view of rolling hillsides dotted with ancient olive trees, the dry soil a rich terracotta colour. To their left , the Mediterranean sprawled way up the coast into a fuzzy pale distance, and way down to the right to busy Malaga, and right across to Morocco. These views feed my soul.
One of the village ladies - aged about 50 - was wearing a white mini lacy cotton dress, shoulders exposed. Her short hair was dyed blond and pulled into a tight little ponytail. She was the ring leader.
The alfa lady.
She looked me up and down slowly. Scanned me. Labelled me?
Then she noticed the crutch. Her look softened.
There was a hint of a smile.
The chatty housewives were stocking up on fish and bread for the fiesta weekend. They would be expecting visitors, for sure.
A car came up behind mine and of course couldn’t pass. The fish van would have to move, but nobody was in a hurry. There were lots of loud jokes from the ladies, and finally the young fishmonger jumped in his van, grinned at me, and dashed off to stop again and block the road at the next blind corner!
The ladies mooched over to the grinning middle aged weather-beaten bread man who was wearing about 10 multi-coloured bead necklaces, each with a flimsy plastic cross dangling from the bottom of it. His open shirt exposed a small clump of curly grey hair.
An alfa male, sin duda. Full of life energy.
After buying her bread the blond lady asked for her toilet rolls and paper napkins. The bread man considered bringing these important items a huge favour, and their joking reached decibels. The goods were sitting on his passenger seat – he had no room for anything else I think he was saying!.
‘What d’ you want,’ he then asked me abruptly. ‘What have you got I.’ asked.
‘Bread!’ he said laughing louder than ever.
The ladies didn’t laugh.
‘Jajajaja, hombre,’ I said, ‘no soy totalmente tonta !!’ (Hey pal , I’m not completely stupid!).
‘MUY BIEN,’ shouted the rubia ( the blondie), she was almost clapping, her arms full of toilet rolls napkins and bread .
‘You tell him matey,’ she said, or something like that.
I think the blond and the bread man have history.
So love my life Spain.
|A painting by Picasso I've never seen called Campesinos ( country folk).|