The Bejewelled Baker

The  bejewelled baker, a fiesty blond, and a fishmonger -summer adventures in Andalucia.

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 have an arty B&B.  I wanted to check out it out , and I'd  liked the look of their online paintings.  Missing the turning, I  found myself in Olias , miles away  in the direction of Malaga.

Olias was gearing up for their anual fiesta weekend.

Driving into the small village I immediately spotted a bar/restaurant.  It was almost lunchtime, so I pulled over and parked my car, not brilliantly I admit,  but ok.  I got out, felt hungry, smelled pork, and breathed in the hot dusty air.

At the very same moment the fish man  arrived  from the opposite  direction. He  parked abreast of me, blocking the road.  Then the bread van  arrived and parked behind me. Roadblock.

A group of local women were waiting for both vans.  They sat on a low wall , probabaly just like their mothers and grandothers had done for  decades.

Behind them,   stunning views of  rolling hillsides were dotted with ancient olive trees, the dry soil a rich terracotta colour.  To their left , the Mediterranean stretched  way up the coast into the pale distance, and  way down  passed the busy port of Malaga.  On a clear day you would be seeing  right across to Morocco. Today wasn't clear enough.

One of the village women, about 55, the alfa female, wore a  tight white mini lacy cotton dress, exposing strong shoulders.   Sexy and defiant  her short  dyed blond hair was pulled  into a small ponytail.  This  needed to grow it a tad longer to give the full youthful effect I thought.

She was a don't mess with me lady. A person with power. Funny how you can sense these things instantly.

She looked me up and down slowly.  I'd become part of the traffic jam. Part of her world for a few moments.

She scanned me. Labelled me?

Then she noticed the crutch. 
Was that  a hint of a smile?

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 at least 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 (without doubt).  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 blond), she was almost clapping, her arms full of toilet rolls napkins ,bread  and fish.

‘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).