Pablo de Ronda has been “de Rodríguez” since last Wednesday, when his wife jetted off to Germany to look after her older sister, who has just come out of hospital after major surgery.
“Footloose and fancy-free” is the best “translation” Pablo can muster for “de Rodríguez”. For a more in-depth discussion of the topic, click here: ... de Rodríguez? - Secret Serrania de Ronda
Anyway, if you’ve now read the article, you’ll be expecting Pablo to give a “nudge-nudge-wink-wink” account of what he’s been up to while the missus has been away. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Here’s what has happened so far:
Where can I get a coffee?
I dropped the “Meter Maid”, Rita (geddit?), at Málaga Costa del Sol airport at just before 5.30 am. Her flight to Paderborn (North Rhine Westfalia) was due to take off at 7.00 am.
I’d already decided to spend a few hours down on the coast, to do a bit of shopping in stores not available in Ronda, and then to have a swim in the Med and have a snooze on the beach.
First things first, I needed a coffee. So, I toddled off to Torremolinos to look for a café or chiringuito overlooking the beach. What better than seeing dawn break on the beach with maybe a chance for a skinny-dip?
Well, I drove the entire length of the coast, some three kilometres, and nowhere was open.
I was driving so slowly that I appeared to arouse interest by a local police patrol – probably thought I was a kerb-crawler.
What to do? The shops don’t open till 10.00 and it’s only 6.00 am? I followed a sign for the centro urbano and almost immediately found a 24-hour bar.
“In for a penny, in for a pound,” I thought, so I entered.
The clientele was a fascinating mixture of workers on their way to work, topping up with a coffee and a chupito of anís or coñac; people who’d clearly been up all night clubbing; alcoholics; whores; and a transvestite. And that was just inside.
The terrace outside was also full: with smokers (I caught a whiff of wacky-baccy); other “alternative types”; and a guy drinking pints of lager.
“Must be British,” I thought.
Oh, well, each to his own – we all have our little quirks, idiosyncrasies and addictions, don’t we? I’m not normal either!
Oh, he was British, by the way, as I discovered later.
So, I sat at a table and got my work out. I had some press cuttings to read and some writing to do and had brought my laptop with me.
I had two coffees, mainly to keep me awake, but was surprised that you had to pay en seguida, ie at the moment of ordering. With hindsight, probably a good idea with the dodgy clients the bar attracts.
I more or less finished what I wanted to do, and it was getting hotter inside by the minute, so I decamped outside.
What happened next?
“Lager man” was at the next table. He seemed to know everybody, local and guiri alike, but he was definitely English. From his accent I reckoned he was from the North West.
And so he was. When I engaged him in conversation, it emerged that he was from Bury, Greater Manchester. Not far from the second school I taught at in Middleton, in fact. He now lives in Bolton, another of my old stomping grounds.
He was here in Torremolinos for the umpteenth time – that’s why he seemed to know everyone – but he still works in the UK.
As he ordered his third pint of lager while I’d been in the bar, he told me he never drinks in England.
“I more than make up for it when I’m out here, though!” he remarked straight-faced.
“So I’m not an alcoholic,” he added.
Sorting things out
After leaving Torremolinos, I headed for Málaga City. I noticed that Leroy Merlin was already open, so I popped in for a coffee and breakfast in their cafetería, before going into the store to buy the stuff I needed.
Then I headed for Carrefour in Málaga. This enormous French-owned hypermarket has everything. I was there for ages.
But I got what I went for: cat food for kittens, plus a few other things that are hard to come by in Ronda.
A quick trip to Aldi and LIDL to see if they had certain things they don’t have in Ronda -they didn’t!
By this time, it was mid-day. Should I go to the beach for a swim, which was what I had intended?
No, I needed to head back home, see to the kitten and so on and so forth…..
Back in Ronda
Paulinchen was fine. I fed her then popped to my local, Hotel Ronda Valley, for a “quickie” before preparing some dinner at home.
My day out? I enjoyed it immensely.
© Pablo de Ronda
Tags:
Alcoholics, Aldi, alternative types, Bolton, Bury, Carrefour, chupito, “de Rodríguez”, “footloose and fancy-free”, Germany, Greater Manchester, Leroy Merlin, Lidl, Málaga, Málaga City, Málaga Costa del Sol airport, “Meter Maid”, Middleton, North Rhine Westfalia, Pablo de Ronda, Paderborn, Paulinchen, Paul Whitelock, people who’d clearly been up all night, pints of lager, Rita, skinny-dip, smokers, Torremolinos, transvestite, wacky-baccy, whores