My neighbour across the hall, the Lady from Leon, rushes over to inspect my purchases from the Simago supermarket as I step out of the lift. My arms are yanked almost out of their sockets with heavy loads of potatoes, onions, apples, tomatoes, garlic, bottles of gaseosa, and even a rotisserie chicken.
Her head disappears into my net bags as she pokes and squeezes, examines everything carefully for freshness. With huge grunts and groans she then glances up at me and announces, “Why pay high prices at Simago for vegetables that aren’t even fresh?! Next week, you and I will go together to the market. I’ll show you how to really shop.”
I guess she’s right. The merchandise at the weekly market is indeed probably fresher, so I might as well agree to go with her.
The following week arrives and The Lady from Leon rings my doorbell. Before we can even say an 'Hola' the lift arrives. Many times you have to wait for ages on one, so I dive over and hold the door open for her.
“Are you ready? Now, you have to be alert.” She talks as if she’s scolding me.
We make our way downstairs and outside onto the busy streets. A woman is holding a little girl who is urinating at the curb. I’m always surprised to see things like this, but the Lady from Leon doesn’t comment, so maybe it’s quite normal here. There are gypsies wandering around with their hands outstretched. I never know whether to give them money or not. I have heard that if you don’t give them a few pesetas they’ll put a curse on you, but the Lady from Leon ignores them, so I do too. I really don't like how one of the gypsies looks at me, however. If something awful happens to me, you'll know why.
“You need your wits about you at the market. Don’t let them diddle you.”
“I won’t. I mean, I will… try to be alert.” I feel as if I’m going on a field trip. Maybe I should be taking notes?
The Lady from Leon is well-prepared for shopping. She has the tools of the trade and is ready to go. A huge basket dangles from one arm and inside the basket are net bags. All will be filled by the time we get back to the apartment, of that I’m sure. This is serious business shopping at the market.
“You don’t have a bag with you?!” The Lady from Leon looks appalled. “Here, take one of my net bags. How else are you going to carry your things back?!” She hands me one of her bags.
“I wasn’t planning on buying much.” I guess I need to acquire more wits about me if I’m going to succeed in this excursion.
The Lady from Leon marches down the road as if she’s on a mission. We are soldiers, protectors of the non-diddling group who will never, ever be diddled, and we walk in step towards the market. She waves at acquaintances with the flick of her wrist and a loud “Buenos dias!”
“Want to know how to get free food?” Her eyes are twinkling at me mischievously.
I nod, even although I don’t really want any, especially food that’s lying outside under the sun with dozens of people coughing or blowing their nose over it, never mind all the flies buzzing about.
“You ask to sample whatever it is that they’re selling. After going round different stalls, your belly will be full!” The Lady from Leon laughs heartily.
People are pushing and shoving, and the vendors are calling out, trying to get everyone’s attention. The pungent smell of strong cheese fills the air. The chirping of budgies and other small birds add to the noise. Children chase one another and squeal loudly. There’s a strong stench of body odour emanating all around me. Flies squat on the bread and pastries and gaze up at us defiantly. People are sipping on coffee, some are slapping back Anis or brandy, others are spitting seeds onto the ground, or picking their teeth with toothpicks. I feel as if I’m entering a play being performed on stage. Everyone seems to know his or her role, including the stray dogs prowling around looking for scraps to eat. I think I'm the sole member of the audience, but that's still a role, isn't it?
I spy a vegetable vendor. His tomatoes are enormous and covered in dirt. The Lady from Leon picks some up and squeezes them. She shoves them to her nostrils and sniffs loudly, then places them down and starts the process all over again with other tomatoes.
“There. These are good ones. Very fresh. Fresher than the ones at Simago! Clean them with vinegar. They’ll be fine.” The Lady from Leon assures me.
“I think I’ll get myself a kilo.”
“Watch the scale. The people here could diddle you. ”
“I’m going to look at the table covers. The women in the small villages make them. Meet me over there when you’re done.” The Lady from Leon weaves her way through the crowd towards the stall selling table covers and napkins.
I hand the vendor the pile of tomatoes that the Lady from Leon has chosen for me.
He places them on the scale. Guess what else he does?
He places his elbow on the scale, too!!
Now, he wasn’t even surreptitious about this. I mean, he stands there right in front of me complete with his elbow on the scale. Does he think I don’t notice?
“Senor, your elbow is on the scale.”
“No it isn’t.” He quickly removes his elbow. Then, guess what he does?
He places his hand on the scale!
I need to do some quick thinking to prevent an escalation of this potential tomato battle.
I stare at his hand, then stare at him, making eye to eye contact. I’m trying to embarrass him into removing his hand from the scale. Does it work?
I calculate that he’s possibly only diddling me out of one tomato, but who’s counting?
I quickly pay him, place the tomatoes in the net bag, and rush over to meet the Lady from Leon.
“Ah, you got your tomatoes! Did he try to diddle you?”
“Em. Well, no. Not too much.”
The Lady from Leon chides me with the look she gives the milkman any time he tries to diddle her out of a few pesetas. She has very expressive eyes, without a doubt.
“You’ll learn. Don’t worry. Just look at the lovely table covers! Hand embroidered. I think I’ll buy one to take to my sister in Leon.”
I’m relieved that her attention is now taken up with the hand embroidered linens. She is right, however. I do need to have my wits about me. I should have insisted that the vendor remove his hand from the scale. Oh well. On top of it all, I have to lug around two pounds of tomatoes all through the market. I always get mixed up thinking that a kilo is a pound. It never fails.
Thanks for stopping by. If you'd like to read more about my life in Spain during the seventies and eighties please check out my wee blog at http://www.seventiesandeighties.blogspot.com