Day 66 - "Palm Sun Day"

Day 66, and this is a story of an old man called Pepe, a palm tree and a trip into the little seaside town of Salobreña. Daily life behind the police lines in Spanish Lockdown.

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Day 66 Palm Sun Day

Wednesday of phase 1 and yesterday evening we went along to the big house, belonging to our friends Petra and Justin.  We did a bit of watering; they have a great many planters filled with exotic plants that all get thirsty in the warm weather.

 

We also let in Pepe, and his wife, I would guess that Pepe is in his late fifties, maybe early sixties, it is hard to tell, he was one of those thick set, strong looking Spanish that come from families that have spent years of harsh back breaking agricultural work here, picking at the rock hard soil, that grows so much of what you are probably buying in the supermarket right now.

 

From avocados, pineapples, strawberries, tomatoes, kumquat, oranges, lemons, grapefruit. Throw it in the ground, water it and it grows. 

 

The worst agricultural jobs are under the sea of plastic.  The hideous man size polytunnels that stretch for miles along this beautiful coastline, that mean you can have strawberries on Christmas Day.

 

That work seems to be mostly done by migrant labour.  Moroccans that are shipped over on the ferry.  They work under the incredible temperatures that those plastic greenhouses rise to.  The picking has to stop in the main part of the day, as it is so hot, continuing late into the night so that you can enjoy all year-round fruit and veg.

 

Pepe had come to trim the palm tree that towers maybe 20 metres or more in front of the house.  He turned up in a very ordinary looking Estate car, - We were expecting a cherry picker or some kind of crane device on tow behind his car.

 

He got out, his wife was with him “hola” she said to us and he opened the boot and pulled out a pair of those calliper looking things that children who had polio used to be strapped to when I went to school in the far off black and white sixties.

 

We followed them both with intrigue.  His wife had a large machete in her hand, so we definitely kept our social distancing.

 

The bottom of the callipers had foot holders and were connected by some kind of harness.  In one moment, he whipped the harness around the tree, placed himself in the callipers, his wife handing him the machete – and like a rat up a drainpipe he shot up the tree all the way to the top. The boot parts had spikes that sunk into the trunk.

 

His wife stood some metres away, and then with the machete he started to hack off the dead fronds from the tree. They came tumbling down the twenty metres to the ground with a crash.  His wife calmly walking over and dragging them out of the way.

 

Not one thought to a risk assessment form, health and safety, barriers or even a sign that said, “Danger men at work.”

 

We were both astonished at how incredibly strong he was and agile and how it looked so incredibly dangerous, but somehow, we felt completely safe standing there, whilst we talked to his wife about the stupidity of trying to buy clothes.

 

“Only the small expensive shops are open,” she said in Spanish.  “What is the difference between shopping in the big supermarket for food, and then they rope the clothes off because you are not allowed to buy?”

 

She threw her hands up in a theatrical way “no se” – I don’t know!

 

Wednesday morning and we were both on edge, we need to go to the Pharmacy and the Post Office.

 

The Government have made wearing face masks obligatory, they are 93 cents each and last once, so going out is going to be rather expensive in the next few weeks.

 

We drove in the car together and I sat in the front passenger seat for the first time in more than twelve weeks. I had forgotten what the car smelt like, that sweet interior smell of whatever they make car insides with!

 

We parked up and walked without masks down the street.  As people approached, they crossed the road and also gave you that, “stranger in town” look.

 

Salobreña is a tiny seaside town and everybody knows everybody else, and sometimes they are also related to each other too.  So, they know when there are foreigners afoot, and ones without any masks.

 

I looked into the Pharmacy just one old lady at the right-hand side till.  The other Pharmacist waved me in through the door. I had a list which I leaned over a barrier made of a carboard cut out advertising hoarding of a woman with a self-satisfied smile on her face after treating her intimates with some kind of cream for thrush.

 

The Pharmacist peered down her glasses at the list.  “Es corecto?” I asked.  “Si,” was her one-word answer.

 

Twenty-two Euros later we had some masks, more paracetamol and ibuprofen and some tablets for hay fever.  The same drugs, less the masks, in say Wilkinson’s in the UK would have come to just a few pounds.  Over counter drugs here are eye wateringly expensive.

 

The elderly woman at the other till was asking in accented English - Spanish how much again for her purchases? The Pharmacists repeated the amount.  I turned to her and said “Us English have so much trouble speaking Spanish.”  She turned to me and pulled her mask down.  “I speak perfect Spanish been living here twenty years.” She said “But I can’t speak a word of it with this bloody mask on!”

 

She was right, you can actually speak quite coherent English without actually moving your mouth.  Later I put a mask on and tried speaking Spanish and immediately the wretched thing fell off my face.

 

It probably explains why there are very few Spanish Ventriloquist acts around, so looks like I am going to have to practice speaking Spanish without moving my mouth – “gottle of gear”. “bott tay ah, de therrr ccaaar tha”