A trip to a ghastly town encouraged by Mother’s need for specific
beauty supplies. The Saturday market was buzzing… with illegal street
merchants. “You know you can never, ever buy anything from these, don’t you? If
the police see you you’ll be thrown right into jail! It’s completely illegal
you know!” Believe it or not, I can survive without Louis Vuitton knock-offs. Many
poor dealers were abused with a loud “NO! GRACIAS! NO!” as we roamed through
the market until suddenly mother spots a man selling rather nice handbags at
the very end. Her eyes dart towards a certain bag and the African gentleman
shouts “Good price! For you, good price! Come on, señora! It’s real crocodile!” I avoided eye contact
and hastily strode ahead, thinking mother was following, however as I turned
around I see her in a full blown conversation with him. Not wanting to get lost
in a foreign country, I reluctantly walked back to her and mouthed “what are
you doing?!” … “LOOK! Isn’t that a lovely bag! Do you like it?” Turning back to
bag-man, mother compliments him on his English and begins a lengthy
conversation about how he learnt the language and what other languages he knows
and where he went to school and where he’s from and what he does and who his
friends are and what brought him to Spain. Conversation turns back to the bag
she has her eye on; “un momento, por favor…” bag-man says as he ducks under the
table. All of a sudden he reappears with a canvas bag and pulls out a large
piece of real snake skin. Lovely, a dead animal thrusted into my sight with no
warning. “All of these bags is made from this, you see? Is real! Feel it, feel
it!” Brilliant, I was stuck in bargaining-hell.
Managed to telepathically persuade mother to not purchase
anything from an illegal street vendor and we retired for a coffee. Within five
minutes we’d had two homeless men approach us. Two minutes later another man
miraculously emerges between us and
shoves a handful of gold chains in our faces. Mother says this is normal in
these parts; “It’s like this in Paris, darling! It’s sort of… cultural!” Well,
I don’t like Paris much either, actually. Apparently I am typically British
when it comes to personal space and pests. I absolutely cannot stand anything
like that. Frustration and discomfort brewing inside me as mother embraced it
with polite declines. How can you relax while you’re constantly harassed by strange men trying to sell you illegal
goods?! No chance to de-fume from the previous seller and we were loudly
serenaded by a Mexican man with an out-of-tune guitar. Minimal eye-contact on
my part (mother bopped along encouragingly). Horrendous noise faded as he moved
along to the next unsuspecting couple.
Nearly had a dinner guest as mother publicly drooled over a
man selling (illegal) watches; “but his smile,
darling!”
My patience was
draining as we became victims of yet another illegal merchant. This one decided
minimal interaction was the best form of persuasive-selling. DVD’s this time.
Mother, however, decided communication was key; “Wait. What ones do you have?
Let me see? What movies have you got here?” … “is good, is good” Shuffling
through the pirate copies (none of which I recognised), asking my opinion –
knowing I didn’t want to be involved in this illegal encounter – and eventually
picks out an awful rom-com. “If it
doesn’t work I’ll be wanting a refund you know! Is it any good?” … “is good, is
good. Good quality” … “hmmm. I hope you’re right. I’ll be bringing it back if
it doesn’t work!” So, despite enduring an entire morning’s worth of lectures on
not to buy anything from such street sellers, Mother actually purchases said
tacky DVD. I am still confused as to why she felt the need to buy an illegal
movie that neither of us had heard of; “Well I couldn’t just back out could I?!
I didn’t want to let the poor man down.”
Charlotte-Elizabeth xoxo
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