The Lift!

We were going the supermarket to do the big weekly shop and needed some cash, so we drove into Oria to go to the bank.

As we drew up to the bank, Heather jumped out to deal with the cash machine, and I went a little further up the road to the Ayuntamiento (town hall) to turn the car around. I carefully reversed around the lottery ticket seller who always sits on his quad bike on the corner there; and I had nearly completed my three point turn, when an elderly man waved me to a stop.  

To be frank he looked just a little rough! Sun beaten leathery skin! Work clothes that had many a day of work in them. Tough boots and a cap set at a jaunty angle. A typical old time Andalucían peasant farmer. In his very gruff accent, he mumbled something at me, and then got into the passenger seat, folded his arms and waited for me to set off!

“You can’t sit there”, I said! “It’s my wife’s seat”. 

So with a huff and a grunt, he got out and seated himself in the back of the car. So what could I do but set off to collect Heather, who I could see was just completing the withdrawal and stashing the cash in her purse.

“WHO IS HE?” She exclaimed when she saw we had gained a passenger from somewhere. She’d only been gone 2 minutes and I’d allowed the car to be hijacked!

“I don’t know”, I replied. I could see her thinking how could this happen?

“What does he want?” she puzzled.

“I think he wants a lift”!

“Where to”?

“I don’t know” – I was pretty bemused myself by now, but I had decided to go with the flow. I don’t like supermarket shopping, and if I was to be kidnapped by a Spanish bandido, well so be it!

Heather was pretty nervous about getting into the car with us, but I told her, “I’m sure it will all work out”.  So off the three of us went!

Down the main street – where were we going?  Bar Oria - No; Third Age Club -No; Coviran supermarket- No and not the butchers either: we went past Nati’s supermarket to the roundabout, and made a right turn to go by the petrol station.

Wherever we were going we hadn’t arrived yet, but apparently we were still going in the right direction!  About 200 metres further on he tapped me on the shoulder.

So I stopped and he got out, and with a “muchas gracias” he set off down a little track.

Such is the trust that people here seem to have in each other, and the respect and assistance the old folk can expect