Malaga – People of My Neighborhood

Rosie was living in Malaga for one month on her own whilst  The Operator was back in New Zealand working.  Rosie had loved her time as a tourist checking out the sights of the city with The Operator by her side.  Now on her own, Rosie was a bit apprehensive.   The area she was staying in was sooo far from the Old Town and tourist area and it was abit….well, dowdy, ordinary and humdrum.

Within a week of exploring my neighborhood Rosie had a smile on her face and realized she had hit the jackpot.  This area was exactly what Rosie wanted for her time in Malaga, a quiet, everyday suburban neighborhood that kind of just opened their arms and embraced the only tourist and non Spanish speaking person in the barrio.  Me!

Rosie was staying about a 4 minute downhill walk from the Plaza de La Victoria which was Rosies main shopping and more importantly coffee area.

The barrio bustled in the early morning with mums dropping their kids off to school, the local police standing on the road around the plaza blowing their whistles and moving the slow moving, morning rush traffic around it in an orderly fashion.  The sun by this time had just popped up over the buildings and older folk would sit in a sunny spot on a park bench in the Plaza underneath the blazingly purple jacaranda trees reading the paper.

Rosies world in Malaga pretty much revolved around this Plaza and the adjacent streets around it which contained everything I needed for my stay, including supermarkets, cafes, restaurants, fruitshops, bakeries, butchers, pharmacy, post office, bookstore and a hairdresser!

At the cafeteria iSamoa, the counter would be full but the stools empty quickly as folk do not linger over coffee and their customary bread roll breakfast spread with tomato paste and cheese here in Malaga.  The irony of finding a cafe that was named after an island in the pacific from my neck of the woods was not lost on Rosie.

Rosie loved this cafe and the guys who worked here.  Only one, Rafael, spoke a smattering of English and he was the one who worked the fewest hours.    Open 6 days a week from 0700 till 9.30….Antonio was the cook, Paco #2 was a real joker…in Spanish, which was mostly lost on Rosie, and a gem of a guy and Alfonso, he made the best coffee but stopped short of a smile….Rosie got there in the end though!

Paco#1 (a very popular name back in the day) was Rosies favorite and he took me under his wing with always a kind word (in Spanish) and a smile, after a couple of days, like all good middle aged waiters here, he would remember my order when I walked in, placing it in front of me as I sat down making me feel local.  Paco#1 had worked here at this very cafe since he was 14 years old…42 years ago…..six days a week 14 hours a day.

Rosie frequented this cafe for a morning cafe con leche before striking out and exploring the Old Town, she would call back in the afternoon when coming home for either a tapas lunch sometimes or if it was the afternoon, a beersie or vermouth.   It was in this cafe sitting on a bar stool, Rosie met most of the neighborhood characters.  She would smile, they would be curious, know I was foreign and ask the Pacos or Alfonso who I was, safe in the knowledge I couldn’t understand.  All I ever picked up was Nueva Zealande….so I knew they were talking about me….and I smiled and greeted the questioner in Spanish.

The Spanish are social….very social and very inquisitive, kind of bordering on what we would call nosey, but it is normal there….for people that do not speak the same language as me they were keen on chatting.  How did this work you may ask?  Rosie had trickily pre learned answers to questions that would be invariably asked.  Such as what I was doing here.  How long I was staying, Who am I here with.  I would start conversations with these answers…as I couldn’t understand the questions I would get asked?  Get me? These answers always drew raised eyebrows, and then I would proceed to tell them that they had such a  beautiful country and I would reel off where I had visited and they would swell with national pride (every time), question me on famous sights and other towns and we would converse with the help of sign language, pigeon English and Rosies abysmal Spanglish.

Within a couple of minutes a couple of others would join in and with three playing the game we all understood what was being said surprisingly well.  As these were older mainly retired gentlemen Rosie was conversing with we all shook hands and introduced ourselves at the end and went our separate ways.  From then on Rosie started getting nods in the streets, surprised regal looking wives, who never frequented the cafe, walking arm in arm down the street looked quizzically at Rosie as she exchanged greetings with her husband.  Tips on places to visit and things to see locally were given to Rosie that she would not have found out about otherwise…especially the hidden chapel in the Church, that was a real gem.

Diego was a retiree and the best and pretty much only English speaker in the barrio!  He helped translate many a conversation for others and he started teaching me Spanish…of which he would then quizz me on…Rosie had to be on her toes.  The cafe gang liked the fact that I was interested in the Easter Celebrations coming up and would tell me about how it all worked and what I could expect to see and advise me as to parade times.

One coffee companion that Rosie had conversed with once and nodded to on the street was meeting his family around the corner at a Tapas bar and wanted me to come and meet them….awkward…with so little communication, but Rosie was coaxed along and he wouldnt take no for an answer.  He was meeting his two sons, both were a little younger than Rosie and they could speak perfect English!  What a great lunch we had, they introduced me to the local delicacies of Malaga that were in the Tapas bar and Rosie discovered that one son was home, visiting from London where he lived, especially for Easter so he could be in the Barrios parade.

Dad sat there smiling away and nodding throughout the informal counter top lunch and Rosie found out that Dad was the head of the Brotherhood in the Barrio, a position of great pride and family tradition…Dad then proceeded to pull a business card, out of the his suit jacket pocket, right on queue to reinforce his position and importance.

The oldest son was the bell ringer in the parade.  He walked at the front of the throne and dictated the pace, when a rest was needed he stopped and started the throne by ringing the bell.  This too was a family place of pride, honor and tradition.  The youngest son from London was still a throne carrier with the masses, but tradition dictated that the bell ringing job would be his one day.  Every year, no matter where they are in the world they come back to Malaga for Easter to see their family and catch up with their friends they were bought up with in the Barrio and to honor their Easter tradition.  Wow what a great story and what a great lunch, Rosie felt so grateful to be included in this precious family time.

The name of the tapas bar Rosie was taken to lunch at was Bar Pedroso and Rosie became a regular there.  Going for coffee at iSamoa and then lunch here.  The bar was run by Samuel and the food was cooked and served by his Mama.  Papa who had opened the bar and decorated it so eclectically from his travels in Africa and Morrocco 40 years ago had passed away.  Those two worked from midday to midnight 6 days a week.  Just the two of them, flat out and always busy as this small, divey bar which was very popular.  Cranky Mama was a good cook and the arguments her and Samuel had behind the bar were legendary… and amusing.

One day in the bar a man sat next to me and offered to buy me a drink…Rosie smiled and declined, no thank you I am fine said Rosie who still had half a bottle of Cruzcampo left.  He was insistent and Samuel nodded his head at me as if I should accept….OK….he introduced himself as Antonio…and said I can speak English, oh wow, that’s ace, Rosie always looked forward to a proper conversation.  Turns out that’s all he could say in English…so we ended up in a Spanglish stilted conversation.  He was a nice guy, who was a chef and lived in this area all his life.

During our conversation, guys were coming into the bar and slapping Antonio on the back, giving him the wink and being a bit leery.  OoooooKaaaay, thought Rosie, better buy him a drink now to reciprocate and time to scuttle off me thinks.  Then Anna walks in, his wife, the buzz in the bar lowered a tone and most eyes swiveled around to watch.  Anna drapes herself over portly, balding Antonio and looks at me with pursed lips.

Rosie is too old for this crap…Hola!  Mi nombre is Rosie I said with my best smile.  Annas eyes narrow and she turns to Antonio and unleashes in Spanish.  Samuel comes over and Rosie thinks placates the situation…. Rosie offers to by Anna a beer….that worked, off she pulls Antonio into the corner where for the next twenty mins all you can hear is her banging on.

Over the next few days, Anna and Antonio are always down the back of the bar, turns out this one of their local haunts.  Rosie always says hello to both of them and then after a couple more days Anna comes up and finally introduces herself to me.  Rosie is abit wary and by the look on Samuel’s face behind the bar so is he…Anna cannot speak a word of English, always seems to be half cut and looks like she has either been sleeping rough or dragged through a bush backwards.

Anna buys Rosie a beer, Rosie buys Anna a beer and we talk for about an hour….after that we are best of friends and she calls me down to her seating area whenever we are in the bar at the same time.  Antonio and Anna show me around the other tapas bars in the neighborhood and advise on where to get the best food over drinkies and we all end up strangely the best of mates.

Everyone knew when my last day in town was, they all made it there business to ask….and Paco#1, who Rosie used to bump into at Pedroso on his Monday day off and sometimes on his afternoon tea breaks from iSamoa, where he would drink beer before going back to work, arranged to meet for drinks as a farewell.  Rosie was touched, everyone who Rosie spoke to or drank with regularly turned up to say farewell.  Anna even gave me a beautiful red Spanish hand painted fan as Rosie never bought one as she thought they were a tourist trinket.  On the contrary said Anna horrified, every Spanish woman has one in her bag as it gets so hot over summer you need it!  Rosie will treasure it forever.

These are a few of the tales of conversations and friendships Rosie struck up over her time in this small Malaga Barrio.  Rosie felt that this was truly the most immersive foreign community Rosie has stayed in.  The hospitality, help and advice Rosie got from the people that lived within this single neighborhood was heartwarming.  Rosie genuinely felt she was being included and looked out for.  If you were born here, as per the Easter traditions which has locals coming home from all over the world to participate in neighborhood traditions,  you will always be part of this community for your whole life, through your lineage and family which are number one here to these amazing people.  Rosie was lucky to have experienced this feeling of community for a month and Malaga and its people will always have a place in my heart and be fondly remembered.