My European Vacation — Malaga

Memories are funny things. As I try to pull together all that happened during those three weeks in September, some of the memories are faded, while others are in sharp, three-dimensional Technicolor.

Like the shock of recognition that jolted through me when I first saw Tio Pepe, my grandfather’s youngest brother. He looked so much like grampa it amazed me. Even the way he moved was like him.

Like lovable and crazy Luci (pronounced “loo-chee”), who at one moment would humble herself, groveling at your feet for attention and then the next growl and try to bite you for doing so. It always started with a twitch of her upper lip. Then slowly, she’d begin to growl, staring at you like you were a threat. If you didn’t heed her warning and stop petting her, she’d suddenly lunge at you hand and try to bite it!

Like the strange man that kept flirting (to put it nicely) with my mother during La Fiesta de la Virgen de la Victoria. As we watched the dancers perform in front of the cathedral, Mom leaned over to me and said, “This man keeps rubbing up against my butt.”

I looked over. Behind her was this skinny, balding man trying to look innocent. He held his arms crossed in front of his chest and was leaning back so that his body below his arms was rubbing against my mother. There was no one behind him. I knew he was being a creep.

I glared at him.

He looked away.

Soon, Mom got tired of adjusting to get away from him, so we moved down to the street for a closer look at the dancers.

But this is not where the story ends. No. No. No.

Later that day, as we walked the paseo, enjoying the warm breeze, the flowers, the shade below the trees and an ice cream cone, guess whom we saw?

You got it. Our friend the creep.

I lean over to my mother and whispered, “Look Mom, it’s your boyfriend.”

“Oh no!” she said.

We avoided eye contact and Mom sat down on a bench to adjust her sandal.

He recognized us and sat down beside her. He asked, in Spanish, if we spoke Spanish. We said no. German? No again. English, we said. He said he didn’t speak English.

Mom got up and as we left him behind, he told my mother that she was beautiful.

“How disgusting!” she said to me.

I just laughed, knowing I would have a fun story to tell.

Next Installment: La Fiesta de la Virgen de la Victoria.