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gerbieI can´t remember having posted this one before to be honest. If I have, sorry for the rerun. If not, hope you´ll enjoy it.
Pepe
He is the second one I stop for that day. I used to hitch hike a lot myself, therefore I guess it's only natural that I return the favour whenever I can. The first one this morning was a Bask who lives in Salamanca and now travelled the coast in search of a job. In summertime at the Costa's, there are more opportunities than in the rest of the country. He was broke, still had not found a job and decided to return north. We had breakfast together, a little later I stopped to let him continue the main road, while I turned to the smaller roads that were the scenic route I had rented the car for.
This one is a bit older, he looked peculiar. I guess he has about one and a half teeth left. He goes to Villamartin, only the next town down the road, a few kilometres further. To start a bit of a conversation I asked him if Villamartin was his hometown, but he pointed to a group of houses at the end of a field to the left, "That's my village".
He asked me my name. Gerben is a tad complicated to pronounce for most non-Dutch people. Andalusians have a similar gutsound though, which resembles the Dutch 'G'. "Is that Dutch for José?" he asked. I have to disappoint him, my name cannot be translated. "My name is Pepe", he tells me. "That's certainly not your official name, the one in your passport", I reply, knowing that Pepe is a familiar nickname in Spain, usually for people who are called José. "It is a nickname for very intelligent people" he answers, "I am very intelligent". In my humble opinion, somebody who really is, will never say so. Nor does Pepe look very intelligent, but who am I to judge, so I won't contradict him.
"I am a doctor", he explains to prove his point and I have to admit that it works. I am impressed, though not completely convinced. Nevertheless, when he continues his explanation I understand it. He touches my arm to show his profession. "I touch people, take the pain away from them." Certainly an important skill, but I don't have any pains at the moment to make him prove his powers. Apart from that, I am sure that medical science might not be as convinced of his powers, as he seems to be himself.
"When you stand on top of that hill, you can see the sun using binoculars" is his next remark, pointing to a hill next to the road. I laugh and answer that it would probably go at the expense of one's eyes, but he corrected me and said that by using binoculars that risk didn't exist, that would only be the case if you look straight. The hill is about 15 meters higher than the road we drive on.
We talk a bit about my country and his, his cue for telling me how well travelled he is. "Amsterdam, America, Buenos Aires, Rio, Montevideo, Nueva York, Uruguay, Argentina, Buenos Aires, Washington". His words sound like he has learned the list by heart. Probably he has told this story a zillion times in the local pub, should you ask something about these places, I assume he couldn't tell you a thing about any of them. I like him talking though, he keeps me entertained. And although I find his words hard to believe, I find him a very sympathetic character.
We are driving into Villamartin by now. I offer to drive into town, instead of taking the main road around it. A picture of the virgin, I guess it's Mary, is on a block of cement in the middle of the first round about. "She protects us, she's the virgin of our village", I miss the name, it certainly wasn't Mary, my lack of biblical knowledge sometimes is a disadvantage. Obviously, they are very religious over here in Spain. While he is talking about his family, he suddenly stops to point at a far away mountain. I would have loved to hear a bit more about his 13 brothers and sisters, but this is more important. "Can you see it?" he asks me, while pointing to the right, "that's where our virgin lives. On top of that mountain." I am driving through a small main street of an unknown village though and find it difficult to listen to him and still I should be looking at some mountain. I fail to see which mountain he means. "The one with a little house on top", he adds, but as we drive into town centre, the houses get bigger and I can't see anything but the street and it's buildings. I have missed it.
"Straight, always straight", he guides me through the town he was born in. "Everybody is a friend of mine here, I know everyone who lives here." It doesn't surprise me at all, actually it was the first thing he said for a while that actually makes sense. I have to stop in front of a pub on the other side of the centre, again no surprise. He invites me in as well for a little beer, but I tell him that drinking and driving might not be such a good idea. We shake hands as he gets out of the car, while he explains for the third time how I should drive out of town to get on the main road to Ronda.
He is wrong. A few kilometres out of town I had to turn. I couldn't have cared less.
He is the second one I stop for that day. I used to hitch hike a lot myself, therefore I guess it's only natural that I return the favour whenever I can. The first one this morning was a Bask who lives in Salamanca and now travelled the coast in search of a job. In summertime at the Costa's, there are more opportunities than in the rest of the country. He was broke, still had not found a job and decided to return north. We had breakfast together, a little later I stopped to let him continue the main road, while I turned to the smaller roads that were the scenic route I had rented the car for.
This one is a bit older, he looked peculiar. I guess he has about one and a half teeth left. He goes to Villamartin, only the next town down the road, a few kilometres further. To start a bit of a conversation I asked him if Villamartin was his hometown, but he pointed to a group of houses at the end of a field to the left, "That's my village".
He asked me my name. Gerben is a tad complicated to pronounce for most non-Dutch people. Andalusians have a similar gutsound though, which resembles the Dutch 'G'. "Is that Dutch for José?" he asked. I have to disappoint him, my name cannot be translated. "My name is Pepe", he tells me. "That's certainly not your official name, the one in your passport", I reply, knowing that Pepe is a familiar nickname in Spain, usually for people who are called José. "It is a nickname for very intelligent people" he answers, "I am very intelligent". In my humble opinion, somebody who really is, will never say so. Nor does Pepe look very intelligent, but who am I to judge, so I won't contradict him.
"I am a doctor", he explains to prove his point and I have to admit that it works. I am impressed, though not completely convinced. Nevertheless, when he continues his explanation I understand it. He touches my arm to show his profession. "I touch people, take the pain away from them." Certainly an important skill, but I don't have any pains at the moment to make him prove his powers. Apart from that, I am sure that medical science might not be as convinced of his powers, as he seems to be himself.
"When you stand on top of that hill, you can see the sun using binoculars" is his next remark, pointing to a hill next to the road. I laugh and answer that it would probably go at the expense of one's eyes, but he corrected me and said that by using binoculars that risk didn't exist, that would only be the case if you look straight. The hill is about 15 meters higher than the road we drive on.
We talk a bit about my country and his, his cue for telling me how well travelled he is. "Amsterdam, America, Buenos Aires, Rio, Montevideo, Nueva York, Uruguay, Argentina, Buenos Aires, Washington". His words sound like he has learned the list by heart. Probably he has told this story a zillion times in the local pub, should you ask something about these places, I assume he couldn't tell you a thing about any of them. I like him talking though, he keeps me entertained. And although I find his words hard to believe, I find him a very sympathetic character.
We are driving into Villamartin by now. I offer to drive into town, instead of taking the main road around it. A picture of the virgin, I guess it's Mary, is on a block of cement in the middle of the first round about. "She protects us, she's the virgin of our village", I miss the name, it certainly wasn't Mary, my lack of biblical knowledge sometimes is a disadvantage. Obviously, they are very religious over here in Spain. While he is talking about his family, he suddenly stops to point at a far away mountain. I would have loved to hear a bit more about his 13 brothers and sisters, but this is more important. "Can you see it?" he asks me, while pointing to the right, "that's where our virgin lives. On top of that mountain." I am driving through a small main street of an unknown village though and find it difficult to listen to him and still I should be looking at some mountain. I fail to see which mountain he means. "The one with a little house on top", he adds, but as we drive into town centre, the houses get bigger and I can't see anything but the street and it's buildings. I have missed it.
"Straight, always straight", he guides me through the town he was born in. "Everybody is a friend of mine here, I know everyone who lives here." It doesn't surprise me at all, actually it was the first thing he said for a while that actually makes sense. I have to stop in front of a pub on the other side of the centre, again no surprise. He invites me in as well for a little beer, but I tell him that drinking and driving might not be such a good idea. We shake hands as he gets out of the car, while he explains for the third time how I should drive out of town to get on the main road to Ronda.
He is wrong. A few kilometres out of town I had to turn. I couldn't have cared less.
