Monday, May 6, 2013


    My girls keep asking for me to tell stories about Spain.
We lived there from 1970 - to 1975.
The girls were then teen agers and had a very chaperoned life style.
Most of their friends were from the fishing village we lived in called  "Nerja".
(Now an enormous tourist attraction ).

Oddly enough the first story which came to mind was about a death.
The girls had not understood all the nuances around it and probably do not remember it.

                                                                          TRUE story I swear .                                                      
During the last 2 years in Nerja we "house sat" for the most beautiful villa in the village.
Owned by Americans. They had built it for their retirement years.
From our enormous patio/balcon we not only saw the Meditarenean but on a clear day also Africa.
It was a heavenly place. Came with maid and gardener.

Next door was a Sexy bikini clad Swedish gal in her 60's, she could only talk sex,
the maid cooked, the gardener gave her lots of flowers, the husband ( much older than her)
gave her get the picture.

One night she bangs on our door:
"Jeannot, he is dead!" followed by
"We made the most beautiful love and he died.
Come and see
Come and see"

The poor man looked more than death, he looked exhausted and still  warm.
The maid had followed instructions and put rose petals all over him , and the bed.
At first blush I thought she had killed him and it was all blood.
Uneka, clad in something transparent hung on to my husband who did not know where to
put his arms. It was a scene worthy of an Italian opera....
We tried to calm the lady but all she could talk about was her last scenario with him. After that he just died!                                                   

We called a man who knew a man who picked up bodies.
By the time he came the floor of most of her villa was covered with rose petals, enough to slip and slide
and join good old John.

A small (they were all small in Spain in the 1970's) little van which no doubt was going to get groceries
for the market in the morning , pulled up. Bob and I looked at each other and could hardly stay serious.
They brought a pine box but most men on the Costa del Sol were quite short not like our John who
in better days had played basket ball in his college. This box looked like it was for leprechauns.

They put old John in the box followed by Uneka who gave the details of his passing on
in her broken Spanish , the legs  stuck out of the box and the van,
the man looked at Uneka with desire in his eyes and told her that he would drive slowly.
He would help the senora as much as possible, if she needed anything else just tell Paco.

We went to the funeral , the next day, they do not keep bodies for long on the hot Costa del SOl.
My British friend Helen and her French husband Alfredo came along, they were elderly and very
stoic. Alfredo and I looked at the coffin and concluded that someone had become very short in the
night. Alfredo whispered to me in French "May his penis rest in peace" while Helen kept
whispering "Oh dear, oh dear, she killed him".

Bob did not like funerals and was home, when returned I was hysterical laughing , this indeed
was a funeral I was going to remember and by golly41 years later I still do.

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