Trading a bull for a pair of shoes

Steven introduced me to a little bakery nearby, called Dolce Vita because he promised creamy coffee and chocolate croissants.  The beautiful baked items beneath the glass case all looked delicious,  and true to form, like my brother, chocolate usually wins out for me.  I was delighted that two coffees and two filled croissants only cost 6,20 euros, so I paid… Yes, I tend to be generous when the bill is less than 10 euros (smile) and we are taking turns.  He was correct. The coffee was creamy and the best I have had so far, in Spain.  The croissant tasted like the hot cross buns my friend Lyn shared with me for Easter a few years ago. Deliciosa. 

Then, I was on my own; I left my brother at home, grabbed my map and headed toward the seafront. My eyes can barely keep up with the sights. The first bit was very steep upward and I was puffing by the time I reached Calle de San Francisco before the street smiled and I was walking downward again. I love all the gated doors and the sidewalk decorations that looked like someone slid a steel bar across wet cement. I found a small alcove along the street as I walked farther and stopped to ponder it.  Graffiti. Debris. Sadness. A forgotten place…

When I saw the Swinger’s Bar, I chuckled and of course, out came my camera.  After I snapped the photo, I turned around and a younger man was eyeing me, looking at the restaurant sign and then eyeing me again with a chuckle of his own,  I hurried on…

After trying to find the bull in this photo for two days, I decided to find it on my own. You know, ask questions, follow the Benalmadena map and look for the old guy myself.  There was just something about him that I wanted to investigate (I told you already that I have nose trouble).  After walking in and out of shops showing different people the bull’s photo without any results, I spied a shoe store.  Like my mother, daughter and granddaughter, it is hard to pass them by. Keeping in mind the non-space in my luggage, I tried to ignore it. But, Lyn gave me a pretty, flowing sundress that I hope to wear soon and my black sandals just won’t do, so I glanced in the door.  A tiny, older woman (probably my age as I give up trying to guess age here) was drinking a glass of coffee at a little table in front of the cafe next door and when I glanced in, that was her cue to jump up and welcome me.  Her Spanish eyes spoke volumes of kindness, so I pulled out my phone to show her my bull photo.  Maybe she knows…

First, she laid a hand on my shoulder and peered at the photo.  Then, she scrunched up her lips in serious thought and shook her head.  “El toro está en Benalmádena Pueblo, no está aquí.” The bull is in the Pueblo, not here in Benalmádena coastal.  

When she saw my shoulders slump, she asked me in English, “You need shoes?”  

I grinned and peeked into the shop, stunned to see the entire shop filled with shoes.  As I went in with the woman, I heard her repeat several times, “shoes Italian, not Chinese.”  I found a pair and she pointed toward a blue-cushioned chair.  I was immediately a child again, a time when shoe salespeople actually lifted your foot to slip on the shoe because that’s exactly what this little Spanish woman did.  And they fit like Cinderella’s slipper. 

After I gave her my euros, she returned my change and I realized she had shorted me 10 euros. I pointed to the bills and her hands flew up to her red face. “Oh! I am sorry!”  She pushed the missing 10 euros into my hand and held them briefly as if to ask my forgiveness.  I heard her apologizing three or four times as I walked away from her with my new shoes clutched to my chest.  Hmmm, guess if I don’t find that bull, I still have the shoes. A good trade?