Sunday morning dawned fair and lovely so after the chore,s i.e. cups of tea, giving the dogs their breakfast and watering some pots, we headed along the coast to Almuñecar, to the Sunday second-hand market. We were early enough to get a parking place alongside the main N340 directly opposite the market/fairground/main carpark which stretches along side the N340 under the shade of the majestic european plane trees.
The market used to be run by a cancer charity and held on the first Sunday of every month and people came from miles around to buy and sell and then, some eighteen months ago,it was closed down by the Council for, what seemed to us, no obvious reason.
Earlier this year the market was reopened by the city council and all bookings for stalls have to be made at the Town Hall and all monies are received by the Town Hall and the market is now held every Sunday.
It doesn't need much thinking about really.
The consequence is that the market is now a shadow of it's former self but still... we came away with a pretty blue wall plate and yet another piece of metal with a spike to hold a candle and the man of the house bought yet another zandana, a sort of cloth cap which used to be called a bandana.
Much later, in need of refreshment, we decided to walk down to the sea stopping along the way at a cafe where we sat outside in the shade and drank our cokes. The owner gave us a very nice tapa of small hot bread rolls with a filling of tuna with a hint of onion as well as a good amount of crisps.
One thing we find very strange about Spanish folks is that no sooner do we sit down in an empty space, than we are be joined by more people. If there is no one sitting outside then people will pass by. It is exactly the same on the beach. We can be sitting on an empty beach but the next people to come along will park themselves just a few yards away from us. It happens too often to be just coincidence.
There is a cafe on the edge of the market where we always stopped for coffee and cokes until our last visit one busy Sunday morning in Spring when our daughter, who speaks Spanish fluently, heard the waiter call out to the kitchen, 'No tapa for them, they are foreigners'. We made a point by asking for tapa but they have lost our custom. We won't go back.
We slowly went on our way down to the sea practising being retired pensioners with nothing to do and joining up with the Spanish out for their morning promenade along the sea front. Actually, we just sat down in the shade of a large palm tree and watched them for about an hour before our daughter and Spanish son-in-law caught up with us. They had hit the market a good hour and a half after us and then had driven down to the beach and the underground car park.
They joined us for the highlight of the day, Curry lunch at the Khan. It's our only Indian within driving distance. Other establishments have sprung up and closed down over the years we have been here but this establishment has, as one of it's owners, a very nice Spanish lady and that, we think, is the reason for it's permanence. Yesterday, the quality of the food was perfect. There was a time when the resident chef went back home to Bangladesh after being away for three years when the cooking was very odd indeed. we kept away until we knew the chef would be back, then had an excellent meal in February and have had every time since.
On his return, the chef showed us a picture of his son aged three of whom he was very proud.
Our daughter and son-in-law, having filled the back seats of their car with a rake and a large piece of trellis and other bits and pieces from the market,were in no position to offer us a lift so, much later, we strolled slowly back up to the now deserted main road and our car. The market had long gone, it was siesta time so we headed home and did nothing much at all for the rest of the day.
The market used to be run by a cancer charity and held on the first Sunday of every month and people came from miles around to buy and sell and then, some eighteen months ago,it was closed down by the Council for, what seemed to us, no obvious reason.
Earlier this year the market was reopened by the city council and all bookings for stalls have to be made at the Town Hall and all monies are received by the Town Hall and the market is now held every Sunday.
It doesn't need much thinking about really.
The consequence is that the market is now a shadow of it's former self but still... we came away with a pretty blue wall plate and yet another piece of metal with a spike to hold a candle and the man of the house bought yet another zandana, a sort of cloth cap which used to be called a bandana.
Much later, in need of refreshment, we decided to walk down to the sea stopping along the way at a cafe where we sat outside in the shade and drank our cokes. The owner gave us a very nice tapa of small hot bread rolls with a filling of tuna with a hint of onion as well as a good amount of crisps.
One thing we find very strange about Spanish folks is that no sooner do we sit down in an empty space, than we are be joined by more people. If there is no one sitting outside then people will pass by. It is exactly the same on the beach. We can be sitting on an empty beach but the next people to come along will park themselves just a few yards away from us. It happens too often to be just coincidence.
There is a cafe on the edge of the market where we always stopped for coffee and cokes until our last visit one busy Sunday morning in Spring when our daughter, who speaks Spanish fluently, heard the waiter call out to the kitchen, 'No tapa for them, they are foreigners'. We made a point by asking for tapa but they have lost our custom. We won't go back.
We slowly went on our way down to the sea practising being retired pensioners with nothing to do and joining up with the Spanish out for their morning promenade along the sea front. Actually, we just sat down in the shade of a large palm tree and watched them for about an hour before our daughter and Spanish son-in-law caught up with us. They had hit the market a good hour and a half after us and then had driven down to the beach and the underground car park.
They joined us for the highlight of the day, Curry lunch at the Khan. It's our only Indian within driving distance. Other establishments have sprung up and closed down over the years we have been here but this establishment has, as one of it's owners, a very nice Spanish lady and that, we think, is the reason for it's permanence. Yesterday, the quality of the food was perfect. There was a time when the resident chef went back home to Bangladesh after being away for three years when the cooking was very odd indeed. we kept away until we knew the chef would be back, then had an excellent meal in February and have had every time since.
On his return, the chef showed us a picture of his son aged three of whom he was very proud.
Our daughter and son-in-law, having filled the back seats of their car with a rake and a large piece of trellis and other bits and pieces from the market,were in no position to offer us a lift so, much later, we strolled slowly back up to the now deserted main road and our car. The market had long gone, it was siesta time so we headed home and did nothing much at all for the rest of the day.
