La Sauceda – part four (Paco, coffee and cigarettes)

Thanks to all its virgins (I mean the ceramic altar inhabitants), Spain enjoys an abundance of long weekends.  We escaped to La Sauceda again last weekend.

This is Paco.

Paco looks after the place.  He is heavily caffeinated and capable of completing a wide range of tasks without putting down his cigarette.

Since the cabins are about a kilometer from the road, he will also haul your stuff up in his ancient Land Rover.  For six euros of course.  Paco isn’t stupid.

The Spanish flag is a nice touch.

Yago went for his first Land Rover ride.  Well, his first since being born.

The last time Yago was in a Land Rover I was six months pregnant and we were bouncing across Morocco with our fearless, hashish fueled driver.  I thought the poor kid would come out like a scrambled egg after that trip.

Talking to Paco is an education.  Being in the service industry doesn’t stop him from always greeting us with the same phrase:

“Rogelio, picha!  Me cago en la mar y la madre que te parió.” Which translates as:

“Rogelio, penis!  I crap myself in the sea and the mother that gave birth to you.”

After a fabulous weekend, we left Paco alone with his aging Land Rover.  The vocabulary was getting even more colorful.


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