Have you read “The Nautical Chart” by Arturo Perez Reverte? It’s a great book if you like a little mystery, romantic moaning about the sea, modern pirates and psychotic dwarves. I also loved the book because it is set in my neck of the woods. The underbelly of Gibraltar figures prominently.
Johnny Depp type black-patch pirates have been replaced with on-line gambling and money laundering, but still, the place has an air of intrigue. You can just feel something brewing behind the crowds of fat cruise boat tourists and tacky duty-free shops. As I wander the back streets I always expect James Bond to brush past in a red convertible.
So I got into my Bond girl persona yesterday as I crossed the border with a huge wad of someone else’s cash in my purse. More cash than I have ever held before. Ok, it wasn’t next to my hand-gun and truth serum in a designer handbag, it was hidden under some wet wipes and a mini-tupperware full of raisins, but still, I felt pretty edgy.
I nervously glanced over my shoulder as I entered the seedy money exchange, expecting someone to whisper hoarsely,
“Game’s up, Mommy. Where did you hide the emeralds.”
Luckily, I had my own psychotic dwarf on point, keeping the coast clear.
“Hey buster, no one touches the Mommy without getting past me first.”
The dirty work done, the other person’s money stowed safely away again with the kid snacks, I geared up for part two of my mission. Shades on. Sexy swagger. I strolled past the police, border guards and customs agents without flinching. They were all checking their cell phones and arguing about the football match, but still, I was pretty cool.
There was no car chase, but I did get the stroller up on two wheels in the grocery store parking lot. No one mistook me for Halle Berry but probably only because I am not black.
Do they make alcohol-free martinis?