It was late August 1981 and we were driving around Spain. My new wife’s Grandmother’s had an old Seat 124 and she had let us borrow it for the summer.
The car ran great for its age, but the lack of air-conditioning meant we drove with the windows down when the air was cooler than the inside of the car – so maybe half the time!
On this particular afternoon we were heading down to San Javier from Murcia to present me – the recent addition to the family – to yet another branch of an ever extending extended family.
I was a novelty. Not just a new husband, but an “Inglés”. My wife is the eldest of a slew of cousins, so everywhere we went there were little kids who thought my inability to speak the language was the funniest thing….. E….VER…
On this dusty two lane highway flanked by fields I saw a small white shack with a sign outside “Se Vende Melones” – Melons for Sale.
I pulled over.
“What are you doing?” my bride asked….
“I’m going to buy a melon…” I would have thought it obvious.
“Let me go – they’ll take advantage of you as a foreigner…”
I know she meant well, but this was a matter of national pride now.
“No. I’ll go”
And so I went into the shack. Inside there was a mountain of melons next to a (very) old lady in a rocking chair.
She said something I didn’t understand, but it was a good guess it was “Good afternoon” or “How can I help you?” so in my broken Spanish I said I wanted to buy a melon.
She nodded towards the melon mountain as if to say… “We’ve got plenty of those, take your pick” and that’s when I was inspired by a moment of pure genius…
“Mi mujer es de Murcia… ” I started – my wife is from Murcia.
“Ella dice los mejores melones en España son de Murcia… ” – she says the best melons in Spain are from Murcia.
That was the magical phrase….the old woman became animated and shouted for a young girl.
The young girl came running and there was a quick fire exchange between the two.
The young girl passed melon after melon to the old woman for approval. None met her exacting standards.
The young girl was sent out to the field to bring more candidates and eventually the verdict was pronounced…. this melon can go forward to represent Murcia in whatever challenge is being arranged.
I thanked the two of them, visible relief written across the young girl’s face – and returned to the car with the biggest melon I’ve ever seen.
We set off again almost dizzy in the sweet aroma coming from my prize melon.
Upon arrival in San Javier, the melon became the central talking point and I became some kind of smart worldly traveller who instinctively knew how to get the best from the indigenous peoples I met on my travels.
In truth it’s far, far simpler than that.
Every Spaniard is fabulously proud of their village, their region. The produce, the traditions, the wine, the cuisine. And rightly so, every town has something unique to offer… and given the tiniest opportunity the child of that town will proudly show off its finest feature.
Ask any Spaniard about their town or village and what it has to offer, and they are in their element. And before you know it you are making plans to visit, or, if you’re already there, heading off to a specific restaurant or bar to sample that which can only be fully appreciated in that particular place.
It could be sherry in Jerez, or cheese in La Mancha, jamón in Jabugo – or melons in Murcia. It is one of the most endearing characteristics of my Spanish friends. And the pride is always well founded.
It was an excellent melon.
