Alas, the pueblo. Village seems too small and dare I say, Medieval and city, well, as we hover at 5,000, that is far too big a word for here. So pueblo it is. Given it's relatively small size, I've concluded that it's made up of all of about ten families plus us, Los Americanos. How can ten families be 5,000 strong you ask? Why, marriage of course.
Take, for example, my friend and neighbor Paqui. Paqui is married to Pedro, an Archie Bunker kinda guy minus the bigot. Her cousin, Pili is married to Pablo and they live two doors down, right in front of our place. Pili is a painter and Pablo is a plumber and together they have a little girl, Ana, Henry's age. Every Friday night Paqui, Pedro, Pili, Pablo and a dozen or more other family members gather on the front patio of Pili and Pablo's house for drinks and laughs. Pablo's brother, Oli(ver), usually pops by with his wife, Gema, who happens to be Paqui and Pili's cousin. Not to be left out, Beatriz and her crew are good for at least every other Friday night. Beatriz's husband is Juan and Juan's sister is a sister-in-law to Oliver's other brother, Rafa.
Nevermind rereading it, just be glad you don't have to try to remember all of it.
So I tried to circumvent the obvious confusion brought about by the intermingled family ties by instead focusing on the Who's-Who of the pueblo; the key players if you will, the Don Corleones if there ever was such a thing which only led to further confusion when I learned that...
the mayor is the taxi driver, out on leave until her term is up
the baker is the goat herder
the hair dresser is the real estate agent
the auto mechanic is the taxidermist
the police chief is the grocer
the plumber is the insurance agent
and finally, lest we forget the banker
who is actually the bartender but only on Friday nights.
And somehow, though I haven't quite got it all worked out yet, they're all related to Paqui.
The ups,downs & in-betweens of life in sunny Spain with four kids; two of them diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis.
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We have the same issue in my neighbourhood. I found it quaint until I realized that my mother-in-law is a cousin of the equivalent of your Paqui, which means I am related to the whole bloody mess. (What's your Pueblo? That ex-pat-eez for What's your sign?)
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