¡España 08! Part 3: The Locals

Our itinerary told us that we would sometime be playing 'the locals' in a game of basketball. Oh yeah, todo bien, right =) I considered most of the people in our group capable of team sports, however knowing it was not for everyone... What I wasn't aware of was the obvious set-up we were unknowingly involved in, with 5 (yes, it only took 5 of those machine-like Spaniards) local teenagers- Victor, Fran, Salve, José, and someone's name who've I've temporarily forgotten. Maybe there were four of them. I'd love to know which one of our supervisors thought it'd be amusing to chuck us in a game with 4/5 freakishly tall, older Spanish boys. I'm putting my money on Nono, our faithful tour guide (seen on the left with a Spanish teacher from Orewa College, Gastón Fernandez). Those locals were built for this game.

Before we started, however, Sean thought we may have had an inkling of a chance in intimidation methods if we performed the haka. He took Dylan, Vinnie and Justin in his flanks and cautioned them- in all seriousness) that the warrior-dance had to be executed perfectly, for if they screwed up, the basketball giants wouldn't take us seriously at all and we would 'lose their respect'. Its funny, because I think everyone but Sean knew that that's exactly what was going to happen. When it did happen, Sean wasn't too happy, swearing his nut off at the boys in his little tribe. I really couldn't help myself, I had to laugh. =D =D Sorry Sean, but it was amusing.

So the game went as expected- a total tragedy for us. After a horrific loss, we tried teaching them how to play touch. They were completely stumped. It took a bit of practise rounds and they weren't quite there yet, but it was all in good fun. We took the games onto the basketball court outside of the rec centre (because we got kicked out so some others could train), somehow still enthused in taking a thrashing from the Spanish boys.

That's when we had a man down in team NZ: Leah dropped straight to the ground halfway through a run to keep up with the ball, screaming of calf cramps. It was strange, and kind of scary. She was crying in pain, but she wouldn't allow anyone to help her. I was worried, but glad she'd dealt with this before and knew how to fix it herself, seeing as though she wouldn't let us near her. She did a couple of laps around the court to stretch her legs out, and would be reassuring when one of us would run over to see how she was going every so often.

So the games came to an end, and we conversed with The Locals for a short amount of time, exchanging a few 'Todo bien tío!'s and, being the polite kiwis that we are, thanking them for sacrificing their afternoon to give us a hiding.

Another tour! This afternoon Nono took us through 'calle de las flores' (I made that up), a long brick pathway, hidden somewhere in Vejer (our geographical knowledge of the place was seriously challenged) in between the apartments, with pretty potted plants and flowers all over the walls and on the ground- it's all because in Spain, patios are a historical (and yet still very popular) custom- and because places like these are typically apartments, the only spaces available for flora are flower boxes or ceramic pots. It was really cool, and I picked a flower that I thought was really pretty, right at the same time as I came across the sign saying 'Please DO NOT pick the flowers'- oops, got it, sorry- I'd put it back if I thought that would fix it, but- hmmm. After our second tour we hit up the pizzería again for dinner.