Spanish men do have voracious eyes.
Or to be rather more accurate, the look in their eyes is voracious.
Wandering down to the site where Partner is working, I passed a couple of Spanish workers walking in the other direction.
The one, dark haired and dark eyed, stereotypical image of a Spaniard, literally devoured me.
This is what puzzles me about them. They look at all women, regardless of age. Well, most women, I guess.
Contrast this with an earlier walk, where I went past the mosque, and being Friday, all the faithful Musulmáns were off to pray.
They are the other extreme, they step out of your way, and they certainly don’t look at you.
A typical example of multi-cultural Gib where you cross from one continent, culture and religion, to another, within the space of a few minutes.
Back to the building site. It wasn’t the first time I had been up there, as I dutifully take the forgotten tea bags or sandwiches when they have been left behind in the morning, so I have met a couple of the other workers, invariably Spaniards.
The other day, I trotted up with the sarnies, and the typical exchange went:
Spaniard: ‘Comida! Comida!’ (Everything they say begins and ends with exclamation marks) – Food! Food!
Me: ‘Sí, el tonto aquí lo has olvidado.’ Much laughter – ‘the stupid one here has forgotten it.’
Sandwiches duly handed over, I made the obligatory trip to the job centre and called at the outdoor exercise park on my way back.
From the exercise machines, I could see the guy I had been laughing with walking around the site.
When Partner came in that evening, he said the Spaniard had seen me at the exercise park.
‘How old is your woman?’ he’d asked.
‘Fifty something,’ answered Partner.
‘Joder!!’ said the Spaniard. ‘But she isn’t engorda!’ (Fuck! – but she isn’t fat!)
And just for emphasis, he drew a nice square in the air with his hands to represent his view of the majority of 50-year-old Andalucian women, who tend to be short, solid, and of the brick shithouse variety.
From which I concluded that all these strange voracioius Spaniards who look at me, actually don’t know what they are looking at: my age; my nationality; my culture. Which suits me fine. I don’t like being pigeon-holed.