I went with my friend last week to photograph a leaning dragon tree in Puntagorda, and we found a tame chough there. I think it makes a good living from tourists.
And then we went to have a look at the ravine, and I brushed gently against a prickly pear. Of course I got hundreds of spines on the shoulder my T shirt, and I couldn’t think of driving back until I’d got them out, or the car seat would have pushed them into me.
My friend tried to get them out, but there were so many it was going to take forever. She even suggested driving back to her house without my T shirt, but I was worried that at least one oncoming driver would be so distracted he’d crash – it’s not exactly a straight road. So we decided that the lesser evil was for me to take my T shirt off so two of us could work on removing the spines. I sat in the car for that, so as to be a bit less visible from the other side of the ravine. At least I was in the shade!
So there we were, working away at my T shirt, and an old man came down the track!
I threw the T shirt over as much of myself as possible, but he didn’t seem a bit embarrassed and stood there chatting to us for at least five minutes, even after I said I’d brushed the prickly pear and got spines all over my T shirt. My friend though he had bad eyesight, and didn’t see how little I was wearing. But I suspect he was just bemused, and felt you could expect any bizarre behaviour from foreigners. Or maybe he was just two sandwiches short of a picnic.
Eventually he went, and we got rid of all the prickles we could find, and drove to my friend’s house. Thank goodness it was close.
And I had a shower, to get rid of as many left-over spines as possible. Yes, I found a couple in my knickers. How in God’s name did they get there?
And for the next few days I was pulling them out of myself. I think I’ve got them all now.
But if that’s what happens when you barely touch it, I’d really, really hate to fall into one.
