Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
After our hammered neighbor had wreathed us in beery hugs and lumbered home for
what would undoubtedly be his tenth or twelfth
Medalla
of the morning, we rushed inside
to write down his suggestions.
After all, there was the very remote possibility that he knew more about gardening than
we did.
Which wasn't saying much.
☼ ☼ ☼
“Let's pay a visit to
Arte Tropicale
,” Michael suggested the next morning.
This was our neighborhood nursery, situated in a well-tended compound across the road
from
Superdescuentos Morales
.
“Great,” I chirped, all too happy to have his laser-like attention focused on the most
derelict sector of our domain.
The proprietress of
Arte Tropicale
was seldom “in the yard,” so to speak. But never
fear. Her neat little cottage was perched on the far side of the nursery grounds and when
you came up to her gate you simply rang the bell. Before long she would emerge from her
house and scuttle between the lush plants to unfasten the latch with a coquettish smile.
“
¡Hola!
” she cried that morning. “You are back!”
Her enthusiasm was particularly admirable when you considered that we had clearly
interrupted her telenovela, which we could hear blaring all the way across the yard.
“
Sí
,” Michael replied, grinning from ear to ear. “We make a
jardín
.”
Her mood visibly escalated from delighted to ecstatic at this news. She may have loved
her soap operas, but at the end of the day she was a merchant with a business to run. How,
after all, could she afford her precious Satellite TV if she failed to turn a profit?
“You need many plants?” she asked with relish.
Michael looked around the well-maintained nursery. “Well…a few. It's a
pequeño
(small) garden.”
Though these were surely unwelcome tidings, she maintained her beatific smile.
“
¿Pequeño?
” she asked, with perhaps one less teaspoon of sugar in her voice.
“
Sí
,” Michael confirmed. “Actually two. One
jardín con sol
, one
jardín sin sol
.” He
was really giving his Spanish a workout today.
“Ah,” she said, smiling broadly. “First,
sol
.” She strode outside and, with a sweeping
gesture vaguely reminiscent of a game show hostess, indicated her selection of “sunny”
plants.
“How about these?” I said to Michael, pointing to a bed of tall, lush plants with dramat-
ic Bird-of-Paradise-like flowers.
His eyes swept over them.
“Perfect.”
He bent down to read the label.
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