And let me tell you, not much law breaking was going on there. The “pirates” were as respectful to Rosmari’s noise law as you could hope for.
It was basically a bog standard medieval market, rebranded as a “pirate market” for the marketing. I usually enjoy these places, and can be easily persuaded to spend a few coppers on some wooden handmade trinket that I don’t understand and quickly break. I must have two dozen of those frogs you stroke to make them croak.
Not this time. My god, it was depressing.
In fact, there was a funeral silence the whole time I was there. Broken only by the incessant complaints of the few tourists (both Brit and Spanish), and the wheeze of the bouncy castle.
Even the nearby bars weren’t making any noise. It was uncanny. And fairly spooky. I overheard one of the stallkeepers complaining to an elderly Spanish couple that they’d been told they couldn’t have any music on their stalls. All agreed it was amazing.
A moment of hilarity did occur when a large English woman saw the carnes de Léon stall and wondered aloud if they really were selling hunks of lion. Well, at that point I was desperate for anything to make me smile. I’ve had more fun in a tanatorio.
So we fled the desert of Mojacar and headed for Garrucha, which was much more fun – lots of families up and down the paseo, lots of little bars, easy parking, everything within walking distance, most places serve tapas and not a rude waiter in sight.
Reckon that’s Mojacar over for me until the end of summer. Actually, I reckon that’s just Mojacar – over.