clairedavieswriter

“Can you tell me where I can buy lamp/bs?” said the man.
We’d just finished checking in, and were getting the panniers off Bernard and Colin, when another guest walked into the foyer, and posed this question, in somewhat accented English, to the receptionist.
“Lamps?” she asked. To be fair, that’s what I thought he’d said too.
“No, lambs.”
“Corderos?” repeated the receptionist in Spanish, presumably to herself.
“I need to buy 200 lambs,” clarified the man. “To take back to the UK.”
‘Doscientos corderos?’ said the receptionist, astonished. ‘Madre mía!’ She switched back to English. ‘That’s a lot of lambs.’
Disappointingly, we were unable to spin out our unpacking any longer to enjoy the rest of this bizarre exchange. But when we returned from storing the bikes downstairs, things had unsurprisingly not been resolved. To the receptionist’s credit, she was doing her best. She’d solicited help from a colleague, who was by this stage on the phone to we knew not whom, saying ‘Si, eso es, doscientos corderos…’ (‘Yes, that’s right, 200 lambs…’) while the man stood patiently waiting, as though it were the most ordinary request to make of a hotel.
We had so many questions. Why had he come all the way to Burgos from the UK to buy lambs without a a supplier in mind? And if he didn’t have a supplier, why did he come to Burgos specifically? What would he do if the hotel couldn’t help? Hadn’t he heard of Google?
I wish I could bring you answers to these questions but I’m afraid this shaggy sheep story remains unfinished. We bumped into the man again this evening and asked if he’d had any success. He said he hadn’t but he was meeting a potential supplier tomorrow, and he looked quite cheerful. So as I write, the fate of 200 lambs still hangs in the balance.
I’m all for free trade, and movement of goods, but I’m afraid in this case we’re firmly on Team Cordero.