We were in Nerja, walking past the tourist shops and street traders, when my sister saw an old man who looked quite familiar.

“Do you think that is my old basket-weaver?” Mary asked me.

“It could be,” I replied.

I wasn’t sure because I remembered the incident rather than the man, and it was three years ago. That was when we were on a previous holiday staying in Frigiliana, the picturesque white village in the mountains just four miles from Nerja. On that occasion we had entered a small workshop where an old man was busily making a basket. There were no customers in the shop and the man’s eyes lit up when he saw us. Mary was intrigued and enchanted as she watched the man’s deft fingers weaving a basket; she also felt sorry for him because, not only did he look poor, but he also looked very hopeful that we might buy his wares.

“How much this?” Mary pointed to a basket, “Quanta costa, Senor?”

Eventually, the old weaver seemed to understand and held up his hands to signify thirty Euros. Mary left happily after paying the full price, much to her husband’s chagrin because she ignored his advice to haggle, and he had seen similar baskets elsewhere for ten Euros. Twenty minutes later the shop had shut and our party joked that the basket-weaver could now afford to close for the day after such an excellent sale. It had been something of a joke ever since – of course I remembered.

Mary approached the old man and looked at his baskets.

“Are you from Nerja or Frigiliana?” she enquired with a lot of gesturing by way of making herself understood.

He nodded his head and smiled when he heard Frigiliana. Perhaps he remembered Mary after all. I asked if I could take his photograph and he nodded when I held out my mobile phone in the manner of a camera. The old basket-weaver beckoned Mary to get close for a photo and he put one arm around her at the same time. Then he puckered his lips for kisses on both her cheeks (if not her lips).

“Ten Euros,” he said holding a basket towards Mary.

“You don’t need any more baskets, Mary,” I told her. (I could see her resolve was weakening.)

He beckoned me to have a photo with him and I let him put his arm around me and kiss me on both cheeks.

A few minutes later Mary struck an agreeable deal – two baskets, one medium-sized and one small, for ten Euros.

“What are you going to use them for for?” I asked as we walked on laughing.

“I don’t know, there are a lot of things these would be useful for…”

And you can see for yourself some of her ideas in the photographs below. By the way, when we retraced our steps a short while later the old basket-weaver had disappeared. How familiar!