Diego's family home was on the spot where the main part of the hotel is currently standing. He made a deal with the previous owner and builder of the hotel to sell the land in exchange for some money, a place to live and food for the remainder of his life. He was given his own little house at the entrance to the village, a bit further away from where he originally thought it would be but, nevertheless his own dwelling. He was to be feed three meals a day and that is how we wound up with him "coming with the hotel". There was this legal right he had, to be feed three times a day and this was a man who never had a need to leave the village so he was to be fed three times a day, 365 days a year.
On many days, however, he would not turn up for his evening meal as he might be found in some corner somewhere drunk, having passed the afternoon drinking sweet wine in one of the village drinking holes. It was one night last year, in early summer if I recall correctly, I was going over to our house as we had not yet moved into the hotel when I came across a body just outside the gate of the bar terrace, sprawled out across the road, face down, I thought he was dead. I ran inside to Ivan and said, "Diego is passed out & lying in the street!!" Ivan and the waiter came out and picked him up and dragged him up to his house. He revived a bit at this point and asked where was he and Ivan said, "you're home" and he crawled into his house.
His days were so easy. He would normally get up early (if he hadn't been stinking drunk the day before) and would be the first thing Ivan and I would see, hanging around the end of our street when we were living in the house and then by the mirador waiting for us to open the bar to give him his breakfast. He would come in and have his "cafe con leche y tostada con aceite y ajo" (coffee with milk and toast with olive oil and garlic), a combination that I thought would keep him going for a lot longer. He would wonder off, always without a word of thanks, salutation or good-bye, and go back to his house or one of his three or so fincas, and eventually turn up again for lunch at about 13.20 hrs. He normally had his lunch time at 13.3o and, like clock work, he would turn up on time for that (he did not wear a watch so how he always knew the correct hour was by location of the sun, I guess). In the last year or so, we had gotten him to come into the kitchen to take his tray of food into the bar and when finished, he returned it into the kitchen.
He would do a favour every now and then for Ivan, going to the bar to get a packet of tobacco or pick up something missing from the kitchen like tomatoes from the village shop. Occasionally he brought us chestnuts or other vegetables/fruit from his fincas. Every year except this last one, he dined with us on New Year's Eve, participating in the huge dinner Ivan made, a table on his own, enjoying Ivan's fantastic cooking. He would also help out Francisco, our maintenance man who has a construction business, from time to time. I think it was more on Francisco's part to give Diego something to do than his needing assistance.
Diego was a simple man who lived his whole life, except for 13 years, in the village of Juzcar. He never married so he had no children; he had no other direct family living in Juzcar or nearby so life was fairly simple for him. With no worries of food or shelter, he could do what he wanted, when he wanted. He did not participate in the big occasions of the village but was more of a sideline type of guy. He always did attract the attention of our clients who stayed for more than a couple of nights as they would see him every morning for sure and wonder, "who is this man having his breakfast here in the hotel bar?". My dad had been quite friendly with him when he visited as did Ivan's parents.
Diego's house now becomes our house as it was sold to us as part of the hotel with him in it of course. We have yet to see the inside of this little house but it could be a nice little place to let out for walkers or other holiday makers. It could be a quick few thousand euros in our pockets if someone would step up to the plate and make an offer. But whatever it winds up being, it will definitely be a bit of work first to clean and clear it.
And so the day of Diego's passing was something we always wondered about given his age. He was not particularly old but not so young either at 73. He apparently had a massive heart attack and died on the spot in a street of the village without really knowing much of what was happening to him, or so we are informed. He was not feeling very well yesterday from the morning but we did not see him as usual as we had spent Sunday night away from Juzcar; Ivan last fed him asparagus rice with cheese for lunch on Sunday. I last saw him Sunday morning bringing cigarettes to Ivan. And so Diego, we bid you farewell. No more breakfasts at the Bandolero nor anything else.
Adios Diego.
