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GORDON GREB |
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LOVE and ROMANCE IN OLD SALAMANCA
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Wine,food create a mood,
but the rest is up to you
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of TheColumnists.com Editor's Note: This is the second in a series of exclusive reports from The Professor, who is now on an extended visit to Spain. |
SALAMANCA. Spain
An American friend warned me about coming to Spain where I would meet lovely senoritas.
¨You´re going to see these beauties, be tempted to know one of them and fall under her spell unless your wife keeps a close watch on you,¨ he cautioned.
¨Ha,¨ I laughed. ¨You´re obviously joking. I am much too old for senoritas to be interested in me.¨
Thinking nothing more of it, I flew off with my wife--she who goes by her real name, Mildred, when we travel--feeling perfectly safe from any possible dangers, including feminine wiles.
Passing through airport security at Sacramento, Los Angeles, and Newark convinced us of the depth of our Homeland Security. Both male and female officers patted us down, scanned us from head to toe, and totally assured us we had nothing private left to hide. You felt like an exotic dancer in a burlesque show whose every movement was being studied by bald-headed men in the front row.
Now utterly naked of dignity, but cleared for security, we eagerly sought out everything in the guide books by Rick Steves, Arthur Fromer, and the Spanish Tourist Office. They had information on all that every tourist is expected to want: Museums, souvenir shops, and where to enjoy what Spain is famous for--delicious food.
Little did Mildred and I realize that in Spain--as in most of Europe itself--great food and genuine romance go together. If you must know, here´s the secret: Connoisseurs of fine wine are also likely to be found escorting the finest women to the finest places! Fast food goes with fast women. Who wants the quickie approach--in either food or romance? Not me and apparently not European gentlemen.
Mildred and I were experienced enough to know that this trip to Spain promised a way to reclaim memories of our honeymoon. We´ve always found going to a foreign country with your partner is a perfect road to romance.
One obvious reason is that 6,000 miles away, back home, somebody else is feeding your cat, doing your gardening, picking up papers and mail, and taking care of all the mundane responsibilities of dull living. If you don't have to worry about any of that, you can get into the flow of romance.
If you're smart, you pick a country the way you would choose a woman. You pick someone who is lively, willing and beautiful. After all, why are you investing all this time and money?
Staying in a foreign hotel eliminates many distractions. For instance, you won´t watch much TV. The programs are in a language you don´t understand. You sometimes can get amazingly old American shows like ¨Get Smart¨ or current ones, such as ¨The Simpsons,¨ but the dialog is in Spanish.
I discovered the romantic urges overtook me when I just opened a Spanish magazine. I believe my temperature actually rose while leafing through a businessman´s magazine called INTERVUE. Yes, there were plenty of serious articles on current affairs, but there also were eye-catching photographs of undressed senoritas in full living color.
Obviously this popular periodical was promoting affairs in business which were other than normal investments. The provocative poses of Nudie Cuties I couldn't´t keep my eyes off are not found in our business magazines back home.
Suddenly I realized what was happening. It was what my American friend had warned me about--those temptingly delicious senoritas in full living color were making me very, very hungry for amore.
So, quick as a wink, I turned from the newsstand and hurried back to our hotel, hoping to find my wife. As I quick-stepped along the corridor, I couldn't help but notice the pen and ink drawings of naked women on the walls. They seemed to be doing all sorts of interesting things. One featured the Greeks´ classical representation of man´s sexual hunger: A smiling and satisfied Bacchus, doing everything a man ever wanted to do with a girl, but couldn't because his Mom always taught him it wasn´t nice.
Rushing past these shocking art works (if that´s what you call them) I burst into the bedroom, grabbed my startled wife, and said with a shaking voice, ¨Come with me, Mildred. Put on your clothes and let´s get out of this place. Right now I have a huge appetite. And you know when this happens, we need to eat.¨
In our hurry we tossed guidebooks aside and rushed down the cobbled stone streets to a nice little plaza where earlier we had seen a pleasant place called, ¨El Rincon de San Cristobal¨ (The Corner of St. Chistopher).
Since the Spanish eat late, we were uncommonly early. In fact, we were the first people there. We were greeted by an attractive, smiling hostess, who escorted us to our table. I noticed the pastel walls, the clean lines of the fixtures, and the totally pleasurable atmosphere. Mildred and I smiled at each other. We began to relax.
Was this the place we needed? Happily, I can say it was exactly right. Music in the background featured songs by American stylists we loved from the l940s and 50s. The music had been selected by the owner, Anja Jarolim, 38, whose travels had taken her to places in the Americas like Mexico, Cuba, and Argentina.
What surprised me the most is that she spoke perfect English. Anja told us she had been a professor, teaching German at Salamanca´s world famous university for 12 years. Her father was German and mother Spanish, but she had learned English while living two years in England.
After years of frustration, facing young people without motivation and doing it for very low pay, Anja finally decided to tell her superiors what to do. There´s a common American expression to describe it. In effect she said, ¨Take this job and shove it.¨ And then she opened this restaurant.
Needless to say her recommended
cuisine for us was simpatico. We had the extreme pleasure of
three courses of masterly, well prepared Spanish food. Nothing
was rushed. The chef surely had a Ph.D. in the culinary arts.
We
began savoring Spanish wine, then mouth-watering hors dóeuvres
(los entremeses), followed by a small but tasty local salad (ensalada
de queso), ample choices of regional bread and finally our choices
of a main dish. For me it was a huge slab of roast beef (carne
asada) which was probably tenderloin and for Mildred--a selection of deliciously
prepared local fish.
The effect on me was dramatic.
I fell in love with everybody and everything around me. My dining
experience was so pleasurable I nearly frightened my wife by
standing up, grabbing the lovely proprietor, and smothering her
with hugs and
kisses, all in full view of her other clientele.
If you ever dine here, please ask to see the visitor´s book where I wrote unabashedly to Anja, ¨I love you.¨ Controlling myself in person, however, I simply offered her the usual compliments and congratulated her on this amazing achievement. Our meal there equaled New York City´s finest--a superior dinner for two for 58 Euros ($82).
With food like this, Mildred and I no longer were in danger of succumbing to Spain´s handsome senors and lovely senoritas. After experiencing Anja´s three course wonderment, it was time for my wife and I to quickly return to our hotel. (Again, I eagerly studied the art work as we passed through the corridor.)
Somehow or other, old songs started playing in my head as I crawled into bed. But Mildred wasn´t lying there waiting for her eager lover. In her place, I found my mistress, whose name is Darlene. She was humming: ¨I Get a Kick Out of You,¨ ¨The Way You Look Tonight,¨ ¨Let´s Do It¨ and ¨Tonight We Love.¨ Wow! How lucky can a guy get!
Where did this woman of mystery come from? Ah, my secret is out, because Darlene has come to my bed as my partner at the same time I´ve been married to Mildred. Sounds like Menage a Trois, doesn´t it? That´s because technically I am not married to Darlene, but to someone called Mildred. This means I have an unmarried mistress named Darlene. Check the records, if you don´t believe me: Mildred is the name on the birth certificate and on the U.S. passport identifying my wife--even though the passport photo looks exactly like "Darlene."
The moral of this story--Don't look so surprised: Everything I do is moral!--is that Spanish senoritas are wasting their time wiggling their hips at me. As long as my mistress, Darlene, is around, those lovely Spanish cuties don't stand a chance!
You lovely ladies can try all you want, but you can´t lure this sexy Grandpa into bed. I´ve had my own mistress for years and years. Her name is--well, didn't I just explain that?
No wonder I always enjoy
foreign travel. As a matter of fact, I believe I'm ready to go
around the world again!
©2005
by Gordon Greb. The drawings of Spanish ladies are from IMSI's Master Clips Collection, 1895
Francisco Blvd. E., San Rafael, CA, 94901-5506, USA. This column
first posted March 21, 2005.
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