Ventorilla La Perra

As we wound down our time in Spain in the Spring of 1976, one of our last official acts was to throw an anniversary party for ourselves. It was our twentieth anniversary. In the States we had entertained by inviting other people into our homes. In Guam extended families either attended fiestas or gave them. But in Spain the custom was to invite each other out to restaurants.

For example, we knew of a fish place in The Calvario, a village sparated from Torremolinos by a protrusion of land that swept into the Med. The little fish place had no menu because they didn’t know what was going to be caught that day. Each time we ate there, we’d have to go through a little ritual.

“Hay calamari?” (Squid)

“No, no hay calamari?”

“Hay boquerones?” (Deep fat fried fingerling fish, eaten bones and all. Full of transfats. Yum.)

And so we would proceed through the same litany every time we went there. But we could always depend on fresh fish, salad, bread and wine for about $2.00 a head.

Our multlilingual neighbor, Claude deBretteville, always solved most of our problems, whether it came to procuring entry stamps for passports, finding a hotel room during Romería, or, in this case, finding a suitable restaurant for our party. She found a very small restaurant on the outskirts of town that had been used as a stage coach house in the early 17th century and had stayed in constant operation since. Ventorilla La Perra.

The restaurant was small but had an ambiance a Stateside business would kill for. It was actually built 300 years ago, not two years ago and made to look old. White stucco exterior, tile floors, wrought iron. Our 22 guests dined outdoors that evening on paella, salad, and bread. The paella contained shellfish, lobster, fresh asparagus. Gourmet magazine could have featured this dish. We also had an open bar. Our guests could have as much beer, wine or soft drinks as they wanted. I suppose tea and coffee as well.

It was a wonderful party. To employ the old cliché, a good time was had by all. I especially had a good time when I got the check. It was about $80 U.S., generous tip included. And we didn’t even have to clean up. We just went home. Now that’s the way to celebrate an anniversary.

Burro Safari

One day Jane Barbadillo, Sunnyview elementary school principal then and school director now, invited us to visit the hamlet of Tolox (tō.LŌS, more or less). You’ve never heard of the village? If you Google it, you still won’t know much because it sits in isolation, off the beaten path, surrounded by other villages you’ve never heard of. We left Torremolinos and drove and drove, and then drove some more, until we came to a turn in the road that took us off the main “highway.” Then we drove and drove some more.

We finally found Tolox in the foothills. Like many old villages, Tolox looks in on itself. Central buildings face the plaza mayor from which little streets designed for burro traffic spread out. You couldn’t drive comfortably on those streets, not even in the small European cars, because they’re too narrow. You couldn’t skateboard comfortably because the streets were cobbled. Walking had its perils.

We parked in a lot outside of town and walked to the plaza mayor where we met Señor Sanchez, bar-restaurant-burro safari entrepreneur. For 200 pesetas he offered to furnish a light breakfast of chocolate and churros (or brandy and churros if you preferred), a burro trek into the surrounding hillsides ending at a waterfall, a paella luncheon cooked over an open fire by the waterfall accompanied by beer, wine or soft drinks, a return to his stables and a sangria party. At the time 200 pesetas equaled $3.00 and change.

We enjoyed ourselves so much that we set up a field trip for a few 6th-, 7th- and 8th-graders. My part in this scheme, besides being a chauffeur, was to make arrangements for the safari with Sr. Sanchez by telephone. I don’t like talking on the telephone even in English and I really disliked doing so in Spanish. For one thing, they always answered my questions. Then what to do? My Spanish is usually good enough to say anything I wish, but I fall short at understanding rapid replies. And Spanish seems to be spoken at automatic weapon speed everywhere but Madrid. Madrileños pride themselves on clarity, but this concept has not caught on anywhere else.

I phoned Sr. Sanchez. To do so, I had to use the operator and ask for “Señor Sanches, Tolox 50.”

“Tolox cincuenta?” the operator asked unbelievingly. She was obviously used to putting phone calls through to the United Nations Headquarters or Buckingham Palace and now I show up with an obviously bogus number. I was probably some kid or a drunk tourist up to a prank.

After some hesitation, she put the call through and Sr. Sanchez sounded like he was next door.

Once we were all mounted and headed into the hills, things quieted down, at least from my point of view. The kids proceeded nose to tail on their burros and presented no difficulties. Once we got to the waterfall, they went swimming, clothes and all. Again, no problem. I wasn’t going to be the one wearing blisters in sensitive places by riding home in damp clothes.

The paella was almost ready when Sr. Sanchez broke out the beer and soft drinks. Guess which ones the kids wanted. Now we had a teeny bit of a problem that I solved by sitting on the cooler.

In due course we returned to Tolox where the children led their burros to their stalls. Sr. Sanchez had arranged for a sangria party for us all. Fortunately, one of the jennies had just foaled and the kids all wanted to be in the barn with the newborn.

It was really a great field trip, saving for the fact that Sr. Sanchez kept trying to pour booze down our kids’ throats. I later saw Sr. Sanchez burro safari as a regular offering by the Wiley Coyote Tour Company in Torremolinos. They wanted 2000 pesetas. I hoped Sr. Sanchez was getting more than 200 of that.