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Micheal Wilson is all smiles at Ernest Hemingway’s favorite table at Botín, the oldest restaurant in continuous operation. - Submitted

Back in the land of jamon serrano

An Italian Mighty Machine for Ollie

Appetizer for last night in Rome

The Holy Grail

View from our terrace in Positano

A new favorite: fideua

By Mike Wilson

For the Salisbury Post

Plan A was to awaken early on Saturday, May 25, finish packing for our two-week trip to Spain and Italy, and take a leisurely drive to the airport. We had eagerly anticipated this trip since we discovered that our granddaughter would be studying in Valencia for a month and Taylor Swift was going to perform in Madrid. 

We were awakened earlier than we had wanted when my wife heard a loud sound in the garage. When I opened the door to check out the sound, thick smoke and intense heat poured through, setting off the fire alarm in the laundry room. I could tell instantly that I would not be able to reach the fire extinguisher next to the steps, so we called 911 and began to scramble. I grabbed our keys and passports and moved both vehicles out of the driveway before the fire department got there. In minutes, there were nine emergency vehicles at the scene. (My deepest regret is that our toddler grandson missed all the Mighty Machine excitement.)

In a very short time, the firefighters had cut the garage door open and torn it off its framing and extinguished the fire, which was caused by a battery lawn mower that had burst into flames. The heat and smoke cooked basically everything in the garage, which was rather full since our attic is unsuitable for storage. Within minutes, the power company agent also arrived to pull our electric meter with great ceremony since our breaker panel had been melted.

In the rush to reach the back side of the fire, the firemen coming through the house upset a box of sidewalk chalk, and when the all clear was given we discovered an interesting damp, multicolored paste of chalk tracked throughout the kitchen and playroom.

The battalion fire chief was especially kind and reassuring. He was actually in pajama pants since our call came at the precise moment of a shift change. When we told him we were supposed to leave for Europe in a few hours, he urged us to go right ahead since resolving all the insurance/restoration issues would probably take several weeks, and he turned out to be quite correct. I called my good buddy Norris, the least pointy-headed academic I know, to ask if he might board the garage up and gather up my ammunition for me, and he was on his way in minutes. There is a reason the good Lord placed a former summer camp maintenance manager in my path 10 years ago…

My suitcase was ruined in the fire, and my kind daughter ran quickly to a department store and got me a new one. As we prepared to head to the airport, I could not find my one good pair of glasses. (We later discovered that they had apparently been knocked off the kitchen counter by the firemen.) Strike one for insensate…

The flight itself was fun since the grandchildren and their dad were bound for Athens and had taken this leg with us. Little Ollie — then 21 months old — would only sit with me. For 10 hours. When I decided to try to get a nap, I gave my wife my hearing aids and watched her drop them into her purse. When we landed, I asked her for them, and she simply could not find them. We searched around our seats as best we could, and the airline cleaning crew was alerted, but no luck. Strike two.

It was great to be back in Spain again after 10 years. It didn’t take us long to find our favorite delicacies. We got a midnight reservation at Botín, the oldest restaurant in continuous operation in the world and a favorite of Ernest Hemingway’s. I got to sit at his favorite table. I, unlike my traveling companions, am not a delirious devotee of Taylor Swift and would never part with a sum equal to a good firearm for any concert ticket — even if Merle Haggard came back from the dead — so I was somehow able to idle away the time when the concert group left at 7:30 a.m. for the show that would begin a few blocks away at 8 p.m. Yes, you read that correctly. They finally came in at about 1:30.

The next day, two of the dazed fans and I took a train to Valencia to meet our granddaughter, a nursing major who sees the value of Spanish in her future career. We had never been there, and it has now become one of my favorite cities. We saw the Holy Grail and ate paella and fideuá, which is the same recipe but with small noodles instead of short-grained rice. This version had duck, wild mushrooms and foie gras.

My daughter has had visiting the Amalfi Coast on her bucket list for years, so we decided to go with her from there to stay in Positano for five nights. When we flew from Madrid to Naples, I decided to put my CPAP machine in my big suitcase to avoid the security hassle of carrying it on the plane. I had the highest faith in Iberia Airlines. Unfortunately, when we got to Naples, my luggage had decided to stay in Spain, so for two nights I occupied the living room sofa in the villa we rented so my companions could actually sleep. They slept much better than I did.

Toward the end of the first day without luggage, I asked the ladies to get me a shirt and some underwear while they were out. They wanted to get me a bathing suit, too, and I told them to avoid anything with lemons, the main artistic motif in the region. They came back with swim trunks covered with oranges (now do you see the meaning of “the letter of the law”?) and distinctly European briefs that were very brief indeed.

Apparently, with the exception of our party, the Rich and Famous visit Positano and Capri. A respected guidebook called the paths of the town “comically steep,” but they weren’t all that amusing to me. I braved the walk up from the beach to our place high on the hillside only once and had to stop several times to catch my breath. Thereafter we happily paid 30 euros for the short taxi ride up the hill.

I found nearby Pompeii quite intriguing. I hadn’t realized how well the volcanic ash had preserved some houses and their tile floors and murals. We  took a small group guided tour, and interestingly found ourselves in the company of Germans and Italians on the anniversary of D-Day. I managed to show no smugness.

The view overlooking the harbor was amazing — especially at night — and with my astigmatism I felt lucky to see twice as many stars as my companions. The trip home was uneventful, and after moving in with our daughter, we started the unenviable task of sorting out the burnt garage. 

After four months, we’re nearly done. I have decided that in retirement I want to work as a waiter. No, not in a restaurant: I will charge clients dearly to sit and wait for code inspectors and contractors in their stead when “someone has to be there from 8 to 5.” Also, while most building codes do not require fire alarms in garages, I heartily recommend them.

Mike Wilson is modern foreign languages professor and the Department of Modern Foreign Languages chair at Catawba College