2011 Andalucia - Seville

Seville
Our hotel is gorgeous, Hotel Don Juan, with a patio with azulejos blue and flowerpots. We check in and then go straight to El Rinconcillo, the picturesque little bar that we passed coming from the bus in Pza Ponce de Leon. It's charming. I can't stop taking pictures. An old man hands me a poem on a napkin, and I get very, very shy. It's beautiful and simple. He later hands another to a group of girls at the bar who give him a dismissive look - "dirty old man". I still think it's beautiful, I wonder why he does it.

We stroll into town down a street lined with orange trees in bloom, the scent is heavenly. I can't believe just how lovely it is. The best thingsw in life are free. And all the orange trees have oranges in them I wonder why nobody picks them. A waste?

We stop in a little square with children playing, people sitting at cafes talking, life happening. It's 22C and pleasant. I take some sepia photos and we move on. Shops with flamenco shoes, red with white dots, frilly flamenco dresses in all possible colours, jewelry, clothes. I stop and buy a purple cardigan that I end up wearing for the whole trip, forgetting the three jumpers in my bag. Too warm. We end up in the shopping district, Calle Sierpes and Cuna, and I buy the colourful bedsheets that I meet again, the same as in Malaga's train station. We go back to the hotel, and the receptionist tells us it's Monday, so we shouldn't eat fish because fishermen don't go fishing on Sunday, so there's no fresh fish.

We eat tapas at the local tapas bar, at a bar table where it's cheaper. Grilled goat's cheese with blackberry jam is my favourite.

I sleep badly, nothing seems to soothe my allergy. So much for spring being my favourite.
The next morning we have freshly squeezed orange juice at a local cafe in Pza Ponce de Leon, which seems to be populated by local pensioners. I read a beauty magasine in Spanish, an interview with Banderas who likes saying he's 50. I'm proud I understand so much and by now I order everything in Spanish. I love to see how I can make myself understood in another language.
We then stop by at the supermarket for some more supplies, including the newly discovered Manzanilla, white dry port famous because Carmen sings about it - "Pres des remparts de Seville"...
We go on to visit the Cathedral and the Alcazar des Reyes Catolicos. The Cathedral is sprawling and decorated with flying arches inside and outside. I am pleased to get a few good photos of orange trees and gothic lacy stonework. Gypsy women offer us sprigs of rosemary outsidfe the cathedral for some reason. The Alcazar is the first Moorish palace we vist, and its detail is astounding. The entrance is a hall with a wall opposite the door and a side entrance towards the inner palace - to make it harder to attack by someone entering face-on. The ceiling of the Ambassadors hall is golden and exquisite, and the gardens blossom all over. There are some peacocks still, left over since the king's time?

We lunch at Casa La Viula near Calle Sierpes and Plaza Nueva, the food is excellent and we order at the bar like the locals. There are jamon legs hanging from the ceiling, large round and thick tortillas and fresh whitebait in ice in a box on the bar. The rape frito, fried monkfish, is delicious. Three old ladies lunch on croquettes behind us, dressed up with pearl earrings.

We walk in the old town around the walls of the Alcazar and stop by in a picture perfect square with a church, orange trees and a cafe with tables out in the sun. The waitress gives patient directions in slow Spanish. She directs us to Calle del Agua, a place the guidebook says has picturesque flowery patios you can peek in. We take the required photo but then discover a delightful shop full of rainbow-coloured pottery, my dream come true. We leave with two dishes, tightly packed, hoping they'll fit in the small hand luggage.

We then head off to the Museum of Flamenco, where the Tourist Office reccomended us the cheapest (EUR15) and earliest (7pm) show in town. We stop for some tapas beforehand in a small empty bar with azulejos. The flamenco show is beautiful, the music melodious and the pictures I get excellent. It restores my faith in flamenco, after the dismal, painfully screechy music we heard in Sadler's Well in London.

...We are sitting right now at a terrace at the foot of the Alhambra in Albaicin. the sun is shining warm and the guitar players take turns to play. The river flows along the promenade in front of the terrace.

...Back in Seville, after Flamenco we go to our hotel and have Manzanilla on the balcony, an old lady with red died hair and her dog watching from the balcony opposite. Jay searches for youtube videos on his iPad touch until he finds the Carmen song about Manzanilla, "Pres des Remparts de Seville".

We go for more tapas at El Rinconcillo - the fried fish is delicious, we have it standing at the bar, elbow to elbow with lots of other locals. One lady tells Jay to have Robera instead of Rioja, it's always better. We then walk around for a while in the orange-blossom fragrant night, away from the centre. We end up in a little local bar called Eme, where the walls display an incredibly vast collection of photos of Jesus and Maria in tears, side by side with gin and wine botles. An elderly woman sits by herself at the bar chatting to the elderly owner - barman.

The last day in Seville we have the whole morning for a leisurely good-bye, so we stroll to a random square with a church with blue azulejos and orange trees. We stop to soak in the sun, the sangria and the fresh orange juice. We then tour the center again, looking for the statue of Carmen. We eventually find it forgotten among the trees on the river bank in front of the bull ring, a very understated apparition. Another time I will look for the church of the Macarena where there is a painting painted by a woman painter of the 17th century. The poem of my elderly admirer said I'm beautiful like her. Another time I will also bring my swimsuit to go to the Banos Arabes, like I was advised by my friend who lived here.

But now we only have time for lunch at the Casa La Viula again, with fresh fried fish and paella, which apparently is not local to Andalucia, but to the North.