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Published: August 4th 2019
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Lonely Planet rated Seville the best place to visit in 2018. The city is known for its beautiful Moorish architecture, flamenco dancing, monuments and artistic heritage. Lonely Planet also rated Detroit as number two, so I guess their ratings may not be to everybody’s taste.
We were staying at a “boutique" hotel. The entrance was on a narrow street, one car wide. The taxi driver dropped us off and stood, blocking road and insisted on explaining at length where the best bars and tapas were and which direction for the cathedral and old town. It must have been the one Euro tip I gave him.
We checked in and receptionist offered us a glass of Cava and insisted on pulling out a map and pointing out all the tourist sites and best areas. By the time she had finished circling all the attractions the map was covered in pen. There was going to be a lot to see.
While Madam unpacked, dismantled the bed to check on the condition of the mattress, counted the pillows, tested the lights, opened and closed every drawer and complained that the air conditioner wouldn't go below 16C, I looked in the bathroom.
They had supplied the usual soaps and shampoos but there was also a shaving kit, two toothbrushes, a shower cap and a comb. 'So that is what makes a boutique hotel' I thought. I am always pleased beyond the modest cost of these items when I find them in a hotel bathroom. Like everybody else, we empty all of them into a suitcase before we leave. I have a big bag of them somewhere in the bathroom at home. Does anybody have a use for thirty-nine shower caps?
The following morning, we walked to the cathedral through narrow winding streets and around the old Jewish quarter. Madam stopped every few yards to photograph the buildings and streets.
'I feel like I'm wearing out the word wow,’ she said, 'everything is so... wow.'
The architecture was indeed stunning, the cathedral is the largest Gothic building in the world, the narrow lanes and passages all around are lined with moorish influenced architecture, bars and appealing restaurants. Most streets were lined with orange trees, heavy with ripening fruit. Bubbling fountains in squares surrounded tiled seats under shading trees.
We walked on down to the river. They had a
group of flamenco dancers in an open area next to the river. I never quite got flamenco. I have a memory of sitting through what seemed to be several hours of a dancing during a visit to Spain with my parents when I was twelve years old. I don't think I've ever been so bored in my life. It's like it is the same dance that goes on forever. All twirling skirts and waving fans.
I read in one on the tourist guides that you get a shiver down your spine when you are watching and start to understand flamenco. As we stood in the square I did feel a shiver but I think it was the cold. We had expected warmer weather in southern Spain although it was December. It wasn't exactly cold but it was rare if we were outside without a coat.
Madam was getting hungry so we headed to the Alameda Hercules Plaza around the corner from the hotel. It was an attractive square with a Christmas market in the centre and restaurants and bars on either side. We walked the length of both sides but every place was packed. Not a table to
be had. We ended up heading down a side street and found a table at the back of a seedy looking locals bar.
The waiter handed us a menu entirely in Spanish. Normally we can scan it with the translate app on a phone and get a rough translation but this was in a weird italic italic script that our phone couldn't decipher.
'You listened to a Spanish language tape a few years ago. Order something!' said Madam.
'I've no idea what anything is' I said, I only listened to the first Spanish language tape. I can ask for directions to a hotel and get our laundry done. I think food was on the second tape'.
Madam was getting hungry grumpy by this time. 'I don't care, just choose something!' she snapped.
‘No, really, you choose,’ I said, handing her the menu.
‘Just try and remember something from your tape,’ she said as she handed back the menu.
The waiter stood expectantly, his pencil poised.
I peered at the menu trying to work out how to avoid a meal of pigs testicles or sheep's eyeballs.
The waiter started tapping his pencil impatiently.
I cleared my throat and said in my best Spanish 'Por favor déjame tener el nombre de una buena tintorería.'
'Que?' said the waiter.
'What did you order? said Madam.
'Umm, I asked him for the name of a good dry cleaner. I was the only phrase I could remember' I replied.
Madam sighed and looked at the waiter who looked back and repeated 'que?'
She snatched the menu away and pointed to some random items on the menu. The waiter shrugged and pointed at something else. Madam shrugged and said ‘No carne.’
'What did you order?' I asked.
'No idea,' she said, 'it may well have been one of everything. But no meat… I think.’
This blog originally appeared on
Seville Travel Blog
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