We arrived in Sevilla just as the sun was setting, sticky and tired and uncomfortable from the seven hour bus ride, only to find out that I had screwed up the reservations and had failed to book us a room for that night. Fortunately the guy at the desk was still there and ready to to his job, and the hostel had space available.
The first morning in Sevilla we went on one of the free walking tours offered to the hostel goers. I am a huge fan of these tours. Besides being free (well, you're supposed to give the guide a tip, but it's up to you how much if any) they're a great way to get to know the city, meet the other folks in your hostel, and see the sights while someone tells you about them! Given the option between reading something and having someone tell me about it, I will choose having someone tell me about it 9 times out of 10. (whether or not I remember it is another thing)
After some delicious pizza (recommended by the tour guide) we went, if I remember correctly, to the Real Alcázar of Sevilla. This is the royal palace in Sevilla, and the Borbones (Spain's royal family) stay there when they're in town. The building is in the mudéjar style, which is a mix of Moorish and Christian styles of the era (13- and 1400's). I did get an audioguide, but it was quite vague and it was difficult to tell exactly what it was talking about and the order in which to look at things, so I ended up wandering around, snapping photos of the gardens and the palace with the rest of the tourists.
By the time Heather and I found each other again (did I mention how huge the place was? We must have spent more than an hour and a half just wandering around, and I'm sure I didn't see everything) we were understandably tired, even though the weather forecast did not pan out, and the temperature was well below 94 degrees (thank god), we were understandably tired and returned to the hostel for a siesta.
And so it was that we woke up at 9pm and starving. We asked the kid (he was at most 18) at the hostel desk if he had any recommendations and he, with an enthusiasm most cheerleaders would envy, suggested a restaurant near the "big mushroom/waffle thing."
It turned out that this was actually not his suggestion, but one of the top-rated restaurants in the Lonely Planet guidebook to Sevilla and was therefore absolutely packed with tourists. I went up to the waiter and asked how long it would be before we could get a table. There were just the two of us, and hell, we could eat at the bar if there wasn't a table. The waiter said, 'a while' and that I could put my name on the list. In part because we were tired and too lazy to find another place to go, we put a name on the list (why did I think "Meg" would be easier for a Spaniard than "Meghan?" It's not) and went and sat on a little railing/wall thing in the plaza across the street where another group of tourists was waiting.
We sat for a while and after twenty minutes or so hit the point of no return. We had waited this long, we were committed. Not long after hitting the point of commitment, a couple American men came over to ask how long we had been waiting for. We got to talking, and learned some interesting things. First, that our restaurant was in the Lonely Planet book, and second that our new acquaintances were from Gresham and Cascade Locks. One was a finance director (or some kind of city govt. person) of Gresham, and the other worked for a company making and selling and using carbon fiber windsurf parts, and that they were in Europe in part to go windsurfing.
We ended up getting a table together and talked about Spain and watersports and the Pacific Northwest. One of the guys had an odd, creepy vibe that for a moment put me in mind of a certain acquaintance from freshman year (anyone else remember Jeremy?) and he seemed to have an eating disorder of some kind and left to go to the bathroom half a dozen times.
It was a nice enough dinner (hake for me, chicken for Heather and ox for the windsurfer), reminiscing about the Gorge and the Eastwind Drive-in, even if Jeremy (that was not his name) pissed off the waiter by shouting terrible spanglish at him.
Back at the hostel again we made a game plan for our next couple days in Sevilla: see the cathedral, the General Archive of the Indies, the Maria Luisa park and the Plaza de España, a photo exibit in an art deco pavilion, the bull ring museum and a scenic path along the banks of the Guadalquivir.
After some delicious pizza (recommended by the tour guide) we went, if I remember correctly, to the Real Alcázar of Sevilla. This is the royal palace in Sevilla, and the Borbones (Spain's royal family) stay there when they're in town. The building is in the mudéjar style, which is a mix of Moorish and Christian styles of the era (13- and 1400's). I did get an audioguide, but it was quite vague and it was difficult to tell exactly what it was talking about and the order in which to look at things, so I ended up wandering around, snapping photos of the gardens and the palace with the rest of the tourists.
I ended up getting lost in the gardens a little bit, but it was a nice kind of lost. It was also nice to imagine having something so grand and beautiful not as my main house, but as my extra, weekend-away house. Say what you like about the Borbones, but they've got style.
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| Awnings to keep the sun off |
And so it was that we woke up at 9pm and starving. We asked the kid (he was at most 18) at the hostel desk if he had any recommendations and he, with an enthusiasm most cheerleaders would envy, suggested a restaurant near the "big mushroom/waffle thing."
It turned out that this was actually not his suggestion, but one of the top-rated restaurants in the Lonely Planet guidebook to Sevilla and was therefore absolutely packed with tourists. I went up to the waiter and asked how long it would be before we could get a table. There were just the two of us, and hell, we could eat at the bar if there wasn't a table. The waiter said, 'a while' and that I could put my name on the list. In part because we were tired and too lazy to find another place to go, we put a name on the list (why did I think "Meg" would be easier for a Spaniard than "Meghan?" It's not) and went and sat on a little railing/wall thing in the plaza across the street where another group of tourists was waiting.
We sat for a while and after twenty minutes or so hit the point of no return. We had waited this long, we were committed. Not long after hitting the point of commitment, a couple American men came over to ask how long we had been waiting for. We got to talking, and learned some interesting things. First, that our restaurant was in the Lonely Planet book, and second that our new acquaintances were from Gresham and Cascade Locks. One was a finance director (or some kind of city govt. person) of Gresham, and the other worked for a company making and selling and using carbon fiber windsurf parts, and that they were in Europe in part to go windsurfing.
We ended up getting a table together and talked about Spain and watersports and the Pacific Northwest. One of the guys had an odd, creepy vibe that for a moment put me in mind of a certain acquaintance from freshman year (anyone else remember Jeremy?) and he seemed to have an eating disorder of some kind and left to go to the bathroom half a dozen times.
It was a nice enough dinner (hake for me, chicken for Heather and ox for the windsurfer), reminiscing about the Gorge and the Eastwind Drive-in, even if Jeremy (that was not his name) pissed off the waiter by shouting terrible spanglish at him.
Back at the hostel again we made a game plan for our next couple days in Sevilla: see the cathedral, the General Archive of the Indies, the Maria Luisa park and the Plaza de España, a photo exibit in an art deco pavilion, the bull ring museum and a scenic path along the banks of the Guadalquivir.
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