Seville presents more tame and traditionally Spanish than Granada, not the Bohemian hangout or overrun tourist trap. My little hostel is in a sedate neighborhood. The rooms are clean and spacious. The atmosphere overall is quiet. Boring compared with Makuto. I'm in a 4-cama all-girl dorm with its own bathroom. There's a terrace on the rooftop.
The Friday evening free sangria only attracted a handful of guests, including a Spanish couple contemptuous of my pathetic attempts at conversation in a language I have studied sporadically since junior high school. I left the lounge and wandered up to the rooftop terrace. Someone had hung their wet laundry the length of the narrow terrace, ruining the ambience as well as the view.
Opening the front door to my spacious hostel in Seville, I initially sucked in a lungful of peace and serenity. The German girl at the reception desk spoke in a whisper. I arrived starving around 6:30 p.m. They serve free sangria at 9, so I planned to be back in time. I went out by myself for something to eat. A large plaza near the hostel was crowded with locals mostly for a Saturday night out with friends and family. I stood at one bar and they ignored me, so I went to another and sat for awhile until this short, thin Spanish man came and spoke to me. I couldn't understand him. I assumed he was the waiter, but then no, guess not, and he pointed me in the direction of the bar. I ordered a tinto de virano hoping I would get some tapas, but no, no comida until after 8:30 and then, of course, you have to pay. Free munchies with a drink is not the norm in Seville. Irritated, I left and found an abandoned Chinese restaurant and ordered el menu del dia for 6.5 euros, plus had enough to take home for breakfast! The free Sangria did not attract many hostel guests. I sat next to a Spanish couple traveling from elsewhere in Spain. They spoke rapidly and were not very patient with my broken Spanish. Frustrated, I went up to the terrace. Someone had all their laundry hanging up, which ruined the ambience as well as the view, so I returned to my room and read. When my roommate returned, she seemed very nice but quiet, so I kept reading, stayed up late and finished "The Walking Dead, the Road to Woodbury" from the hostel's library.
The next morning in the communal kitchen for breakfast I drank coffee and ate the rest of the bread someone had abandoned in the kitchen. The tall blonde from Denmark announced she was going to the Museo del Spanish Inquisition. I tagged along with her and the German receptionist, Vanessa. The museum is located next to the bridge to Triana in the excavated ruins of el Castillo de San Jorge. The museum mixes modern media with the ancient foundation walls of San Jorge to tell this frightening story. I stewed over the powerful exhibits, angry about the cruelty and stupidity of the Catholic Church. 300 years of ignorance, fear, torture and murder condoned by monsters claiming God's Grace! Afterward we found a cafe for a coffee. I of course had cafe con leche and a large piece of chocolate cake. We had a fascinating discussion, mostly in English for my sake, about historical guilt-trips. Vanessa grew up in Germany ashamed about the Nazi's but reluctant to shoulder responsibility for their crimes, while I countered with my country's background of slavery, genocide of the native Americans and the A-bomb.
We walked past the Cathedral, Christian iconography turning my stomach for the moment, and toured the Palacio de Pilato, a privately-owned palace designed during the 15th and 16th century based on the home of Pontius Pilate in Jerusalem. The family still lives in apartments upstairs. Although not as exquisite as the Nazrid Palaces, the decorative walls and ceilings mimic the Alhambra's intricate honeycombed, carved and woven designs in plaster, tile and woodwork. The richly colored wall and ceiling coverings helped me visualize even more how beautiful the Nazrid Palaces would have appeared during the time of the Moors. Interesting but also weird to think of a family living in this massive place. They had the run of the entire palace until opening part of it as a museum in the 1980s. They still use some of the living rooms and large dining rooms during "special" occasions. They had family portraits painted from the 15th century along with framed color photographs that looked from the 1960s. When you walked on the clay tiles in the hallway on the top terrace, they made this musical clicking, clacking sound like wind chimes.
Cruising the shopping areas of Seville, I marveled at the gorgeous dresses in the windows. A wedding party passed by, and the women's hats outshined the bride's brilliant white gown as its train trailed across the pavement.
After returning from our tour, I napped. My roommate in the four-bunk dorm left after my first night and I had the place, including private toilet and shower, all to myself for the next two nights. I took advantage and chilled-out with writing, reading and watching television via internet. I did not feel like going out for the evening, so I ate "free" pasta and bread from the kitchen, and read until about 4 a.m. Slept in and made myself go for another self-guided tour. I had to walk to the bus station to buy my tickets, as the company cannot get its act together to sell tickets online, just like ALSA. I walked along the River Guadalquivir, which was really beautiful but so poorly maintained. I enjoyed the graffiti artwork splashed across every concrete surface, but not the trash, cigarette butts and tons of broken glass. The landscaping was pathetic, with mowed grass and weeds along the river. You could see how Spain's recession had gutted public works projects.
I walked through Triana, proclaimed as the home to flamenco, ate a horrible menu del dia but in a wonderful location right by the river, then strolled back to the hostel along the river.
I'm ready to go home. I'm tired of traveling. I miss Michael and the comforts of home. I'm eating too much junk, drinking too much wine and I'm getting pretty crabby. I've loved this trip, but three months on the road is enough for me. I am looking forward to Madrid, seeing Jane and Carlos, but then really looking forward to the flight home.