Seville, Part two

5:30 a.m.: I awoke to the bus arriving in the Seville station. I'd managed to secure a seat above the door--no reclining people in front of me--and also no one behind me. So after the lights of Lisbon faded in the background, I crashed for the whole trip back. I stumble out the door into, well, it's mostly quiet This is spain.

5:37 a.m.: Find a bathroom.
5:38 a.m.: Leave bathroom. Breathe again.

6:00 a.m.: I wandered to the nearest street, in the general direction of driving beat in the distance. But before I got there, I looked up and saw a woman riding a motorcycle sputtering to a stop. I walked up and asked if everything was ok. She responded (loosely translated), "All of my gas has spilled onto the street and my moto won't go, idiot." I'm not a mechanic anyway--definitely not with Spanish names.

6:15 a.m.: She gets off the phone. Cars are whizzing past, with only a few glancing in this poor woman's direction. I can't help, but I can't leave either.

6:30 a.m.: I inch farther away, thinking I might be keeping people from helping.

6:45 a.m.: A repair service shows up. The only person to stop was a repair service that had been called. Please, let me never have a car breakdown in Spain.

7:00 a.m.: I find the source of the music--a nightclub labeled "Casino." Outside are a pair of hotdog stands selling frankfurters slathered in cheese sauce. Please remember, it's 7 a.m.



7:15 a.m.: Left that area to find a Starbucks. When I arrive, it's completely abandoned.
To recap. Hotdogs at 7 a.m. are ok. Coffee is not.


7:20 a.m.: I settle down to wait.
7:30 a.m.: Someone shows up at Starbucks. They don't let me in.

8:37 a.m.: It finally opens. Starbucks is pretty precious in an area when you can't get it.

I actually found Mocha Arabian Sanani. It doesn't exist most places. It's the strongest and best blend they have.

9:10 a.m: More coffee. And a pastry. Right....no, no. Just coffee.

11 a.m.: I start wandering around downtown, looking for my hotel.
12 p.m.: I get the brilliant idea to check the map I have on my ipod. And it tells me that I need a bus.
12:15 p.m.: Get checked into the hotel. It's halfway between nowhere, a nice trendy hotel that forgot about the basics. Like shower curtains. Or functioning wi-fi. But the shower feels great.

12:45 p.m. I collapse on my bed
1:25 p.m. I roll over.
3:45 p.m. I wake up and try to figure out where I am.

4:00 p.m. Wifi is down. I'm too tired to use the gym. But I can still go swimming!

It's a lie. If the pool was deeper than five feet, I would have drowned.

5:00 p.m. They say the trademark food of Seville isn't a food at all; it's a portion size. Tapas, from the word covering, notes a variety of lively dishes that can be ordered for a low price. It's like a Pick Three special at Applebee's, but with more choice and no annoying commercial jingles. Anyway, it's my quest to find it.
5:30 p.m.: Arrive at the bus stop
6:00 p.m.: The bus arrives. Tells me I need to cross the road.
6:15 p.m.: The bus--possibly the same one--picks me up there. (On Monday morning, I would wait 20 minutes for another bus to the airport. I would see five of these exact buses on this exact route.)
6:45 p.m. Arrive back in the area near the big church. They are having mass. I stand in the back and watch for a bit. I don't understand any of it, but there is still a beauty in liturgy, in joining with the universal body.



7:30 p.m. I cross the river. Sundays in Spain, almost everything is closed. I'm still hoping for an authentic tapas experience though.



8:10 p.m. Found one. In a place labeled "Cerveza," or watering hole. They look a little disappointed when I order a Coke Zero. Also when I change my order midway through after figuring out their menu. But the food doesn't disappoint.
Hands down the best food I've had on this trip.


9:55 p.m. I'm in danger of missing the last bus to my hotel. I actually start running--after all the miles from the weekend--to get out of the square. Amazingly, I feel almost fast. I don't know why. I never feel fast.

10:02 p.m. The bus stop is deserted. I try to brace myself for the six-mile walk.
10:10 p.m. Two white guys ask me a question in Spanish. I don't understand and mumble, "Si." One looks down at my shoes, then goes, "Do you speak English?" Turns out they are both from Florida; they just don't go to random countries without knowing the language. I don't bother explaining that I know the language in the country I live in, that this is a short break. I don't bother explaining because they are already running to their next bus.

10:18 p.m. My bus arrives. Glorious sight.

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