The magic of Seville

I was pretty darn excited to show our Anf Seville. The sights, the smell, the vibe. It's such a precious place and I have some wonderful memories watching flamenco from my stay in Triana all those years ago. Any of that I can share with this old man would be awesome. That, and the very extravagant bullring (even if we both agree the fights are not something we support, we can admire the architecture, can’t we?).

We woke camping style (with our cornflakes from the back of the van), had a proper wash in the campsite facilities (the ones in Tarifa were nicer than these ones but the smell of the site was something that compensated for this!) and we hit up the town. 

There was a bus that went from our campsite into town, but we figured it made more sense to drive in (and then out the other side more easily)

Parking was quite the drag but the sweet orange smell of the air made it a little easier! We managed to get into town pretty easily and then drove around until we found a space. I say a space... Anf is a law unto himself. "We're British. We'll park here."

We'd strategically parked relatively near to the bullring so we could check out Seville's plaza de toros without too much walking on the way to the hoppy onny/offy bus. We ended up going on the audio guide tour of the bullring and got some good ol' tourist photos inside. (I even took a pic in the same spot I did 10 years ago!)

I got older and more miserable!

Someone got a new hat!

Rebellious old man opening doors he shouldn't and climbing fences he shouldn't!

(But we don't say "should" around here, so all is dandy!)

I spotted this cutesy hand-painted tile in the loos at the plaza de toros

There was a loud of noise when we were leaving and I was just explaining to Anf how, last time I was there, there was a massive demonstration in the street. Well, lo and behold, all the ruckus was another demonstration. What are the chances of that happening on the two moments that I was there in a decade?! I suspect it happens a lot. It was a right racket with 50-odd trucks driving around the centre, beeping their horns. Something about fuel prices.

We stopped in a souvenir shop on the way to the hoppy onny offy bus and the lady in the souvenir shop was really helpful, explaining there’s a way that the bull fights are listed in the leaflets they produce: the bulls are numbered and pulled out like a lottery to ensure that each of the toreadors is matched with the bull at random (what is the difference between a matador and a toreador?!). She also explained the order the toreadors are listed in is by experience, with the least experienced appearing last. Well, well. Every day is a school day!

Before getting on the hoppy onny hoppy offy, we stopped for some tapas in a little bar on a corner opposite the bus stop. The tapas was average - nothing like we’d had in Jerez the day before (oh, my, that salmon bomb!!!) – and we’d get downwind whiffs from the toilet every now and again from our table. We were glad when they lit some much better smelling incense, it was just a shame it took them so long to do so! (I wish I could figure out what that incense scent was - I love it!)

OK. So, time for touristy times – we hopped on the bus, climbed up top, I picked at and crushed the orange blossom on the tree next to the double deck whilst we waited for others to board (mmmmm!) and rode the bus to the first stop, where we got off (la Plaza de España). I was super eager to show Anf the beauty of this main square. Its ornate tiles, mosaics, fountains, the little boating moat, the bridges, the province homages, the decorated towers, the peacefulness of just being in this space, the everything.

I call this one "sleeping man"

There seemed to be a crowd in the centre at the back of the semi-circle building and there would be stirrings of applause. We ventured over to discover a street flamenco show. I’d shown Tony some of my favourite Spanish delights (chorizo, ensaladillsa russa, tinto de verano, churros con chocolate, jamon ibericos, tostados, patatas bravas, croquetas and lots of other tapas) and I was a little sad we wouldn’t get the cchance to see a flamenco show whilst we were in Sevilla (they tend to be in the evenings) so stumbling across this in the Plaza de España was just perfect!

A swish and a swirl of her skirt, the dancer was in the zone, expressing anger, sadness, passion, all that comes with the art of flamenco. She had a gypsy-like crochet shawl over her shoulders that flowed around her as she thrust her arms high and low, flicking her wrists, all the while stamping her heels hard on a tile in the middle of the floor with her heeled shoes. Whilst one woman was dancing, another was wailing, in a semi-pained way, into a microphone and two others girls were watching the dancer admirably, clapping along to the tempo and feeling. Two other guys completed the band, one sat on a cajón, beating away with his arms, another sat in a relaxed way on a chair whilst picking at a Spanish guitar.

The sun was shining, so we decided to have our first ice cream of the trip as we ambled back to the bus and jumped aboard to enjoy the rest of the city sightseeing tour atop the bus (and amongst the smell of the orange blossom! <3).

Anf had a cheeky little snooze as we were taken around the Plaza de Cuba and through Triana, awakening just in time to get off at the end of the tour. He doesn’t seem to like it when I call him “old man” but then goes and behaves like that! To be fair, we were both pretty conked and definitely all touristed out…!

We made our way back to the van, stopping for a coffee before hitting the road. Delighted to discover the van not clamped, we jumped on our way to Madrid. We’d figured we’d get there within the next day or two but, as we were climbing up the west side of Spain Anf suggested we nip into Portugal. Go on then!

So, we nip across the border (which isn’t a border, and for which I don’t have a picture) into Portugal by Elvas and look for a service station where we can park up for the night, with toilets open all night.

We had the motorway to ourselves and had to drive miles and miles before we saw any signs for a service station. We similarly had the service station to ourselves and I think, at that point, even if the toilets weren’t open, we would’ve stayed there because the chances of finding anywhere else was seemingly slim! There was a building that appeared to be closed but when we tried the door, it was open so we went in and grabbed a bite to eat before hitting the hay.