Our last day in Spain.
We really have nothing planned for today. I want to return to the Plaza de España which was just so fantastic last night, and really have a look at it. Gail wants to do some shopping and sleep in. We both want to sit in the café right outside and waste the time watching people go by.
So far, things are going according to our non-plans.
Gail is sleeping in, I am sitting at the café, slowly working my way through a series of cappuccino, café con leche, café solo (a shot of harsh, bitter espresso). The church bells all went off, crazy like at 9:01and I just stopped writing and listened to the notes echo down the alley on the cool breeze.
The sun is out, the crack of sky overhead is blue, but here in the cafe the alleys are so narrow that no light comes straight in. I can touch both walls with my elbows, but here in the small plaza in front of the café it widens out to fifteen feet; enough room for four little tables and three small bar tables, three umbrellas for mid day. It stays cool in here most of the day, and right now the air is kind of pink scented, almost stained so you can see it; a warm glow on a cool morning.
The bells all go off again, like crazy tunes, at 9:10.
I love the bells.
I never can figure out the crazy tolling (I have the hour, quarter, half and three-quarter down pat). Dennis tells me it is the call to mass, but if that is true, I don’t know how anyone here gets anything done, as they must always be in mass.
I think they just ring them when they feel happy to be alive, which is like always.
At 9:19 the dog lady, wearing the same pink housecoat as yesterday, the same scowl on her face, same shopping bag on her arm, comes through, being dragged along by Scruffy, the ratty looking terrier.
At 9:20 the bells go bonkers again.
A guy working on a building up the alley is singing at the top of his lungs, some crazy thing that makes his co-worker laugh. I figure they will be up here in about 30 minutes for a café solo and smoke.
The waitress we love, who has served us these past three days with a great attitude and smile, is out sitting by me taking an orange juice and smoke break on this slow morning.
The bells go off again at 9:30. Perhaps it is a contest?
I look over and the waitress is leaning back, eyes closed, a little smile on her face.
A tour group, the first of the morning, comes by, eighteen, no twenty… oh wait.
Stragglers.
Twenty-two tourists and one guide, all crowded into the end of the square, spilling over into the café, cameras all pointing straight at me, since I am sitting smack in the middle table of the cafe and it is an interesting, scenic little plaza. They all have earbuds in one ear, she talks into a little microphone in French, and they all nod at the same time.
Suddenly I am in 22 vacation photos.
Gail shows up, just in time to miss the excitement.
The waitress comes out, they hug, Gail heads in to order some almond sweet thing and a cappuccino. I wander in and order another café, and a croissant con jamon y queso. It is served hot and is just the right thing.
A huge group, forty Italian tourists led by a guide and followed by a wandering guitar player who is serenading their way through the maze; they stop right out of the café, he finishes his song with a flourish, the crowd claps, and as he walks around collecting his tips, they are all taking photos…
I am the star in forty more vacations!
This could be my new racket. I am thinking I can sit here and write, wear a colorful shirt to help set the scene, people come by, I can smile and pose then walk around and collect tips.
That may be the solution to making money with my blog!
Another couple wanders in and grabs a table, soon a family of five jams around one table and five people at one table takes up almost all the space between the café entrance and the hotel entrance.
10:00 the bells ring again.
Another couple takes the last table, the café is full up now.
We order gas water to finish off our breakfast.
A guy on a Segway rolls by, pulling a broken Segway behind him. A family of four slowly trudges along behind him, each one carrying, no dragging, a helmet in their left hand.
The tourist traffic is picking up now, people come by in ones and twos, small family groups. So far this morning I have heard one other couple speaking English.
A tour guide comes along, putting her group together from the surrounding area, suddenly our little café empties again as everyone else joins the group. It is a German group this time, but unlike the other times no one takes photos.
An English speaking person and her grandson sit down at the open table next to us; she can’t speak a word of Spanish and so is really really having trouble ordering breakfast. Much to my amusement, I am able, with my limited Spanish, to act as translator and help her order scrambled eggs (solo), hot cocoa, coffee and orange juice.
It is pretty damn sad when I am being a Spanish-English translator for a lady from Arizona.
The guitar guys comes back through, going to meet the next tour group. He is pretty good, especially playing as he walks.
And, I don’t have to tip him, because he is not playing for us, the café sitters.
More tour groups, more photo ops. I have taken to looking up and smiling, but no tips for me so far.
An English speaking group comes by. I sit back quietly and watch, and am pleased to report that my fellow Americans acted appropriately, taking photos and looking before rushing off, just like the other groups.
The neighborhood priest walks by, slowly, nodding and saying “Diath” to us.
Another tour group, they turn the corner right, a straggler misses the right turn and goes straight on. Panicked yells from the last few in the group who run back to fetch her up. She scurries back, head down, chastised. The waitress leans against the doorframe, the people the next table over tip back in their chairs, Gail and I look up.
All of us have the same amused expressions on our faces.
It could be a lot worse than to be here in Sevilla on a Friday morning.
We finally pack out of breakfast around 11:00 to head back over to the Plaza de España.
The whole morning’s entertainment, coffees and breakfast and everything: €10
Think about that.
The experience: priceless.
The Plaza de España is more beautiful today than it was last night, so much Spanish tile work, so many pictures, a huge fountain, two impressive towers linked by a huge, curved court sort of palace building. We walked it slowly, looking for the tiles that symbolized all the places we have been.
After that we headed back through town and past Plaza Nueva, into the shopping district. Gail has been wanting to go in the stores, and today we have nothing to do, so…
Well, I was OK through the first one or two. But then my eyes started to glaze over. By store five I was short of breath and dizzy, store six I had major heart palpitations going on and when we headed towards the exit but then turned back into the store just as freedom was in sight, well, right there my legs started to give out.
I wanted to cry.
We finally exited into the fresh air and sunshine, and I was revived within five minutes.
Boy, that was close.
Traumatic.
Probably enough to last me for the rest of the trip.
Gail assures me she is just warming up.
Inshallah.
We hot-footed it back to our little plaza for siesta (it is 15:00 by now) and had our last glass (or two) of that good wine while we sat and watched the afternoon pass slowly by. Our waitress friend was just knocking off work for the day, so we had hugs and kisses all around, and with much sadness we placed our order with “the other waitress."
We found out this morning that the Italian place we lucked into last night is actually quite a famous restaurant, which explains the great food and good service, but not the excellent prices. So we are heading back there tonight for another go-round at the food.
In fact, we stopped by and made a reservation for our favorite table.
There are horses and carriages everywhere. Really, there must be at least a hundred in the main Plaza, more in the lesser ones, waiting for someone, anyone to take a ride. The drivers practically beg you to go for a ride. The poor horses stand, moving to the shade as the day goes on, standing and waiting, waiting… They have bags to collect their droppings, but the stench around the horses is still very intense in the summer heat. Urine and flies, that is what I think as I walk past the ranks of parked horses several times a day. In all these trips over, we have yet to ride in a carriage. Somehow the smell outweighs the appeal.
Here is what I have discovered about wine in Spain:
I usually have a choice, or get Rioja, Tempranillo, or a blended wine. They are all good, easy drinking, mild in taste and goes with any food. I cannot get a “big” bold wine to kill me, and I like to have that once in a while.
So that is the thing I miss about California wines, specifically some of the ones around home.
Tonight's dinner was every bit as great as last night. We were there just as the place opened, lucky for us I had reserved a table because the other two were taken and people were waiting to get in. I skipped the salad and had green lasagne with bolognese sauce, bechamel sauce and parmesan cheese. Gail ordered Tricolore Pizza, buffalo mozzarella cheese, cherry tomatoes, and basil. We finished up with the special strawberry tart that was almost too pretty to eat, and a cafe machiatto.
And so the day passed slowly, yet all too fast as we prepared to move out of España and into Portugal.