To siesta or not to siesta?
That's not even a question. I sleep until 2:00p instead. I finally get out of bed and I'm relieved to see that my fellow pub-crawlers are still confined to their own beds. I'm an early bird. I only takes me a few minutes to realize I want some food, so I head to the grocery store I was at yesterday. It's closed Sundays. Everything is closed today. This place is a ghost town. You can walk for a half hour down big streets without seeing a soul. I finally find a place to eat and I sit inside. It's hot out again today, but it's not as bad as yesterday. I order Paella. It's good, but it's really nothing special. It's almost too dry.
After lunch I stop back at the hostel to collect myself and devise a plan for the day. I'm not entirely convinced that there's all that much to do today. There's nobody in Sevilla.
I decide to walk down the street to the GastroSol. It's a funky-looking structure that's supposed to represent mushrooms. For €1,30 I take a space-age elevator to the top and admire the view of the city. I walk around the ramps at the top of the GastroSol for a while then sit down at one of the tables on the balcony with a Mojito. It's discounted the €1,30 I paid for the ride up. It's not a bad deal. I sit for a while admiring the views and writing. It's a gorgeous day if you're in the shade. I'm slurping away at the last bit of my Mojito when I get a tap on the shoulder. It's Petra. She's walking around the GastroSol with her couchsurfing hosts. They're locals. We talk for what must have been close to an hour before they decide they'd better get going. They invite me along with them down to the river, but I politely decline. I've got to go back to the hostel and I sill have to reserve a spot on a train to Granada tomorrow. They'll be going to a free flamenco show at 10p, so I tell them I'll meet then there. They give me the address and head off.
I wait a few more minutes before following suit. I need to reserve the seat on the train so that's exactly what I do. Eventually I'm back near the hostel, but all this walking and heat has really helped to build up an appetite. I find a tapas bar and sit down. I order the tapas that the proprietors suggested. I'm also recommended a local beer. I order that too. The people at the tapas bar are incredibly nice. They let me try the salsa with bread before putting it on my sandwich for me. Eventually my meal comes out and it's massive. A huge sandwich with a large order of fries to boot. The meal is absolutely amazing. Much better than the paella I had for lunch. The meal and beer runs me a whopping €4,30.
Nice.
I thank them profusely for the meal then head back to the hostel. It's time for some free sangria before heading to the flamenco show at 10p. At the hostel I sit around with a guy I met last night and sip sangria. Adam's from Canada. We talk for a while before I head to the flamenco show. As I was previously warned by the locals I met at the GastroSol, free flamenco is not the best flamenco. It wasn't that bad, but after watching for 20 minutes and waiting for Petra and the Spanards I decide to go back to the hostel. I'd rather watch the closing ceremony of the Olympics with my fellow travelers.
I sit down in the hostel just as a guy in front of me asks who won the Olympics by medal count.
"The United States," someone replies.
The guy is pissed and smacks his hands on his knees in disappointment. Then they ask where I'm from.
"The United States."
Sweet, sweet victory.
That's not even a question. I sleep until 2:00p instead. I finally get out of bed and I'm relieved to see that my fellow pub-crawlers are still confined to their own beds. I'm an early bird. I only takes me a few minutes to realize I want some food, so I head to the grocery store I was at yesterday. It's closed Sundays. Everything is closed today. This place is a ghost town. You can walk for a half hour down big streets without seeing a soul. I finally find a place to eat and I sit inside. It's hot out again today, but it's not as bad as yesterday. I order Paella. It's good, but it's really nothing special. It's almost too dry.
After lunch I stop back at the hostel to collect myself and devise a plan for the day. I'm not entirely convinced that there's all that much to do today. There's nobody in Sevilla.
I decide to walk down the street to the GastroSol. It's a funky-looking structure that's supposed to represent mushrooms. For €1,30 I take a space-age elevator to the top and admire the view of the city. I walk around the ramps at the top of the GastroSol for a while then sit down at one of the tables on the balcony with a Mojito. It's discounted the €1,30 I paid for the ride up. It's not a bad deal. I sit for a while admiring the views and writing. It's a gorgeous day if you're in the shade. I'm slurping away at the last bit of my Mojito when I get a tap on the shoulder. It's Petra. She's walking around the GastroSol with her couchsurfing hosts. They're locals. We talk for what must have been close to an hour before they decide they'd better get going. They invite me along with them down to the river, but I politely decline. I've got to go back to the hostel and I sill have to reserve a spot on a train to Granada tomorrow. They'll be going to a free flamenco show at 10p, so I tell them I'll meet then there. They give me the address and head off. I wait a few more minutes before following suit. I need to reserve the seat on the train so that's exactly what I do. Eventually I'm back near the hostel, but all this walking and heat has really helped to build up an appetite. I find a tapas bar and sit down. I order the tapas that the proprietors suggested. I'm also recommended a local beer. I order that too. The people at the tapas bar are incredibly nice. They let me try the salsa with bread before putting it on my sandwich for me. Eventually my meal comes out and it's massive. A huge sandwich with a large order of fries to boot. The meal is absolutely amazing. Much better than the paella I had for lunch. The meal and beer runs me a whopping €4,30.
Nice.
I thank them profusely for the meal then head back to the hostel. It's time for some free sangria before heading to the flamenco show at 10p. At the hostel I sit around with a guy I met last night and sip sangria. Adam's from Canada. We talk for a while before I head to the flamenco show. As I was previously warned by the locals I met at the GastroSol, free flamenco is not the best flamenco. It wasn't that bad, but after watching for 20 minutes and waiting for Petra and the Spanards I decide to go back to the hostel. I'd rather watch the closing ceremony of the Olympics with my fellow travelers.
I sit down in the hostel just as a guy in front of me asks who won the Olympics by medal count.
"The United States," someone replies.
The guy is pissed and smacks his hands on his knees in disappointment. Then they ask where I'm from.
"The United States."
Sweet, sweet victory.
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