But time has found its way away from me to make them because everyday all day is too busy and exhausting in the mostly right kind of way.
Which I suppose is kind of the point of a trip like this…
Vale.
Sevilla: Parte Cuatro.
Toro Edition.
Andalucía, the Southern region of Spain capitalized by Sevilla, is once again: typical Spanish. So naturally, bullfighting is HUGE here. I’ve found that Spaniards seem to be quite polarized on the subject: love or hate. Not being actually Spanish myself, I find myself somewhere in the middle with a leaning towards the love side, but really just more “appreciate.”
We went to a corrida at Las Ventas last year and I was absolutely fascinated with the entire event. A stadium full of thousands of people intently watching a death dance between a man and a bull in the sweltering heat sounds awful, but to be honest, there’s something surprisingly artistic and dare I say… poetic about the fight. And OK… the trajes de luces don’t hurt the argument:
But I don’t entirely want to get into some big debate about toreros, so here’s some photos of our little tour of Plaza de Toros. There weren’t any bullfights happening in the cities we’re in when we’re in them, but we were lucky enough to catch our fave torero, Miguel Abellán’s (umm, see above) final corrida at Las Ventas in Madrid for their San Isidro festival at a bar on Canal Toros. Yes, that’s an entire channel dedicated to bullfighting. I’d ask Direct TV if I could get it, but considering I can’t even get something as basic as ESPN Deportes or GOLtv, I have a sneaking suspicion that Canal Toros is def not a thing for them.
Sevilla: Parte Tres.
A few random shots from around town. I am fully aware of how pretentiously pretty they are. As previously mentioned, Sevilla kind of defines picturesque.
Sevilla: Parte Dos.
The panoramas.
I realize that I owe you ten photo updates about Sevilla but I’d be remiss to not note that everything simple that I ever dreamed about Basqueville came true tonight.
And when I say simple I mean… I’m not married or pregnant or novio’d so…
simple things.
Perfect.
We’ve just arrived to our amazing Basque apartment and it’s siesta time, so I figured I’d finally do a bit of blogging while we wait for things to open again so that we can go buy sweaters since it’s randomly in the 50s in Donostia and there’s some crazy ocean wind going on.
SO anyways, SEVILLA. (Parte Uno)
If I could summarize Sevilla, it’d be by calling it “Typical Spanish” as a place near our apartment so cleverly did. Everything you learned about Spain in your high school classes happens here. From city-shutting-down siestas to flamenco dancers to Spanish guitarists in the street to well dressed gentlemen with luxurious hair to ladylike fans to majestic horses prancing around to every street being absolutely picturesque with windy roads bustling with motos and people.
Having been to Sevilla to visit a friend who was studying there when I lived in Copenhagen, none of these things were entirely shocking to me, but having spent the majority of my more recent time in Spain in the urban metropolis that is Madrid, it felt like a total 180.
You want to get anywhere? You walk there because there’s no legitimate train and the buses are a touch… confusing. It took us three days to finally figure out how to not spend 45 minutes walking to get to Plaza España. And let’s not even talk about the time we ended up in a military suburb at the end of a bus line. Whoops. (To be fair, the bus driver was not only stunning but also took us back to town gratis.)
You want legitimate dinner? You better figure that out before midnight because after then, your only options are gelato and cold tapas.
You want to not spend ten dollars a day on water because as soon as you drink a bottle you sweat it out in 99 degree burning Sevilla sun? Buena suerte.
So Sevilla felt like a challenge from the minute we landed in their, let’s be honest, crappy compared to T4 airport. Sevilla demanded patience. And usually I’m pretty decent at respecting that, but everything feels a bit more daunting when it’s 99 degrees for literally 12 hours a day. While we did see some amazing things in our first few days, I can say that it was a rough start to the trip. Our favorite torero (read: matador and yes, of course I have a favorite one) Miguel Abellán (commonly referred to as Migz) is forever complaining on twitter about being hungry or tired or thirsty or hot and Sevilla was bringing out our inner-Migz for sure. The best part of the day seemed to be coming home around midnight, being greeted by adorable hosts’ dog, Mopa (Spanish for mop), changing into not sweaty outfits and going to the corner bar in our neighborhood, Triana, to enjoy air conditioning, free wifi and mojitos / gin & tonics.
We spent one entire afternoon avoiding the sun at our local movie theatre seeing these. Both amazing and totally rec’d. Salmon Fishing in Yemen was on the film festival circuit this Spring, but was always sold out. Figures that it’d be at a basic V.O. (read: Original Version, English with Spanish subtitles) theatre in the middle of Sevilla.
We had always planned to take a day trip to the coast but by the end of day two, we needed to separate ourselves from the city and sort of regroup. Original intentions said to go to Jerez de la Frontera but we quickly abandoned that idea after a close inspection of google maps told us that it wasn’t actually on the coast. And well — we needed beach.
So a debate arose between Málaga and Cádiz. We had two litmus tests to see which would win: the google image search test and the weather.com test. Málaga easily swept the competition with a truly striking coastline and temperatures in the upper 70s. Cádiz struck us as more basic and was only five degrees cooler than Sevilla. We gave up on caring that it was three times as expensive to get to Málaga and I asked our host, Lu, for directions to the central station to get us on a Renfe regional train to the coast for the day. She asked where we were going and when I told her Málaga, she gave me this look like I was totalmente loca. She said that Cádiz was way more affordable, had more enjoyable beaches and that if she had the option, she’d definitely choose NOT Málaga.
So Cádiz it was.
We arrived to the train station at 9:40, hoping to catch the 9:46 train. The ticket sales man basically laughed and didn’t even offer us 9:46 tickets and said that we had to wait until the 11am train for 40 euros or the 11:15am train for 15 euros. “You’ll never make that train.”
Let the record show that we defo could have made that train with time to spare but you know, sure, let’s spend an hour in a boring train station without wifi, seven euro bocadillos and super uncomfortable seating. Why not?
So anyways, a few hours awkward train nap hours later, we arrived in Cádiz. Ran into a Plaza de la Tortuga #XA and spent a few hours lunching (typical Spanish) where I finally tried the infamous bacalao for the first time. I’ve had a bit of bad luck in Spain, always ordering salmon and getting really excited about it only to be served cured lox-like salmon that basically makes me want to throw up. But this bacalao, aka cod, was super fresh and COOKED to perfection. Enjoying it beachside with a g&t was definitely a plus.
After we finally got our cuenta (the bill), we took a beach back to the main part of town to seek our beach towels and enjoy the rest of our time on the playa. Naturally nothing was open (thanks, siesta) and no hotel would lend us towels without being paid guests. PSH
Decided to forgo towels, changed into swimwear in a bougie hotel that had next’d us on towels bathroom, #classact, and headed straight for the water.
For the first time in days, my body wasn’t side-eyeing my life choices and was absolutely pleased with the environment that I had put it in. I’m not much for religion, but if I was, I’d say that walking into the ocean that afternoon was an actual miracle. We basqued on the beach for a few hours before grabbing some cheap and delicious goat cheese and tomato jam bocadillos on the main strip and heading back to the train station for our return to Sevilla.
And when we woke up the next morning? We found our Sevilla swag. Things became more effortless. Michelin star dinners on sidestreets happened. Professional flamenco shows were seen. Midnight strolls by the cathedral were soundtracked by Spanish guitarists and the sound of horses running on cobblestoned streets. Tintos del verano were finally properly mixed. I had a temporary flamenco museum employee boyfriend show us around the hood and the house where the famous painter, Velázquez was born. Artesian cheese mongers showed up at Renaissance fairs in the middle of parks. Jamon became a thing. Buses actually made sense. Random parades of drum lines happened occasionally. Canal Toros was on in bars and we just happened to catch Migz have a perfect fight while drinking dollar tintos.
Sevilla made sense and suddenly the beauty that we saw on every corner became something that we were living in and not living with.
Monday night we arrived in Sevilla.
If we don’t get around to blogging about it, this video kinda summarizes how it’s been.
Literally.
When we finally parted ways with A after the Real Madrid game, we talked to the concierge about a late check out. I asked what the latest we could leave was. (Our flight to Sevilla on Monday was at 7pm.) He asked me when we needed to go. I said what’s normal check out. He made me guess. I said ten. He countered with noon. So I said one? “Take two.”
OK. So a two pm check out it was. Thanks, The Palace.
We spent the morning drinking cava in bed, taking excessively long showers and fighting with overflowing luggage. I have purchased one item while I’ve been here and it is small enough to fit in the palm on my hand yet I had to fully sit on my suitcase to get it to just barely close. Don’t even ask me how many times I’ve looked through that thing this week and exclaimed “I like nothing I brought. What was I thinking when I was packing…”
Decided to grab lunch at La Cocina de San Antón. We fell in design-love with their website when we stumbled upon it and basically didn’t care what they served, we just wanted to be there. As the above pictures show, it’s painfully well designed from the lighting to the window panes to the table coverings to the menus.
The food wasn’t necessarily write home worthy about. We both ended up ordering the Milanese rice dish because translating the whole menu was too much to pretend to care to do at the time.
Of note: on vacation, we basically eat out every meal and most of the places don’t have English menus because well, as soon as an English menu happens, the place loses street cred and that’s kinda not the point of traveling anyways. So I would say that 75% of the time I am not entirely sure what I’m ordering. It works out to be good about 75% of the time. Basically you win some, you lose some but in the end it’s the adventure that counts anyways.
Overall, I’d say this place was worth checking out if you’re a design nerd but I wouldn’t bother getting too excited about the food. Focus on the drinking.
We’re finally at home. It’s 2:44am, Sevilla time. We are a few cocktails in. But we have legitimate internet and energy to blog.
SO It appears that we left off at Night Two. (Night One being “Let’s get drunk at The Palace and take walks around town stopping by major protests in Sol” night.)
Day Two involved going to the Mercado San Miguel. Which is basically a bunch of locally made food vendors selling their delicious wares under on roof. Kinda like if Taste of Chicago got actually tasty, super classy, mega delicious and happened in one gorgeous building.
We were there for what we considered breakfast (which is essentially lunch in Spanish terms) and my only intentions were a glass of wine and some patatas. Turns out I bailed on that plan when a menu presented an Empanada Gallega (a Galician empanada, which I’ll be honest, I only ordered because my favorite telenovela star is forever referred to as “El Gallego”) and a glass of house wine for super cheap. I have absolutely no idea what was in that empenada, which is honestly par for most of the Spanish course. After /mm picked up a bocadillo, we reunited over the second most delicious thing I’ve eaten on this trip: artesian mozzarella tapas from an authentic Italian vendor. Because if freshly made cheese on freshly baked bread wasn’t enough, adding hazelnuts to the mix takes it to heavenly proportions. And they were buy four get one free so… best ten euros I’ve probably spent so far.
After the market, we took some sangrias to go, did a bit more wandering and ended up picking up some groceries at El Corte Ingles, which is kinda of the Spanish version of a Super Target but naturally more chic as well, it’s Spanish. Hello cava, cheese, panuelitos, and Cola Cao. What the hell is Cola Cao? It’s basically Spanish Nesquik and to be perfectly honest, the only reason we care is because Iker Casillas and Haritz do.
Let me tell you what, making Cola Cao is hard. And finding milk in Spain? Even harder. /mm paid about five dollars for two small starbucks cups filled with some kind of “milk” they have that isn’t cold.
What kind of milk is that?
Don’t get me started…
But it isn’t the kind of milk that mixes well with Cola Cao. As we so quickly discovered. Watch our follies HERE.
So we quite quickly gave up on that mission and started getting ready for one of the biggest planned nights of our trip: the final Real Madrid home game of the season with our Basque friend, A. (And for those of you back home who are so over my football posts, know that this is the only one that will happen because well… luckily for you, football is on haitus until the Euros start next month.)
ANYWAYS
Why is this game one of the biggest nights? Well maybe it’s because this team is my favorite team of all teams that have ever teamed. Maybe it’s because this team has inspired me to do a bit of world travelling. Maybe it’s because this team is perfect in every way that a team could be perfect. Maybe it’s because this team clinched the league a few games ago and this game was against a team that we no doubt would beat and they had a huge post-game party planned to celebrate winning THE LEAGUE TITLE? Maybe it’s because we were being presented with the Liga trophy afterwards. Maybe it’s because we had VIP seats. Maybe it’s because those VIP seats allowed me to spend the evening with some of the best people I could hope to share those moments with (JV & AB not included). Oh and the whole I’ve watched this team every week for two years and was finally getting a chance to see them play in their majestic home field?
Yeah, probably some combination of those things.
So yes. I had amazing seats in my favorite stadium for my favorite team with some of my favorite friends in one of my favorite cities. And it was perfect from the second I scanned my ticket at the gate until the moment I walked back out those gates with a flag tied around my neck and a ridiculous smile on my face knowing that I witnessed a part of something legitimately divine and quite honestly, historic. ( Of note, Real Madrid earned 100 points this season, the highest number of points ever scored in a single season by a team in the history of Spanish football. N B D. )
I’m not even entirely sure how to describe the game other than actual sensory overload. Because as soon as you were focused on what was actually happening on the pitch, you’d be distracted by what the mega fans (Ultra Sur) were chanting or the fact that the wave was about to hit you and godforbid you be THAT BITCH you doesn’t participate or whoa, WHAT IS JOSÉ GESTURING ON THE SIDELINES IN THAT SUIT WHICH BY THE WAY: A SUIT THAT’S A THING AGAIN AFTER A YEAR OF SOLAMENTE SWEATPANTS or huh? ANOTHER gol? or Hey, a new policía is in front of you or oh my goodness, what kind of footwork did Cristiano Ronaldo just invent mere feet away from my eyes, or oh oh my gosh, Arbeloa just ran by and oh my gosh that’s really Arbeloa or Özil just RIGHT THERE. AND XABI ALONSO? You are just there. Doing that? Really, right there? OOF.
And there there’s four goals. And the songs. And the screaming. And the celebrating. And honestly, it just all flew by far too quickly. And before we knew it, the lights were dark and you started to see fieldsmen pull out white carpet to cover the entire field and different people running about moving pieces of stage around and you knew you were in for something special.
How special we didn’t realize. There were rumors of video montages and fireworks. Which in and of itself, is perfect. But leave it to Real Madrid to take everything to the next level. Because every League Title needs to rain gold confetti, have Placido Domingo show up and sing your anthem, feature individual player parades, speeches by all four captains, giant balloons to commemorate every title the team’s ever, stadium sing alongs to “We Are The Champions” and oh my goodness, a victory lap around the stadium with all of the players and their kids under the most striking fireworks display I maybe have ever seen. Of course. This is /mm’s video of the end of the party. And no, I can’t talk about my favorite player, Xabi Alonso’s kid getting lost in the parade and running into his arms right before the big fireworks finale at around 0:55. Or Callejón jumping on José’s back and riding him to the stage to pay back his debts from the winter?
Can’t.
And no. I’m not talking about watching Sergio Ramos torero a Real Madrid capote on the Champions stage when the rest of the team was victory parading because well…
It’s 4am and I can’t get into those kinds of emotions right now because in three hours, I have to get up and pack a bag to head to Cádiz for the day and enjoy some Andalucian beaches.
SO. If you take anything from this post, take the fact that I am still in shock that I was able to share such a special day with such special friends in such a special place with such a special team.
Nevermind a very special coach…
Google = fortune teller?
I thought that leaving The Palace would be harder but Sevilla is throwing down some mad game and providing fierce competition for fave Spanish city love.
It’s 11:20PM. We’ve got clean dresses on and hearts to share. Time for tapas.
Actual post tomorrow since we finally have free and stable internet.
Grabbing lunch at La Cocina de San Antón before heading to Barajas to fly to Sevilla. It’s as cute inside if not cuter than this entryway photo appears. More soon.
- jj: Hola, queremos tres vasos del hielo. Grande por favor. (Hey, we'd like three large glasses of ice. Large, please.)
- Bartender: Sí. (Yes.)
- jj: Necesito una maquina del hielo a dentro de mi cuarto. Es posible? (I need an ice machine inside my room. Is that an option?)
- Bartender: Yo tambien. Y otro con el whiskey. (Me too. And another with whiskey.)
- jj: Mejor! (Better!)
Artesian Mozzarella Tapas at Mercado San Miguel.
Second best thing I’ve eaten in Spain.
I’ve kind of gone on and on about how much I love European Abuelos (grandparents) but this photo kind of perfectly captures everything perfect about them.
I refer to this as Abuelo Stroll Pose or #ASP.
Romantic overload, no?
