On Sunday, November 18th, we awoke to the sound of heavy rain on the glass roof of the courtyard outside our room. According to the weather report, the rain was likely to last all day. Having seen that report a few days previously, we had done most of our touring already so we were happy to spend a lot of the day in our room. Every day here we’ve been getting coffee from the lobby and eating a breakfast of nuts, oranges, buns and pastries in bed. It’s much cheaper and much better than going out for breakfast every day.
We caught up on some organizing and just generally relaxed all day. During one lull in the downpour in mid-afternoon I picked my way over the wet, slippery cobblestones down to the little store just around the corner for a couple of beers. Around 4:30 pm, the rain had again stopped for awhile so we went down to the Bodega Santa Cruz for tapas. For 10.50 euros (about $16 Cdn) we got a beer and ate small plates of calamari frito (fried breaded calamari), tuna de tomates (big chunks of tuna in tomato sauce), potaje de garbanzo (chickpea soup with bread) and espinaca con cinquo quesos (spinach with 5 cheeses).
We had wanted more of the deep-fried aubergine with honey but by early evening you get whatever they have left. There is a chalkboard with about 30 or 40 tapas and the same number of small sandwiches listed on it. As they run out, they just wipe the item off the board.
While we ate, we discovered that on one side of us (and it’s very close) there was a couple from Austria and on the other side a couple from Wales. We enjoyed chatting with them and trading travel stories and tips. The Welsh man had gone to Turkey the week before for a hair transplant. “Mid-life crisis”, he said. It looked sore. Just like Canadians hate being mistaken for Americans, Austrians don’t like to be lumped in with the Germans and the Welsh are very definitely not English. However, it seems like everyone in Britain is wondering what will happen with Brexit. And, once again, everyone we meet from anywhere in the world has a dim view of the current American government.
After going to the bakery for breakfast items for the next day, it was almost time for the flamenco show we had booked. We had read on Trip Advisor that La Casa de la Guitarra, just around the corner from our hotel, had the 2nd best rated flamenco show in Sevilla. We had reserved tickets the day before. When we got there shortly after 7 pm for the 7:30 show, the price was 18 euros for Anita and 15 for me because I am a pensioniste (over 65). We always carry laminated copies of our passports for proof of identity and age. It has been handy here because there is often a reduced rate for pensionistes. At the Alcazar, I paid only 3 euros instead of 11.50.
The small auditorium of la Casa de la Guitarra holds about 50 people on tightly packed folding chairs. In order of reservation, there were small bits of paper with names on them on each chair. Because we had reserved the day before, we were in the 2nd row so we had great seats.
At 7:30, the guitarist played a couple of tunes. He was masterful. We’ve never seen anyone play so well. After that, a woman joined him to clap along. The rythms are very complex. Then she sang a couple of songs. Unfortunately, a flamenco song is usually a very passionate, plaintive lament. It wasn’t as bad as the shrieking we endured at the Peking Opera in Beijing but we were glad the show would only last an hour. Soon, a dancer came out. She was great. Flamenco dancers are not shrinking violets. She swirled around, snapping her fingers and dancing in a machine-gun tapping style that was incredible.
When the hour was up, the whole audience erupted in applause. It was a great show.
We caught up on some organizing and just generally relaxed all day. During one lull in the downpour in mid-afternoon I picked my way over the wet, slippery cobblestones down to the little store just around the corner for a couple of beers. Around 4:30 pm, the rain had again stopped for awhile so we went down to the Bodega Santa Cruz for tapas. For 10.50 euros (about $16 Cdn) we got a beer and ate small plates of calamari frito (fried breaded calamari), tuna de tomates (big chunks of tuna in tomato sauce), potaje de garbanzo (chickpea soup with bread) and espinaca con cinquo quesos (spinach with 5 cheeses).
We had wanted more of the deep-fried aubergine with honey but by early evening you get whatever they have left. There is a chalkboard with about 30 or 40 tapas and the same number of small sandwiches listed on it. As they run out, they just wipe the item off the board.
While we ate, we discovered that on one side of us (and it’s very close) there was a couple from Austria and on the other side a couple from Wales. We enjoyed chatting with them and trading travel stories and tips. The Welsh man had gone to Turkey the week before for a hair transplant. “Mid-life crisis”, he said. It looked sore. Just like Canadians hate being mistaken for Americans, Austrians don’t like to be lumped in with the Germans and the Welsh are very definitely not English. However, it seems like everyone in Britain is wondering what will happen with Brexit. And, once again, everyone we meet from anywhere in the world has a dim view of the current American government.
After going to the bakery for breakfast items for the next day, it was almost time for the flamenco show we had booked. We had read on Trip Advisor that La Casa de la Guitarra, just around the corner from our hotel, had the 2nd best rated flamenco show in Sevilla. We had reserved tickets the day before. When we got there shortly after 7 pm for the 7:30 show, the price was 18 euros for Anita and 15 for me because I am a pensioniste (over 65). We always carry laminated copies of our passports for proof of identity and age. It has been handy here because there is often a reduced rate for pensionistes. At the Alcazar, I paid only 3 euros instead of 11.50.
The small auditorium of la Casa de la Guitarra holds about 50 people on tightly packed folding chairs. In order of reservation, there were small bits of paper with names on them on each chair. Because we had reserved the day before, we were in the 2nd row so we had great seats.
At 7:30, the guitarist played a couple of tunes. He was masterful. We’ve never seen anyone play so well. After that, a woman joined him to clap along. The rythms are very complex. Then she sang a couple of songs. Unfortunately, a flamenco song is usually a very passionate, plaintive lament. It wasn’t as bad as the shrieking we endured at the Peking Opera in Beijing but we were glad the show would only last an hour. Soon, a dancer came out. She was great. Flamenco dancers are not shrinking violets. She swirled around, snapping her fingers and dancing in a machine-gun tapping style that was incredible.
When the hour was up, the whole audience erupted in applause. It was a great show.
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