After leaving our Alfacar digs, Sarah and I were as depressed as you can get two weeks into a six-week vacation.
We settled into our Sevillan apartment and we couldn't logically make one complaint about it. Except that there was no adorable baby showering everything in site with kisses, there was no delicious bread covered in homemade tomatoe marmalade, and there was no Caja de Papa.
After my traditional post-long-car-ride pee, I walked back in the bedroom and found Sarah on Facebook clicking through Macarena’s photos. This was like a fresh break-up that we were nowhere near over.
Sevilla was nice. A few different people had told me that Sevilla was their favorite city in Spain. I still have no idea why.
Sarah has a theory that people only love Sevilla because it’s the only other Spanish city they know outside of Barcelona and Madrid.
The modern Metropol Parasol was my favorite part of the town, despite the fact that the structure was woefully out of place (see pic below). The rest of the town was pretty, but nothing to write on a mediocrer blog about.
|Not my picture.|
I was also dissuaded by the intense heat, which Sevilla is famous for. The heat during the day was so oppressive that we were forced to seek shelter in the town’s lone movie theater that played films in their original languages. We were given exactly one American film to chose from, which made our decision easy:: This Must Be The Place.
I’d give it three stars. Zero for the actual movie which we both agreed was terrible. Three for the air conditioning.
A Mildly Fascinating Fact About Our airbnb Hosts:
The profile of our Sevillana host Candela said she was married to a Sierra Leonean. I was excited to meet my first Sierra Leonean, but unfortunately, he was in Holland playing drums at a festival, so I didn't get to cross that off my list.