Family day in Seville

We left Rome in relative comfort by rail to the airport. The few notes I might make of this are all are relevant to the size of Roma Termini where It seemed that the otherwise excellent monitors describing platforms and departure times took it for granted that the largely foreign community going to the airport would know that it departed platform 25 every half hour so why waste screen space repeating the obvious. We walked 0.6K down the platform to our train. It was understandable that folk so far down these platforms sometimes chose the option of crossing the lines, an option required at many provincial stations, rather than walk 1,2k+ legally. We along with two members of the Polizia watched several lads preform this bold feat but it wasn’t till a young lass attempted the same that these stalwart defenders of community morals acted reminding me their Gallic brothers in Offenbach’s Bold Gendarmes who when they see a helpless woman or little boys who do no harm “we run them in, we run them in, we show them were the bold gendarmes…”

Seville airport is possibly the next closest to the CBD to Sydney. In the early afternoon a very crowded bus was soon dropping us off at Monumento Cid from whence with hostel instructions, a map and compass we were able to find our new home. The shared six berth dorm was a new experience for me. The two American girls in occupation were very messy but when they left next day I saw the advantage when they generously left half of a litre bottle of Jamisons that would obviously have been unwelcome on their air flight.

We set out that afternoon for food, drink and a general orientation so that we would be able to show Cat and Kell, who were arriving that evening, our town. At least we were able to meet them at El Cid’s monument and show them to there digs. Then as I recall we dined and drank a bit and my memories became foggy till I found pictures to carry this monologue forward.

You can see that this boy practising for a future role as a statue, when we waited by El Cid, was foggy as if in a dream.

Just like other cities with centuries of history Seville’s streetscape is highly descriptive. This is the local fire station and it understands its debt to the local obsession with ceramics.


Here are some other magnificently tiled extrava anzas.
Keeping the tax agents quarters and minaret dry down by the bridge.

In the local markets

Providing a sense of bonhomie at the local restaurant and piquing an interest in the past history of this address.

And here some of the current sources of this ongoing tradition


Some typical streetscapes including the main square I conjecture






With a few close ups of said square



Which brings us to the cathedral which like so many such buildings is so crowded in by commerce it is impossible to get a good shot.




Obviously no one had yet written the book pointing out the limitations to the builders of such places.
I ran into these Australian chicks

out by the Plaza De Espana which they thought really cool.

Especially the fountain.

One of them even snapped me.

Oh yes Ceramics were not forgotten.

and feature ceilings were.
large
This building which as far as I could ascertain was the centre of government or at the least the home to much of the public service and had NSW’s Dept of Labour and Industry been thus housed in 1964 I might have considered it much more seriously as a vocation. No probably not.


Kelly gave us a Picnic at Hanging Rock moment here and we thought this lad might know something but as it turned out she was only a phone call away.

Eventually I pulled the Aussie chicks back to my pad where I made quite an impression.


Night fell and after much dining, drinking and Flamenco dancing we wound up in this park where Kelly proved to be not just a pretty face but a very professional photographer.





The next day wasn’t so pretty and I’ve decided to spare you the personal snaps in fear of what might be lurking in others as yet un deleted photo albums.

Safe to say the day was spent quietly reviewing souvenirs and gifts for those back home, a task best completed with a guilty hangover.

Ah girls, what could have possessed us to believe that this place promised anything other than the disappointment her face suggests.

I may be mistaken but I think I snapped this happy Aussie

admiring these guys