Boat from Melilla to Malaga
This was the usual ´royo´(ball-ache). The entire population of Melilla (that´s each population - Muslim, Christian, Jewish and Hindu - just to remind you) all rushing onboard, desperately trying to get to the 'butacas´ first (upright, uncomfortable, chewing-gum ridden, far from luxury, mostly broken seats which you are succumbed to sleep in. We had our incredibly mahousive suitcase (the one I arrived here with) making the decision to share a suitcase instead of both simultaneously, independently struggling like feeble women. When we got to the sleeper seats (nothing like the boat from Normandy - these ones don´t even recline) the Spanish were, as we had expected them to be, taking up three seats each and there were no seats left. We went to the other side of the boat to the other sleeper seat lounge to find that it was closed. Annalisa went downstairs to moan, in true Spanish fashion (yes, we really are integrated now!). She came back up in true English fashion, defeated. "They´re not going to open it up."
There was a group of people assembling at the entrance of the tiniest, narrowest corridor in front of the door that didn´t seem to be destined to be opened with suitcases, bags and other hefty items that made it feel incredibly claustrophobic. Then things got heated. More and more Spaniards came and we kept repeating that the grumpy staff had no intention whatsoever of opening the door to the other sleeper seat lounge. Right. Uproar. Annalisa went back downstairs with a few other disgruntled customers and within a few minutes the man had arrived with the key to open the lounge. Yes. That´s more like it. We all scrambled in, grabbed three seats each and tried to get some sleep, amongst evil children running up and down the corridor like wild animals with no consideration for the human nation. Yes. I don´t particularly like children. These were annoying and their mother was nowhere to be seen.
Malaga to Sevilla by train
We stayed on the boat until we´d hoped everybody had got off as it gets terribly crowded by the door. At 8amish we walked to the train station, stopping for a coffee and croissant, basking in the sun that wasn´t actually that hot, but felt amazing what with the ideology that we were now on holiday!
We jumped on a train to Seville within about an hour and arrived at San Bernardo by train.
Now... I understand that this blog entry may seem slightly boring for those who like their visual aids (that´s if anybody still reads this... I´ve noticed the statistics going down.... Sort it out! Clearly I should be pestering the others that wouldn´t be reading this!). So for your sake only (the ones that like pretty pictures) here is a picture of the train station that we arrived at in Sevilla - just to break it up a bit!
Wow....!
From this train station we grabbed the metro across town three stops and then walked in the direction of (and past!) our hostel.
Triana Backpackers Hostel
Our hostel was absolutely perfect. On the first night we shared a room with two women from Galicia and one of them also had their son with them too. The rooms were clean and light. We share three bathrooms with everybody else on our floor and upstairs on the first floor there is a kitchen for all to use, sofas and computers. Breakfast is a free for all where we can help ourselves to bread, butter, jam, cereal, coffee, etc. Upstairs again on the second floor is a roof terrace with sofas, tables and chairs, hammocks a jacuzzi and sun. What more can you ask for?! Queue photos:
The reception area
A small seating area in reception
Hammocks, sofas and tables out in the sun on the rooftop terrace
The jacuzzi which was unfortunately out of order due to the influx of people and the demand it would need to be cleaned.
The view from said rooftop terrace
We met so many different people from all different walks of life.We met:
- A guy from Czech Republic that had just finished walking roughly 5,000 km on the Camino de Santiago (St. James´ Way) - a pilgrimage route, similar to Lourdes for those that aren´t aware.
- A guy from Switzerland, similar having walked 12,000 km on several different routes of the Camino de Santiago.
- A German guy visiting Sevilla before he moves here in September to continue his Mathetmatics degree Erasmus style.
- An Italian guy that also finished the Camino de Santiago(!), this time walking for his own pleasure after using up all of his holiday from work over the past few years.
- A bunch of American girls that are living in Spain, similar to Annalisa and I. We eavesdropped on their Spanish conversation and I realised how much I have improved my Spanish. That was quite rewarding.
- French people
- More Italian people
- More other different nationalities.
Anyway - it was really interesting talking to people, learning about their experiences and communicating in some kind of mixed internationl Spanish/English mix with bits of German, Italian and so forth! Hey - my German was tested to the max and I didn´t realise that it was still there somewhere! Fun, fun, fun! (Rebecca Black styley but with much more enthusiasm!)
So once we arrived we got showered before other backpackers might want to all rush for the bathroom. We set off on a wander around the area we were staying in; Triana. We wandered up to the Plaza de Cuba (approximately 5 minutes walk away) and decided to set up base for several hours in the afternoon, slurping beers, nibbling on olives and devouring Spanish tapas - salmon mayonnaise salad with capers, mackerel on a bed of roast pepper, fried Brie and artichokes stuffed with cured Iberian ham. (I´m glorifying it - it´s the right descriptions but they were tiny little things on bread - yummy all the same - I´m just playing on making you all jealous!)
After a few cañas (beers) that took hours to order with one waiter running around like a blue-assed fly serving at least a 20 metre terrace, we had built up a relationship with the headless chicken a.k.a. the waiter. After sympathising with his working conditions he decided we deserved free beers and awarded Annalisa with a face touch, wink and finally when we left a blown kiss!
We wandered across the bridge looking for the Plaza de Toros (bullring - remember?) and the Torre del Oro, a famous landmark in Sevilla but for what I am still yet to know. This is a picture of it though...!
With Annalisa navigating we obviously got lost and decided to wander up a main street past glorious fountains and statues of men on horses (no town is complete without a man on horse statue, don´t you know?!). We had picked up some leaflets from the hostel and were informed that there was a flamenco show at 10.30pm in the north part of the town. We crossed through the public gardens in the setting sun to find the most Spanish architecture and surrounds possible. We strolled past tranquil readers, kissing couples and of course the odd chav gearing up for the traditional (?!) ´botellon´- an on the streets drinking sesh.
We wandered through small narrow passageways, adorned with tiled terraces with the odd plant-pot making us feel very lucky to be wandering through this area (Santa Cruz). We stumbled across many a pretty square with the buzz of Spanish conversation, smoke floating in the air, the aroma of various fried, roasted and baked tapas with the renowned crazily overworked waiters.
We were looking for La Carboneria, a flamenco club. After asking a few of the locals, hesitantly stepping into smaller and smaller passageways we came across the venue. A lovely gentleman on the street by the grand, red glossy painted doors whispered that the show starts at 10.30pm, that we should arrive at about 10.45pm and that meanwhile there was a poem reading.
We were looking for La Carboneria, a flamenco club. After asking a few of the locals, hesitantly stepping into smaller and smaller passageways we came across the venue. A lovely gentleman on the street by the grand, red glossy painted doors whispered that the show starts at 10.30pm, that we should arrive at about 10.45pm and that meanwhile there was a poem reading.
We went for a few tapas back in the busy square (that actually turned into a feast - it´s never easy to judge how big the tapas are going to be) and stumbled, belly-full back to the flamenco building.
Fried camembert at the back, patatas ali oli (garlic sauce with potato chips) on the left and spinach croquettes on the right (that were far too buttery!)
Later we walked into a silent room with a woman stood reading aloud Spanish poetry. The room was mostly wooden with the natural bricks showing through in between large oil paintings of Spanish scenery, rivers. I think the paintings were by local artists and could be bought. OK. Perhaps I´m going into too much detail but what I want to explain is that it was a very friendly little community, I hope you can imagine it?
We walked through this entrance room into another room where the flamenco show was to be held. It was almost empty with a few families dotted around tapassing and there was a calm, quiet hum. Being one of the first ones in there we decided to pick the best seats, near where the two flamenco guitarists were warming up.
The room filled up and the three flamenco artists entered from the door the furthest away from us. They came carrying wooden, hand painted chairs and sat down. The room quietened down to silence and they began clapping individual beats that managed to intertwine somehow. The guitarist began to strum the guitar in an incredibly artistic way and the guy in the middle began to sing heartfully, with passion. After a moment of heartfelt clapping the woman jumped up and flung her arms in the air. She started stamping passionately and her polka dot dress swayed beautifully. You could really feel her emotions through her dancing with her slapping and slamming her chest and stomach and thrusting her dress around with the more passionate moments. It was amazing. She was sweating vigorously but continued to dance with such emotion. The shine on her skin from the sweat across her toned body, for me, really made part of the show too. She had a cracking body and I dream of dancing like that. (Is this getting a bit sexual?!)
Between the two halves sprinklers from the ceiling released some kind of water mist or cold ice, presumably to cool down not only the performers but the audience too.
The second half started and we managed to move seats although shortly after sitting down some more chavs (Italian this time) came and sat next to us, relentlessly chattering away. There was no chance they were shutting up and the show, for me, took a turn for the worse. There were too many tourists, the audience were clapping along which for me didn´t seem respectful at all and they were just generally chatting, preventing the singer, guitarist and dancer from getting into the zone. Do I sound like an old miserable grandmother?! Anyway, the flamenco-ists(?!) eventually just decided to get the show over and done with and it was quite disappointing as I could understand how the woman just felt like a piece of meat. I assume Semana Santa brings a whole load of tourists and consequently an inevitable reduction in culture. I have decided throughout this exploring process that I dislike tourists, considering myself as a culture explorer. Of course, I am being incredibly vain and considering myself above the rest unecessarily and incorrectly!
The second half started and we managed to move seats although shortly after sitting down some more chavs (Italian this time) came and sat next to us, relentlessly chattering away. There was no chance they were shutting up and the show, for me, took a turn for the worse. There were too many tourists, the audience were clapping along which for me didn´t seem respectful at all and they were just generally chatting, preventing the singer, guitarist and dancer from getting into the zone. Do I sound like an old miserable grandmother?! Anyway, the flamenco-ists(?!) eventually just decided to get the show over and done with and it was quite disappointing as I could understand how the woman just felt like a piece of meat. I assume Semana Santa brings a whole load of tourists and consequently an inevitable reduction in culture. I have decided throughout this exploring process that I dislike tourists, considering myself as a culture explorer. Of course, I am being incredibly vain and considering myself above the rest unecessarily and incorrectly!
We wandered home through the streetlit cobbled streets and cushtied down for the night, ready to attack the next day's activities!
(Sorry, very blabby, lots to say... Would you prefer me to skimp on the details next time?!)
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