Seville

Our train ride was perfect--such a juxtaposition from the hellhole of a station we had just left. The lady had booked us around a table, so we could talk, write postcards, look out the windows at the countryside, etc. The man at the sketchy hostel had told us that the countryside wasn't anything to write home about. He couldn't have been more wrong. The soil was almost red and it was all green hills, pastures, blue sky, and all that other cliche stuff you see in paintings. The sun was out (George Harrison himself could not have been happier than I was at that moment) and we watched Johnny Depp in "Finding Neverland" in Spanish. Possibly the most idyllic train ride I have ever been on, especially with Johnny Depp.

We got the train station and got on a bus having no idea where we were going. We ended up just bugging the bus driver at every single stop until we got to ours and had to walk for what the instructions said was 10 minutes. They must have had in mind Flo-Jo with no luggage, as it really took about half an hour. But we were so happy to find the place that we didn't mind much.

The next day we went to the humongous, over-the-top (but in a good way) cathedral in the heart of the city and had a picnic lunch on the church steps. We lost ourselves in the beautiful whitewashed, green plant, black iron gated squares of the city with a few stops in kitschy souvenir stores. We met Francie's and my friend Elizabeth (our dads have known each other since preschool and we go on vacation with each other every summer) who was studying abroad there for dinner. She took us to a vegetarian/vegan Cuban restaurant at the end of a twisting labrynth of streets. Genevieve could have kissed her. Francie and I could have kissed her for the amazing sangria we found there.

My memory of order of events gets a little hazy here because it has been so long. I think the next day we went to the beach on a two-hour long bus trip. Liz had class, but the three of us were excited for the ocean as we hadn't seen it since leaving California. When we got to the beach town--called Matalascanas--it was completely deserted. We found a few restaurant type places open and one souvenir store. Other than that, it could have had tumbleweeds. Liz told us it would be pretty empty not being the weekend, but we hadn't expected it to be eery, murder-us-in-broad-daylight empty. The beach was beautiful but it was incredibly cloudy and we almost cried that we couldn't even sunbathe on a BEACH.

The next day, Liz took us to the Royal Palace, where the king and queen stay when they are in Seville. Although the building was nice, it was the outside grounds that left me with my mouth hanging open. There were huge old trees making a canopy, fountains and wisteria galore, sunshine, beautiful smells, statues, etc. We all sat there for about an hour talking and I wished I could have had my wedding there. It was that beautiful.

Not that I would have had a hard time finding a potential husband in that city. The construction workers (out in full force to get roads rebuilt before Semana Santa) would have catcalled a female rhinoceros. Although Liz was disparaging and acted like it was just an annoyance to put up with, Francie and I were soaking up the male attention like a dehydrated man at an oasis. Although British accents are the hottest thing everrrrrr, all of the boys here act like you are a rock. They aren't even nice to you... or even look at you, for that matter. They dance in groups with their friends and act like they've never even heard the meaning of cleavage.

Coleridge phrased it perfectly when he said, "Water, water, everywhere, and not a drop to drink." Only "water" is "hot British boys with amazing accents that make me drool like a 95-year-old at a rest home" and "drop to drink" is "any sort of acknowledgement that boys are sexual beings and find you in the heart of their testosterone-pumping hearts any more attractive than Roseanne."

Liz took us to bars and clubs around Seville that night and although it was fun, it was mostly college kids studying abroad, which was somewhat disappointing. But a drink with Liz is like one of the most fun nights in England, so we didn't mind much.

The only thing I regret about Seville is not buying the orange stuffed animal in the Royal Palace gift shop. And when I say "orange," I mean an actual stuffed animal of an orange fruit with a rind. Damn, that thing was amazing. I'm still kicking myself.