Napoli 2

Perky statues and well-hung pottery as my friend Rick Steve describes them

The next day, I was ready to rock. I had planned to do a day trip to Pompeii and Vesuvius (get it, rock?), but I was so intrigued by Napoli that I decided to spend the day cruising around the neighborhoods. Rick Steve highly recommended the Archeology Museum, which has a bunch of artifacts from Pompeii, so I figured that was second best to going to the site itself. 

I ate a quick breakfast in the hostel, where I shared a table with a young woman from Azerbaijan, who works on peacekeeping missions with Armenia… and what do you do for work?? That’s the best part about staying in hostels — meeting all sorts of cool people — especially when you don’t have to listen to them breathe all night. 

I forgot to mention all the interesting, cool, and thought provoking graffiti that covers Napoli

After breakfast I set out for the museum. I would have walked the mile, but my feet have begun to feel like they are going break recently. After successfully navigating the Metro in Barcelona, I was confident that I would be able to figure out the Napoli Metro, which I ultimately did, but the handwritten signs pointing in ambiguous directions made for a wild goose chase and I probably walked the same distance through the giant metro station as I would have to get to the museum. 

One of hundreds of frescoes - looks like an ancient seafood menu to me 

After arriving at the museum hot and sweaty in spite of taking the metro, because it takes 90 seconds of walking outside to become soaked, I spent the next two hours perusing ancient Greek and Roman statues, frescoes, gladiator helmets and all sorts of cool shit. The erotic art that was excavated from Pompeii was particularly entertaining. The ancient Romans loved their penis statues. 

I booked the wrong tour but at least it was cool

After the archeology museum I had booked a tour of the crypt of San Gennaro, the patron saint of Napoli, so I hopped on the local bus (look at me go!) and made it to the church without getting lost once. That said, I do not know how people traveled before Google Maps. That little blue dot is my lifesaver. The crypt was cool (temperature-wise) and somewhat interesting, but I thought I was going to see underground cisterns and aqueducts. As it turns out, I booked the wrong tour. Oh well, just another reason to go back. 

Prego 

On my way home, I was determined to get some good Napolitano pizza, so I had my sister research the best places. She sent me a list, and one was within walking distance, so I hiked through the narrow alleys and popped out at a very busy restaurant with a long line out the door. When I was finally seated, I ordered a margherita pizza and a glass of red wine to celebrate successfully navigating Naples. The pizza was super fresh with a delicious, salty, puffy crust, and they gave me damn near half a bottle of wine in my glass. My server was disgusted when I couldn’t finish either. Based on my limited experiences here, servers are not particularly friendly (to me, at least). I’ve even gone so far as to research Italian dining etiquette to see if I’m doing something glaringly wrong. So far I haven’t been able to figure it out. 

Full and sleepy, I wandered down through the neighborhoods, following my friend Rick’s recommended route, to see the points of interest: 2,000 year old Roman ruins in Plaza Bellini, the multitude of book stores in Plaza Dante (sadly all closed on a Sunday afternoon in August), more cute and intriguing alleyways begging to be explored. 

I would have liked to explore the night scene in Napoli, but I was still pretty wrecked and decided to utilize my private palace to the fullest before I headed off to Positano and a bunk bed in another dorm the next day. All in all, I was pleasantly surprised and impressed with Napoli. If you’re ever looking for a cheap and interesting Italian get away, I highly recommend it, at least for a few days. 

Napoli

Ciao bella 

 I arrived in Naples (Napoli) a little worse for the wear. Not only was I exhausted, I was intimidated. I hadn’t heard great things about this city: It’s dirty, it smells bad, there’s a lot of crime, there’s nothing to do, it’s basically a transfer city for other places, you only need a half day at most to see it… people went on and on. Even Rick Steve, my guru for this leg of the trip, gently warned me to watch my back, although he had mostly good things to say about the city. I ultimately had to get to southern Italy for my work/stay for the month of September, but I thought about rerouting my trip through somewhere less intimidating than Napoli. 

“Just go, you’ll be fine. Don’t let other people’s opinions scare you,” said my intrepid little Polish friend, Katty, back in Sevilla. Her words made me feel better, and then I got swept up in the madness of Barcelona, and resigned myself to entering the deep dark mafioso underworld that I imagined Napoli to be. 

Except, upon leaving my hostel room for the first time, after a big long nap, I was greeted by a vibrant, bright, busy, friendly albeit a bit confusing city. I needed to buy a new phone charger, and the front desk suggested Via Toledo, so I cautiously walked (with purpose!) up to the recommended street. As I stood on the busy street filled with tourists and locals, street vendors, and motorinos, I wondered how in the hell I would ever find an electronics shop. And then I looked to my left and saw a street vendor selling iPhone accessories. I showed him my phone and not only did he find me a charger, but he plugged it into a battery to prove that it worked. Prego. 

Feeling empowered (pun intended sort of), I looked up the dark, narrow alleyways curiously. They appeared to be lined with charming shops and restaurants, so I decided to take a wander. As it turns out, I was dead in the middle of the Spanish Quarter, a “must see” according to Rick Steve, when in Napoli. I wandered the maze of streets, noticing with a smile the tribute to a patron saint on every corner, the colorful laundry flapping in the breeze on every balcony, the old ladies sitting on their front steps chatting away like they’ve probably done forever. 

As I walked by restaurant after restaurant, the aroma of garlic filled the air. I was tempted to stop and get a delicious looking pizza or bowl of linguini, but I wasn’t hungry enough to commit to one of the huge plates. Really, I was still too tired to do much of anything except wander, but not for too long. I walked past a castle on the waterfront that looked exactly like the castle of the Wicked Witch of the West, feeling like I should take a tour or at least Wikipedia what it was, but decided to go back to my hostel and take another nap instead. 

I chose Ostello Bello based on Rick Steve’s recommendation on where to stay. He didn’t recommend this hostel, but he recommended the area, and the hostel had good reviews on Hostelworld.com. Yet you never really know until you go, and as it turns out the location was absolutely perfect. Thanks, Rick! I had a lovely private room that was cool and quiet, a far cry from my rickety bed at Mambo Tango, which made me appreciate every ounce of privacy and every inch of space. 

The reception desk had mentioned that there was a kitchen on the second floor with free food, so after my second nap, around 9pm I went down to check it out. I walked into a kitchen full of young travelers cooking their evening meals. “Heya mate, you hungry?” A nice young man asked me. “Me? Um.. kinda? But I don’t want to take your food,” I responded, still bleary eyed. 

“Nah, all good, this is our leftovers. Join us.” He put a bowl of delicious looking pasta in my hands, and for a moment I thought wistfully about the garlicky pizza waiting for me in the Spanish Quarter, but here was an opportunity to eat a home cooked meal with about-to-be new friends. I pulled up a chair and we all got to getting to know each other, sharing travel stories and the like. 

When reception told me that the kitchen was stocked with food, I imagined that there would be half a loaf of stale bread and maybe a block of old cheese, if we were lucky. Except, this kitchen was fully stocked: pastas, oils, spices, baskets full of fresh vegetables. “Is all this food free?” I asked my new friends. “Yeah! Pretty amazing, right?” They told me. This could be my favorite hostel ever, which to be fair, was written in a few of the reviews on Hostelworld. But you never really know until you go.  

I chatted with my new friends for an hour or two, while they drank bottles of wine or cheap vodka, and I delighted in a night of respite from alcohol. Some had just graduated from university, others were in a gap year deciding if they would go to, others said they were lost but trying to stay lost as long as possible. I wanted to hug them all and tell them that their path was true, as so many people have done for me, but I refrained from being house mom. Had I accepted a glass of wine from them, it might have been a different story. When they all gathered up to go out for the night, I opted for a quiet night in, still a bit wrecked from 10 days in Barcelona. I wanted to wake up fresh and ready to explore this new, big bad city. 

Barcelona Final Chapter

 I showed up to the Mambo Tango youth hostel hot, sweaty and kind of exhausted from 7 days of partying, but surprisingly, in spite of its name, Mambo Tango is not a great place for a nice, quiet rest. Adam and Lauren weren’t due to arrive until the next day, so I had a night to kill by myself. Looking for some solitude and a bit of space, I decided to go up the hill to Montjuïc castle and park. I splurged on the 9€ tram ride up the hill, but decided I would force myself to walk down when it cooled off. And not just because I was too cheap to buy the round trip ticket!

View 1

I went for a nice walk around the castle and saw some beautiful views of Barcelona and the port. It was cool and breezy, and nice to get some perspective on the city, literally and figuratively. After an hour or two, I began to make my way down the hill, and decided I could really use a cold beer. Lo and behold there happened to be a little cafe (of sorts) right there in the park, so I made a pit stop and had a beer with a delightful view of the city. Unfortunately I got attacked by mosquitoes and had to move on, otherwise I would probably still be sitting there. 

View 2

As I wound my way through the park and down the hill, I came across another little refreshment stand, with an even more spectacular view of the city, so naturally I got another beer and enjoyed the view. After that I really had to pee, so I continued on my way and just so happened on the Terraza Miramar, which had a bathroom AND the most epic view of the city I had seen yet, so I got another beer and enjoyed the view as the sun set and the lights of the city turned on. I would probably still be there if they hadn’t kicked me out when they closed the place down at 8pm. 

View 3

By the time I got back to my cozy little 8 person dorm, it was late and I was hungry. I had been craving Indian food but nobody who hadn’t been in Spain for the past 3 weeks was sick of Spanish food, so my solo night I was intent on getting it. To my delight, there was an Indian place super close to my hostel with great ratings and only one dollar sign — cha ching. It ended up being the best meal I have had to date in Spain. But don’t tell the Spanish that. 

Peas <3

The next morning, after a night of listening to people come and go every hour, I met up with Adam and met his fiancé, Lauren. Adam and I are peas in a pod, and it felt like I had just seen him a week ago although it had been about 6 years. We spent a few hours walking through the Gothic quarter before going for drinks and meeting up with other friends of theirs. Then we decided to go back to Adam’s friend, Ruth’s flat to play music on the balcony, which looked down on Calle Blai. Drinking white wine and playing music with my friend while watching the street below fill with people going for dinner was my second aha, “maybe I could live here” moment. 

Aha. 

The next day, Adam, Lauren and I went to the beach. As we sunbathed topless, swam in the warm, crystal clear water and drank semi-cold beers we bought on the beach, I felt it again. I could live here. It was a good thing I had my flight booked to Naples the next morning, otherwise I might still be on that beach. 

Ahaa. 

The not great part about having my flight booked for Naples was that it left BCN at 7:30am, which meant I had to wake up around 4:30am, which is more or less around the time I had been going to bed. But I was prepared. After our beach party and discovering two completely new and unexplored neighborhoods on the walk home, I cleaned up and packed my bags, so that after sleeping for a few hours I would just have to grab my bags and run for the bus (unlike the rest of my roommates, who it seemed were always packing and unpacking at ungodly hours, ahem). 

Ruth, (with the cool balcony above Calle Blai) graciously hosted a jam session house party for Adam and all his Barcelona friends. I played Sweet Home Barcelona, a crowd favorite, and Hotel Barcelona, because this is certainly the type of city where you could check out any time you like, but you can’t ever leave. It sounded better after a few drinks, anyway. 

Around 2am, after many besos and abrazos, I left to go back to my hostel for a few hours of sleep before getting the bus. When I got there, my key didn’t work but someone opened the door for me. “The power is out. The locks aren’t working and neither is the AC.” Well, fuck. My dorm room was barely habitable with AC, but not without. I called Adam and asked if I could crash on Ruth’s couch for an hour, grabbed my bags and checked out of the hostel. 

I might have dozed off on Ruth’s couch but I don’t think so. Around 3:30am I got up, got dressed, grabbed my bags and headed for the bus station. The city certainly had not gone to sleep by this time, and people were still partying in full force. Strangely, I didn’t feel like partying. I was nervous about going to a new country with a language I don’t speak, to stay in a city I hadn’t heard great things about, on zero hours of sleep. 

Somehow I made it through the airport, got on my flight, and woke up on the descent into Naples. I had heard that taxi drivers will rip you off if you don’t set a fixed fee with them, so I wasn’t thrilled to take a taxi, but trying to navigate the bus system seemed more terrible than getting ripped off, so I sprang for a taxi. The taxi driver and I agreed on a set price of 25€ (what my guide book said I shouldn’t pay any more than) even though my driver tried to get me to trust the meter. You just try to rip me off, señori! When we arrived at my hostel, the meter read 14€ and the driver shrugged and said, “ok how about 20€.” I was grateful to him. 

I am now in a private room in a nice hostel, and feel like queen of the castle once again. They let me check in early, gave me coffee and said there is a kitchen with food on the second floor. The moment they let me into my room I fell into bed and slept for most of the day. 

BCN 3

Barcelona beach day/recovery 

I believe I left off last time being torn from dance floor at the gay club at 3am. Doesn’t sound like me, does it. One thing I really try to do when I travel is embrace whatever scene it is I’m experiencing, embarrassing or uncomfortable as it might be. I feel like it took a while, but by the end of my time in Barcelona I felt like I was truly embracing the Spanish lifestyle. But we’re not there yet. 

The day after the party all was quiet in the WhatsApp group chat as most people took the day to recover. A few of us headed down to the beach for my first dip in the Mediterranean in a very long time. This is probably my favorite thing about Barcelona — it is a super urban city that meets the edge of a very beautiful sea, and from any given lookout point, the big blue stretches out and makes me feel at home. And a dip in the sea is a great hangover cure. 

It wasn’t until I dove into the crystal clear blue turquoise of the water that I had my first “I could live here” moment in Barcelona. Surprisingly, took a solid 4 days for me to have that aha moment. Not to say that I didn’t find the city fascinating, and wildly fun, but I didn’t really connect with it. 

Plastic art installation at the Gracia Festival

For example, we so happened to be in the city during the Gracia Festival, which is one of the biggest neighborhood parties of the year. Streets were decked out with themed floats, decorations, street side bars, bands playing music, art installations… it was creative, fun and super high energy. It is also definitely a celebration for the people of the Gracia neighborhood, and while anyone can attend, it felt like an exclusive club. Maybe I’m being overly sensitive, but I talked with an ex pat who’s lived in the Barcelona for 8 years about it, and she had similar feelings about the city in general. Not to mention the “fuck tourists” and “go home tourists” signs everywhere, which I get it, but um who else is going to buy your kitschy magnets and other crappy souvenirs? For the record, I’m not knocking the Gracia Festival. It was the coolest street party I’ve ever been to. It just wasn’t enough to make me want to move there.

I dragged Caity up the tallest hill in the city to the bunkers

We took a family outing to the labyrinth garden and surprisingly lost no one

Spent time in a fancy rooftop pool

And then, after a bunch more partying and doing a bunch of other cool stuff, everyone left, and left me all by my lonesome. I would have left Barcelona with the rest of them, but my buddy Adam, who I met sailing in the South Pacific, and his lovely fiancé Lauren, who I had yet to meet, decided to meet me in the city for some Spanish shenaniganery. 

Unfortunately I had to leave the hotel room I had become very fond of, and massively downgrade to a hostel bunk bed, because I waited too long to book the extra few nights and hotel rooms were outrageously expensive. At least my hostel was right off Calle Blai, where Adam and Lauren were staying with a friend. So I packed up my little life, hefted it on my back, did my laundry, hopped on the bus, and then the metro, then walked a block in the wrong direction, and showed up to my new home hot and sweaty. At least I had clean clothes. 

Barcelona Ch.2

Happy siblings 

Tolstoy writes, “Happy families are all alike; every unhappy family is unhappy in its own way.” You see, I’ve always wanted to quote Tolstoy and casually slip in that yes, I am reading Anna Karenina, but it’s a good thing that quote is the first sentence of the book because I haven’t gotten very far. Yet, the quote resonates with me because, while I can’t speak for any other family, my family is happy. Like, suspiciously so. Especially when we are together. We all not only love each other, but genuinely like, and enjoy spending time with one another. And it’s not just my nuclear family, but it’s all the aunties and uncles and cousins and partners and long time family friends and whoever else decides to tag along. We have a great time. It’s weird, right? So you can imagine the time I had for the past week, palling around with this favorite person or that favorite person, especially after traveling alone for a while, I felt like I belonged. It’s a nice feeling. 

Yet, even with the people we love, things don’t always go to plan. (One of my) favorite little cousins (ok she’s not so little but ya know) and her girlfriend came down with Covid. Major bummer. Miraculously, nobody else got it (yet) and we kept on keeping on. Because she was sick, my cousin offered me her ticket to do the tour of Park Guell with my aunt and uncle (her parents). My cheap ass wouldn’t have bought the tour, but sure because it’s there, I’ll take it. So she sent me her ticket and I went to the meet up point for the tour, but couldn’t find my fam. Apparently Park Guell has many entrances and because I had used the ticket (for 4 people), my aunt and uncle couldn’t enter at another entrance, effectively barring them from entering and leaving me to enjoy the tour on my own. 

The infamous Gaudí bench at Park Guell

My family is the type that would be more upset if I didn’t enjoy the tour (for 4) on my own than try and meet up with my aunt and uncle who decided, the good sports they are, to go on a bus tour instead. Park Guell is one of the most brilliant parks I’ve ever seen experienced, because it was a failed rich person suburb and was designed by Gaudí. I mean, man. If you haven’t heard of the guy, check out his works. Pure fucking genius. And not in a pretentious, obnoxious way, but a way that utilized space, resources and gave the greatest homage to nature, which again, in his eyes was god, but I’ll stick with nature. My favorite part of the park was a tunnel that was shaped like the barrel of a wave to give tribute to nature. I also loved the intended marketplace, that had a roof that collects rainwater, is tiled to keep produce cool, and uses simple decorating techniques to make it look bigger than it is. Everything, down to the last detail in this park, is exquisite. Once again, ironically, I had to internalize it all by myself, but after ranting and raving about my tour all night, my aunt and uncle (and mom and dad) booked a tour for the next day. 

The other super cool thing about my family is that people are like, “I’m doing this! I’ll be here at this time anyone is welcome to join.” And whether anyone or no one joins, it’s all good. So we had a super relaxed time, full of options and fun things to do with fun people, but no obligations and no hard feelings. Want to sleep all day? Fine! Shop til you drop? Show us what you got! I am not trying to gush, but I don’t know many families, let alone friend groups, who are so supportive and easygoing with one another. 

I know you’re sick of hearing me gush about my family, except that with a few exceptions, my family are the only people who read this blog, in which case I’m sure you’re saying, go onnnn… 

Partay people

So I have to tell you about the party. The actual time and place I booked three months in Europe around. I rocked up to said party solo because that’s how I roll, hiked up 6 flights of stairs to the roof top bar because I hate elevators, only to find the door to the rooftop access locked. So I trudged back down to the lobby and took the elevator, and arrived to the scene super sweaty and mildly out of breath. The elevator opened up onto a shaded rooftop patio, with a cool breeze blowing, golden sunshine glowing, and full of friends and family I love or knew I was going to love. MDMA doesn’t have shit on that feeling. 

The bartenders joked with us in Catalan, Spanish and English, the servers served the most ridiculously delicious tapas after tapas, and the company, well, let’s just say Ian’s nomad backpacker surf bum sister was the outlier. Yet amongst these brilliant musicians, doctors, world sailors, animal healer and trainers, therapists, social workers, academics, successful retirees and like, people at the absolute top of their game, everyone greeted me and my journey with curiosity and enthusiasm. It was wild. I saw people who I love but hadn’t seen in ten years. I’m big on connections, so to reconnect, to dive deep real quick (maybe not tactfully, but genuinely) was really special to me. And not something you can do with a new friend, easily. So yeah, I was on a roll that evening. The staff had to shoo us out when the music turned off at midnight, but we were all having such a great time, we went to the hotel bar for another drink. By this time people started to splinter off, but the core crew ended up dancing at the gay bar til about 3:30am, when Ian dragged me off the stage to go home (which is only a slight exaggeration). 

Barcelona Chapter 1

 

Ian and Sean- thanks for giving me a great excuse to backpack Europe for 3 months!

I’m sitting in a laundromat watching my clothes spin in the washing machine like it is the most mesmerizing thing in the world, but I realize that after so much stimulation this past week — seeing wonders of the world and spending a lot of time with some of my favorite people in the world — maybe the laundromat is the perfect place to decompress.

Barcelona, wow what a whirlwind of a city you are. As much as I hate to admit it, it took me a while to warm up to Barcelona. Not literally — it’s hot and sweaty all day and most of the night — but figuratively in that for some reason I was expecting Barcelona to be laid back, easy to get my bearings, chill. I wouldn’t describe this city as any of that, but I will keep in mind that I am here at the height of tourist season and Barcelona has many faces. Additionally, a lot of friends and family converged on the city to celebrate Ian and Sean’s birthdays (brother and brother in law), which added an element that was so fun, I didn’t dig into the city as hard as I usually do — yet. Fortunately, I still have a few days here. 

Yes! What a reunion, what a party, what a time. Ian and Sean are essentially the reason I came to Europe in the first place. When they sent out the invites for a 40th birthday bash in Barcelona, I didn’t hesitate to RSVP with an enthusiastic yes. I also didn’t think that I would book a three month trip, but flying a quarter of the way around the world for a week isn’t really my style, either. And having the luxury of time and the freedom of no obligations, why the hell not? Most of the people (ok all) who attended the fiesta have some sort of commitment or obligation in their respective lives, be it jobs in academia, medicine, social work, science… the impressive guest list goes on and on… 

Happy birthday! ….in November

Anyway. I digress. The first night I arrived in Barcelona I met up with my parents, aunts, uncles and cousins for dinner. After spending a lot of time with newer(ish) friends from far flung places, this felt like home, in an exotic way. We had a delightful time eating tapas and catching up on each other’s lives, planning what to do for the next week and really just reveling in each other’s company, not to mention a foreign country. Ian showed up to dinner unexpectedly and we all sang him happy birthday (even though his birthday is in November) because it is technically his birthday party, which became a theme for the week. The servers even brought him a flaming birthday cake, which we all thought was hilarious and sweet. 

That night, after dinner, the cousins split off and went for some late night drinks. Around 2am my sister arrived in the city and met up with us for a tapa and a beer, before we were kicked out of the cafe. They all went one way to their hotels, but mine was in the opposite direction and I opted to attempt to walk home, with a dying phone, at 2am, in the rain. I walked for about 20 minutes before I realized that I had no idea where I was, and better hail a taxi before my phone dies. We’re obviously not in Sevilla anymore. I finally made it to my hotel around 3am and collapsed in my bed. 

The next day a bunch of us had booked tickets for the Sagrada Familia. As it turned out, I accidentally booked my ticket for the following day, but one of our group had gotten a stomach bug, so I was able to use their ticket. It all worked out but it was a bit of a shit show, with no help from the seasoned traveler I consider myself to be. The Sagrada Familia, however, was the most serene basicilla (not a cathedral) I’ve ever been to. Usually, when I walk inside churches I get the heebie jeebies, but not this one. 

First off, even from the outside the Sagrada Familia looks more like a cosmic castle meets a fairytale than a scary, imposing church where you will be damned to eternal hell for all your sins. Inside, the soaring arches of the ceiling and its pillars are made to look like trees, and I always feel more comfortable in nature. The abstract stained glass windows, which are cool blues and greens on the east side and bright red and orange on the west side, cast an illuminating glow into the church. 

Nothing on or in the Sagrada Familia is painted. Every stone, tile, glass, whatever, is the true essence of its form, which Gaudí was insistent upon, as a tribute to the perfection of nature (and thus god but I’ll keep it at nature). The spires of the church, once finished (who knows when), will make it the tallest church in the world, but not taller than the highest hill in Barcelona, because he didn’t want to one up god. 

Gaudí, the architect of the Sagrada Familia and most of (if not all) the other interesting buildings and spaces in Barcelona, was a religious zealot but in a way that differed from previous church architects that I am still trying to figure out. The guy was obviously a genius and well ahead of his time, even today’s time I would say. He saw the absolute perfection of nature, math, physics, chemistry and the sciences in general, and attributed these to god. It’s a good thing he wasn’t born a century or two earlier, because he certainly would have been burned at the stake. I mean, who knows. Who knows what went on in his head. A lot of people make conjectures, but nobody will ever know. I’d recommend swinging by the Sagrada Familia, taking a look, and deciding for yourself. 

Ah my laundry is ready to be switched, which makes this feel like a good place to end for the time being. 

Sevilla P.2

Cultural Outing for the day: A trip to the Alcazar 

 Sometimes I have to laugh at the irony of life. I feel like I’m in one of the most romantic cities in the world, and not only am I single, but traveling solo. I’ve had more than a few meals in the plaza with the evening’s entertainment being couples taking their engagement photos, while I cry into my beer. I’m totally joking (about the crying), but it does heighten one’s sense of being alone in a sea of people. I’ve come to really enjoy traveling solo because I get to do whatever, whenever I want, but eating dinner alone isn’t my favorite. 

Anyway, I’m not the first person to think Sevilla is the most romantic city ever, which is proven by the fact that more operas, which are notoriously romantic (and tragic), take place in Sevilla than any other city in the world. There are little plaques all over place that denote which scene of which opera happened in that specific place. I’m not the hugest opera buff, but I still find it charming. And romantic. 

Not all of the history of Sevilla is romantic, though. When the Catholics conquered the city from the Arabs back in the 12th century, they graciously left the minaret of the mosque standing. As legend has it, King Ferdinand the whoever said, instead of knocking down the bricks of the minaret we will cut off the heads of as many infidels. Or something to that effect. Then a few hundred years later they built the bell tower on top in full gothic architecture. It’s all quite impressive. 

But even the Moors weren’t the first people to inhabit Sevilla. As my tour guide on my super touristy but fun city scooter tour told me, the city tried to build an underground metro, but every time they dug down they found Roman ruins, so they couldn’t do an underground. The history here just blows my mind. 

Speaking of layers upon layers of history, for my last hoorah of Sevilla, I toured the Alcazár. It’s kind of like the Alhambra in Granada, but more impressive. I didn’t read up too thoroughly on the site before I visited, and was equally impressed and intrigued by the Moorish, Gothic, Romanesque and Renaissance art and architecture of the palace. I pulled that right off my favorite source, which you can read up on your own here: https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Alcázar_of_Seville. 

Gardens of the Alcazar

Basically, I was surprised that Catholic kings would have Moorish art and representation in their palace, but from what I gleaned by scanning the wiki article, they liked it? But then burned heretics at the stake? I’m not sure of the exact story, and I doubt anyone is, but it is certainly an impressive site. I took two hours to wander though the numerous halls and very extensive gardens (complete with a tootsie dip in one of many fountains - it was fkn hot). After I finished my tour, I walked through the palace again, equally in awe of the place all over. 

Much to the chagrin of my late great uncle (may he Rest In Peace in spite of the fact that) I didn’t make it to the Catedral. There was just too much to see! I admired it from the outside, but did not visit the bowels of the third largest Catholic Church in the world.. ooops. I always get the heebie jeebies when I go in churches anyway. I must say that it is incredibly impressive from the outside, so that’s got to count for something. 

I ended my stay in Sevilla with a home cooked dinner by my Polish friend, who I invited over for dinner and tricked into making a traditional dish for me. I’m now in Barcelona and it feels like a big hectic city compared to the serenity of Sevilla. We will see how it goes. 

Sevilla Part 1 (of many)

Streets of the Jewish Quarter

 I’m sitting in the Plaza de Delvira and it is one of the most serene, charming and sensory places I’ve ever been. The white buildings with yellow trim and iron-wrought balconies mark the perimeter of the garden plaza. Although it is a hot day, the lush orange trees create a pergola of cool shade. The fountain in the middle of the center gurgles and trickles water from its red marble basin into an octagonal base. The church bells toll as if celebrating the second coming of Christ. The mosaic tiled benches seat tourists reading maps, a homeless man sleeping and a family just out of church. In the far corner, a man plays opera on a small speaker for his mother in a wheelchair, holds her hand and slowly moves it to the music. When the music stops, he kisses her hand. She doesn’t respond. 

I don’t mean to get all mushy on you or even try to wax poetic (ok, I tried), but I’m desperately trying to capture the absolute joy, serenity, fascination, and love I feel for Sevilla. I’ve never taken so many videos in an attempt to capture the majesty of a place. I’ve never gotten goosebumps so many times just walking around a city. Maybe I’m just getting old and emotional, but this city is incredible. 

I look for a few things when I go to a city:

1. A nearby body of water - in Sevilla’s case, the Rio Guadalquivir 
2. Natural and architectural beauty - just walking the streets of Sevilla is an awe inspiring activity
3. Cool history - Sevilla has pretty damn cool history, from the Tartars to the Romans, Arabs to the Catholics, with tangible evidence. Not to mention that Sevilla is where the exploration of the “New” World began and changed the world forever. 
4. Cultural experiences - there are flamenco tableaus on every street, cafes, bars and restaurants for anyone and every budget and desire 
5. Ease of getting to, from, and around - Sevilla is well connected by train, and all the sights I want to see are within walking distance

Right, so, in conclusion, Sevilla is awesome and I highly, highly recommend a visit. Many people told me this and I was still skeptical about spending four days here, but it was a logical stop between Cadiz and Barcelona (and a cheap and easy train ride) so I booked an Airbnb and train ticket. Now I feel like I could spend a lifetime exploring this place. 

I arrived in Sevilla Saturday afternoon and walked the mile from the train station to my Airbnb in a delightful afternoon rainstorm. The streets were so narrow in places I felt like my big ass backpack scraped the walls as I walked. In some places, I had to duck into a doorway to let cars pass as the sidewalks disappeared.

Calle Sierpes

Once in my little apartment on Calle Sierpes (what luxury!!!), I hopped on Couchsurfing.org and reactivated my account from 2012 and found some travelers going out for a night on the town. After meeting for tapas and sangria, my new Polish friend Katty talked me into going to Club Koko, where we danced until about 3am. Whew, bienvenidos a Sevilla. 

The next day I sauntered around the Jewish Quarter with its narrow streets, two thousand years of history, and cute bars after quaint cafes, came across the Plaza de Delvira where I almost cried I felt so much joy and beauty (I know, I know, eyeroll), and booked a seat at a flamenco show that evening. Then I went back to my luxurious apartment (which is super average and a steal at $50/night but feels like the Palacio Nacional to me) and took a delightful siesta because I’m trying to embrace all aspects of Spanish culture. And staying out til 3am really takes it out of ya. 

Flamenco show yeeow 

Katty joined me for the flamenco show and goddamn, flamenco dancing has got to be some of the most powerful, sexiest dancing I’ve ever seen. I’m not even going to attempt to describe it here. Again, perpetual goosebumps.

La Giralda 

 After the show, Katty and I walked out to the Catedral and there was an opera performance going on in the main square. There was something about watching an opera and listening to that music under the majesty of La Giralda (the Muslim minaret from 1000 AD that was converted into a Catholic bell tower in the 17th century) that again, made me want to cry. From the warm night air and the incredible singing to the visual majesty of the church, to imagining the vibrant history full of love and pain, triumph and defeat… it was a lot to take in. I had to peel off and get a beer at the closest cafe and take a moment for myself. 

I think I’ll leave it at that for now.