Woke up late today. We'd been hitting the grind pretty hard and it was nice to sleep in for once. We sadly said goodbye to Kev-AN and headed back to the center of town for lunch in a restaurant we saw the day before. It was really beautiful and had all these hanging pots all over the walls with flowers everywhere. We were the only people on the patio of the restaurant so it was really nice. After lunch we figured, what the heck, might as well get ice cream too. So we got ice cream and ate it in the courtyard of La Mezquita in the shadow of the minaret turned steeple and the beautiful orange trees. Couldn't be more perfect.
Our little restaurant with the outdoor patio.
Inside the restaurant that had hake!
We took a cab with the most hard core female taxi driver I've ever seen. She navigated those narrow streets filled with ambling tourists like a pro, although there were times when I genuinely thought we would hit someone. We then caught the 2PM train to Sevilla from Cordóba.
Arriving in Sevilla around 3PM, we took a cab to our hostel which was across the river from the major tourists sights, the side that Sandy and I could come to learn was the less pious side of Sevilla. We dropped our bags and then headed out to find a procession.
Sevilla is the holy epicenter of holy week. Pilgrims travel thousands of miles to see the processions and it's probably only second to Rome in the amount of Catholics that invade that city every year around Easter. We got set up at a procession site around 4PM, thinking we'd be able to see it and then leave for dinner around 5:30 or 6. We were so mislead. The procession did not start until almost 6PM. By this time, people were packed into the streets like sardines ... there was no room to move and this was one of the few times I was genuinely concerned for the safety of my purse, which was clutched tightly to my chest. We did not leave the procession until 8PM. We were stuck, and when we tried to pass through the crowd after being forced to cross the procession route, we were told '¡IMPOSIBLE!' and could do nothing but stand there. One Holy Week procession counts for at least three years of weekly attendance to church. The 'Klan' was out again, different robe colors though, and I was struck to see that some of the brothers were barefoot. These processions last at least 12 hours and I can't imagine walking without shoes for that long. However, these people are dedicated to following the example of Christ, so I don't blame them for their piety. Let's just say that if Spring Branch ever decided to do this though, I would be wearing shoes. I should also say that Sandy and I both got contact highs from all the incense we smelled and never want to smell burning incense again.
Me on the bridge with old Sevilla in the background.
There's got a be a CD called 'The Sounds of Holy Week' out there somewhere.
One of the many church relics that processed by.
The navy blue brotherhood.
Even the little kids dressed up. They gave out candy. Sandy and I snagged some.
Cloud of incense and Pieta float. A Spanish woman asked me in Spanish if that was Pieta. I said, 'Sí.' I felt awesome.
The guys carrying backwards crosses had their hoods down so they weren't as scary.
Proof.
The 'we survived a Holy Week procession' victory jump.
Warning: this next section is, well, just use parental discretion, but I suggest younger audiences skip this part.
On the way back from Holy Week, we were looking for a restaurant. There was this place that was right along the river, and we went up to the window to look at the menu to see if we could afford it. But before we could walk away for lack of funds, one of the waiters came up and said, 'Dinner?!?!' Sandy and I said, 'Yes, but ...' and then we were interjected with 'Up top or down below?' We kind of just stared at each other ... and I said, 'I don't care.' Sandy said, 'I don't care either.' 'UP TO THE ROOF THEN!!!!!' he said. So we went up three flights of stairs to the absolute top of this place with a gorgeous view of the river and the Cathedral of Sevilla. When he took our drink order, Sandy asked for a glass of sangria, which for those of you who don't know, sangria is a Spanish alcoholic drink that typically has red wine, a slice of fruit, sweetener, a bit of spirits, and some carbonated bit. I don't like wine, so I just asked for a glass of Coke Light, to which our waiter said, 'NO!!!! YOU GIRLS ARE IN SPAIN!!!!! YOU MUST GET THE PITCHER OF SANGRIA!!!!' He was joined in this chorus by a table of girls sitting next to us who we ended up talking to because one was from North Carolina and the other from Australia who said, 'Just get the pitcher.' And without even really asking us, he brought us a pitcher of Sangria. I looked at Sandy and just kind of shrugged my shoulders and said, 'Alright, whatever.' About halfway through the pitcher, I told Sandy, 'I'm stopping because I don't even like wine that much.' To which Sandy said, 'Have you seen the price on this thing?' And I said, 'Do I even want to know.' And she said, 'We're drinking every last drop of this thing. It's €15.' I nearly had a heart attack ... I also had flashbacks to a $15 pitcher of orange juice at the Omni Hotel in Houston, TX oh so many years ago. So here it is, my admission: Sandy and I polished off a pitcher of Sangria in Sevilla because we were peer pressured by the guy whom we declared 'the best waiter in Spain' ... this after finishing the pitcher. He was the best waiter in Spain though, with or without the sangria. He actually reminded me a lot of Theo, our FAVORITE waiter on our cruise through the Greek Islands; he was just one of those guys where you do whatever he told you to do. Made me miss Theo a lot actually. And Sandy was highly entertained watching me in my state. So, mom, hopefully that explains the following picture, which you raised your eyebrow to the first time you saw it. Everything looked good at that point.
The infamous restaurant. The white railing up there is the roof where we ate.
The roof did have a phenomenal view.
Me, Sandy, and the best waiter in Spain. We love him.
Our 'let's grab what looks good' run to the 24-hour market run by Chinese people speaking Spanish. Oh goodness.
We headed back to the hostel and took our loot to the roof and the hammocks. This is where the quote 'Catie ... pass the Pringles.' in a loud whispered tone originated. Oh, Spain.
The hammocks ... and the Coke Light ... and the Pringles.
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