We’re behaving like the Elliott 4100 Series computer that I worked with from 1970 to 1975. No sooner had it finished one task then it would immediately ask “Wotnexdo? . . .” Eagerly and patiently awaiting it’s next tele-typed instruction. Constantly wagging its tail until we threw another stick or pulled the plug. Our “wotnexdo” modus operandi needs to be modified. We need to unplug. Just one more “task” to complete though.
Beastie’s uneventful jog into Dos Hermanas finds us 15K south of Seville – our penultimate on the Spain to do list. Our walk into the small centre throws up only one visual of note – an innovative static tandem.
This morning’s M-132 bus drops us into the heart of Seville. We have high hopes. Amazing architecture attacks us from all angles. We head straight for the Alcazar Palace. A two hour queue wraps itself around its outer walls. We don’t. We head for the fourth largest cathedral in the world. We can’t miss it. It’s just over the road. A couple we’d been speaking with yesterday said they’d got in after only a ten minute wait. We should have pre-booked tickets for both.
So that’s two buildings’ worth of images and information we don’t need to try and retain! 🙂 or 🙁 ?
Instead we head for Casa de Pilatos. It’s fairly true to say that Spanish Signs suck. Or to be more accurate the lack of them. We don’t get any help. Maps leads us a merry dance round the narrow backstreets. The printed back-up no better. Micro print that Willard Wigan would be proud of. Our aging eyes blur. Why does every street have to be called after someone who has three, four or five names. Villarcayo de Merindad de Castilla la Vieja almost typical. Our heads swivel independently like a couple of rolling chameleon’s eyes. One second looking high up trying to take in the street name, next second looking down at the map, having already forgotten every word except ‘Calle’. And there’s a hell of a lot of streets called Calle de this or Calle de that or Calle de something else.
The convoluted walk is worth it. No crowds. Cheaper. And not bad – at all.
With all 16th century floors being either stone, tile or marble you would have thought they’d simply sweep and mop. But no. However, it seems that clever My Dyson developed his first prototype much earlier than first thought.
The walk back towards the river takes us under the Metropol Parasol. Fifteen minutes searching for the way in and up sees us move on. It’s a weird and totally out of whack structure. Needs shifting to Florida.
Just before our legs give up on us we are re-energised. We enter the Plaza de España. Seville’s pièce de résistance. We’re treated visually and audibly.
We couldn’t leave Seville without seeing a bit of this now – could we.
Or this . . .