I don't know what I expected when I went to Sevilla -- whatever it may have been, it didn't include me walking about, mouth half-open, teeny little mind boggled by a seemingly endless display of beauty.
We wandered through narrow streets, stopping to eat now and then, getting something to drink -- passing, in one district, shop after shop after shop of wedding/confirmation/communion dresses. One tienda after another, display windows filled with gowns, some modest, some elaborate and showy. A startling peek into one aspect of local life, apparently a high-priority aspect.
And everywhere we went, beautiful architecture, beautiful old buildings in various states of care and repair. If I go on about this the way I'm inclined to, it will become brutally tedious in no time flat, so I'll foist some images on you instead:
Meanwhile, back at the hotel, in order to get a room with separate beds, G. and I had to book a triple, which turned out to have two single beds jammed together (miming a double) and one lonely single bed lurking just off the foot of the faux double. Three beds, a desk, a chair (along with the stray night table), all crammed into a small, dark space. A door led to the bodily functions annex: a long, narrow tiled room with a humongo, family-sized bathtub, and a more modest tiled dungeon with toilet/bidét/sink. Thank god for the annex, man. There were windows in there, and it didn't have the faint, mysterious, stale smell that the bed chamber had.
It had been a while since I'd shared a room with another male -- I'd forgotten the locker room aspect of having another guy in one's living space. There were a couple of moments when I surprised G. as he'd just finished taking a whiz, he seemed surprisingly jumpy. I found out why when a folded, slightly moist square of toilet paper fell from his hands to the floor. A peeny pad! (Something I will confess to having used from time to time.) Yet another confirmation of an old, uncouth truism: No matter how you shake and dance, the last few drops go down your blahblahblah.
He's an older guy, he doesn't have a 'puter, he has no idea I'm writing about this. That's probably a good thing.
rws 1:06 PM [+]