7 March: my birthday! (part 1)

We awoke on my 40th birthday full of the joys of almost spring! The first thing we had to do, after all the usual ablutions, was to check out of our somewhat unsatisfactory room and into the upgrade we'd been promised. We couldn't actually check back in because the room was being prepared, but we left our cases at reception and went out for some breakfast at our regular haunt for this stay, Las Columnas.



After that, we went for a bit of a walk around. It was Sunday morning and quiet on the streets. Until, that is, we came upon a fairly peculiar sight. First, we saw a man getting his head wrapped in something resembling a turban. A glance slightly further down the road revealed more young men similarly adorned. Then there was a huge box-like contraption with several men beneath it (see pic above). I think at about this point we sussed what was going on, and a chat with an Englishman standing nearby (it turns out he used to be a tour guide here) confirmed our thoughts: these chaps were rehearsing for the Semana Santa (Holy Week) celebrations, during which they will be required to carry through the streets of the city a float-type object, upon which will stand a representation of a figure related to their religious brotherhood (hermandad). The tour-guide man told us that this practice box, like the real thing, weighs a ton (literally) and is supported by 35 men in seven rows of five.

We stood watching them for a while, fascinated by the less-than-snail-pace speed at which they moved and the even slower rate at which they manoeuvred around corners, shuffling their feet slightly to one side and ever so slightly forward, all together like one enormous and ungainly 70-legged beetle... Amazing.



Continuing our walk, we headed for the Alameda de Hercules, a long, thin rec area famed for its café culture (isn't all of Europe?!). En route, we stopped to take pictures of buildings and other things that caught our eye, as always, including the exterior of a convent, the Monasterio de Santa Iñes, secreted in a doored courtyard down a quiet street. Sometimes you just have to step inside some of these doorways, even if it looks like they might be closed to the public. What's the worst that can happen? You get told to move on? It's worth the risk. And incidentally, it never happened once that we were told to move on. The courtyard itself was something and nothing, but some of the decoration on the building was lovely if not outstanding. What was a unique touch (for us, anyway) was the little "hole in the wall" from which the nuns sold the sweet delights they made. Since this particular order is silent (cloistered), they deal with these sales through a little hatch, beside which a price list is posted (see pic above, and click it for a close look at the price list). So cool!

We passed through several little plazas and streets, invariably finding new tiles of devotion to saints and Jesus, pausing to photograph as many of them as we could. There must be thousands across the city, and although this was our third visit, I don't recall paying them much heed in the past. That's why I love going back to the same places a few times: you can ignore some of the things you've done previously and look for new diversions.

I also like looking out for tattoo shops, rarely if ever with the intention of getting tattooed, but I do like to pop in and look at the work they do or see how busy it is. While still walking we came upon Sevilla Tattoo, funnily enough on a street called Amor de Dios; sadly it was closed -- not surprising, I guess, since it was still only about 11:30am on a Sunday.


When we finally arrived at Alameda de Hercules, it was pretty quiet. We took pictures of the twin columns (above) at the end where we entered and strolled along the middle of the alameda (which means a "promenade where poplar trees grow", apparently). Not much was going on, but we did stumble upon yet another group of young men practising for Semana Santa, doing their centipede thing. It was great to see such devotion early on a slightly miserable Sunday morning (it had been raining on and off), when most of these guys might well have preferred to be playing some football.



At the far end of the alameda, I was stopped in my tracks. Two years ago (to the day as I write this), I blogged about a certain tattooer called Lucio. And here, now, in front of my very eyes, was his shop in Seville. (Seems I was slightly wrong about his location in that earlier post; he actually has shops both here and in Càdiz.) But goddamn if the shop wasn't closed! Had to take a pic, though; after all, this guy is mythically tied up with my own Seville history.



So we left the Alameda de Hercules behind us and continued, the attention of our walk now to be the Cathedral of the Macarena. Walking our side-street walk, it took us about 20 minutes from Lucio's shop. Unfortunately it was absolutely packed, standing room only, for the service that going on, so while we were able to enter and see some of its beauty, we couldn't really take any pictures or fully bathe in its majesty. We vowed to return and headed out, following the sound of a brass band to see what was going on.





What was going on was a practice session for mostly teenage boys with drums and trumpets. These kids would doubtless be following one of the floats come Semana Santa -- probably the Macarena one, given their proximity to that cathedral right now. As Red doubtless rightly pointed out, it seems Semana Santa has a job for all able-bodied males in this city. Incredible! We stood enjoying the band for about 15 minutes, and by now the sun was starting to beat down. Finally. Knowing we'll get burned in the time it would take to walk back to the town centre, we opted for a cab back to the Cerveceria Giralda.

I confess that I'm not sure what we ate, but I might come back and edit that in if I have a record anywhere. All I know is that it was about 1:30pm by the time we were at lunch and we had a 4pm appointment booked at the baños árabes. There would be no problem making that, but we just had to bear in mind that we needed to make a trip back to the hotel and get into our new room and pick up our swimwear for the baños.

To be continued...

6 March: part 2

Where was I? Ah, yes, it's the afternoon of our first full day in Seville, and after a light snack we headed off to the Macarena area. Unfortunately, things went a little pear-shaped at this point, with the weather still not great and, having left the hotel without any guidebooks, something of an inability to find much in the way of interesting streets.

We decided, therefore, to regroup at a restaurant we've been to before: El Rinconcillo, which we were able to find easily enough, thanks to Red's pretty good sense of direction. I'm shit at that stuff! However, as is often the case with great eateries (often, but not always; more on that later), it was rammed. So we left there and headed instead in the general direction of the Casa de Pilatos, figuring that we could eat at somewhere that took our fancy en route.



And that's what we did, having found a cool little tapas bar called Taberna Peregil, which was showing religious processions on a loop on the small TV above the doorway (see pic, above). We ordered a grilled cheese on toast with caramelized onions to share, followed by Iberico sausage for me and salted tuna to share. Red had some water, while I drank beer, which I chased with a Manzanilla sherry. It all came to just shy of €20 -- and payment of the bill resulted in the ringing of a large bell and a "Vaya con Dios!" as we left -- excellent!

The Casa de Pilatos is just a couple of minutes' walk from the tapas bar, but since it was 4pm when we arrived, it seemed a touch late to go in, given that it closes at 6pm, so we wandered slowly back towards Santa Cruz, debating where to eat that evening and the next day. Yes, we like to eat when on holiday!

When you walk a city all day long, instead of jumping in cabs or on buses, you really see it properly. And Seville is one of those cities that is just filled with amazing sights everywhere. Even some of the entrance ways to hotels are picture-worthy! Once back in "the Cruz", as we don't call it, we visited Los Gallos, a flamenco club, to book tickets for the following night, and then we hit up the hotel for a bit of a break. It was now about 6pm, and the T-shirt I'd tried washing and drying that morning was still wet and still stinky.



We decided, after not too long in the room, that we'd take a walk to see if a certain Argentine restaurant that we had visited last time was still open. I'd eaten the most amazing burger there, and we'd got chatting to the waitress, who was Sicilian. Sadly, it seemed to have changed hands. Damn, I was really jonesing for an awesome burger. Instead we went to what might quickly be becoming our fave tapas bar, Casa Placido, with its hams hanging from the ceiling, just around the corner from the hotel. We just wanted to take the edge off the hunger a bit, rather than have dinner proper, so we had a couple of tapas of huevos a la flamenca. So good!





And then we returned once again to the hotel to get changed and ready to go out to dinner at Mesón Casa Luciano, on the other side of the river. Since this is quite a walk, we had the hotel receptionist call to make sure it was still in business and open tonight. Success! We always fear Luciano's might go out of business because it's almost always empty, and yet it serves the most incredible food, as long as you are feeling fully carnivorous. We have seen other people in there, but rarely. And when the locals do turn up, it's usually very late. And tourists rarely seem to venture there, since it's not in many guidebooks, it seems.

We got there at 9:35pm, and it was empty, just as we might have predicted. But the same two waiting staff were on hand -- an older dude and a woman -- neither of whom seem to speak any English. But this has always been part of the huge amount of fun of Luciano's: struggling to understand what each other means. This time, we'd taken some Spanish lessons for a few months in advance of our trip, and we were better prepared all round, but it was still crazy trying to communicate.

We ordered a salad to start, followed by a steak each and a portion of chips to share. I ordered a beer to start; Red, a water; and we had a half-bottle of Ramón Bilbao Tempranillo Crianza to share. I went to the butchery counter at the back of the restaurant to choose our steaks. I love that! While we were waiting, they brought us some complimentary chorizo and bread. Mmmm....

The food, as ever here, was just awesome. The steaks were cooked "a punto", I think the Spanish was, meaning "properly", and not well done or any other bastardization some folks inflict upon their steak to rid it of blood, flavour, and tenderness. This was great, melt-in-the-mouth meat.

Too full to tackle a dessert, I was -- again, as ever -- offered a shot of pacharán to finish, which I happily accepted. Such a lovely liqueur... By this time, it was about 11:15pm, and still the place is empty. Why?! It's Saturday night -- this place should be heaving. During the course of dinner, the door did open and someone stuck a head inside. They didn't look round far enough to see us. Not that it mattered; I suspect they decided it must be shite because it was empty. Bad decision, amigo.

Walking back to the hotel, we went via the Plaza de Santa Cruz and spent 10 minutes or so in the company of one of the neighbourhood cats. We know the streets are in safe hands with this one on patrol!



And just a bit further on, we stopped in Lope de Rueda at midnight to celebrate the start of my birthday with a kiss. Of course, it's still another hour until my birthday in the UK, so on returning to the hotel (the courtyard of which is shown below), we had to stay up a bit longer just to get it right.

6 March: The first full day

So, back to Seville... Woke up at 7:40am after a night of heavy rain and massive thunder. I spent a good 10 minutes washing and trying to dry my Gallows Grey Britain T-shirt, which was uncharacteristically stinky after a day's travelling. I'm not really much of a sweater, but humping luggage and running from place to place in the overheated airports wearing a heavy-ish coat clearly took its toll. We both got showered and dressed ready for the day ahead (my last day in my 30s!), and then we would go off and talk to reception about our bed situation (remember?). Checked my watch just before heading down... Shit! It's 10:20am. How did that happen?! Ah, forgot to put my phone's clock to Spanish time.

I mentioned it was my birthday, we were disappointed about the beds not being a double, etc, and reception told us that they would upgrade us from tomorrow to their superior suite. There was no mention of extra cost, just that we should get all packed up in the morning and go down and see him again. Cool.

So then we set off, pausing in the hotel doorway to don our "Jack in a Pack", since it was pissing with rain. Fab. And then we made our way to a bar for some breakfast. This first day we settled on a place we'd never been before, Bodega Santa Cruz Las Columnas, which is opposite and a little way up the road from usual haunt Cerveceria Giralda. We each had tostada (toasted bread) with aceite (olive oil) and tomate (or salsa de tomate, a tomato sauce but not like ketchup!); a coffee (con leche for me, manchado for Red); and a glass of OJ between us. It's always great just watching these guys in Spanish bars working. Any Spanish bar I've ever been in is essentially the same in this one regard: it's like a super-well-oiled machine. So fast and efficient, they totally put the UK service industry to shame.

Breakfast done, we next made our way to the Aire de Seville baños árabes (Arab baths) to book a slot for tomorrow, my birthday proper. The baños árabes played a key part in my choosing Seville as the destination for my 40th birthday: that's how fucking great it is. It seemed a slight blow that we couldn't get anything earlier than 4pm, but only for a moment. Thing is, once you've had a lunch on Spanish time, it's almost 4pm anyway! Plus we have to do all that checking out and back in nonsense tomorrow, too...

The rain continuing unabated made us think we should take some indoors time for a couple of hours, so we opted to do something else we'd never done yet in Seville: visit the Archivo General de Indias (the General Archive of the Indies). This absolutely massive structure is surprisingly anonymous from the outside. Indeed, we've walked past it probably hundreds of times hardly giving it a glance but knowing what it was called, even if we didn't really know what it was or even whether it was open to the public. One of the guides we had mentioned that it is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, so we figured we should check it out finally.

First things first, as a Brit abroad (and I know it's slightly unfair to say this latterly, given there have been changes as regards our galleries in the past 10 years), it still takes me aback that there are some important places you simply don't have to pay to enter. We had to put our stuff through an x-ray machine first. (Spain is very good on anti-terrorist measures, even here in Andalucía, which is apparently the European hub of al-Qaeda, so they probably needn't worry: who shits on their own doorstep?) And then, once through, they gave us a little guide thing and said to head on up the stairs.


Well, the stairwell itself (above) is a thing of some majesty! You know it's huge. You're on it, and you know it's big, but somehow you don't really get a sense of quite how big until you take a picture of yourself on it, dwarfed by its vastness. Really. (Actually in the image above, at the bottom right, you can see a fire extinguisher by way of scale.)

There are, of course, the eponymous archives of billions (probably) of papers and documentation, which itself is astonishing, with all these identical box files behind lockable grilles (check the locks among the images at the end of this post) and on beautiful bookcases, but also on display are maps and items brought back from historic voyages of centuries past -- the times when we in Europe were off globetrotting and killing natives and taking their land... Bringing civilization to tribespeople on the other side of the world and offing them if they weren't interested. You know, all that good stuff.

And there's also a little room where a film plays on a loop, chronicling the history of the archive, as well as of the building itself, which was totally fascinating. It's incredible to think that such a jaw-dropping architectural beauty could ever have been converted into a tenement building, but that was exactly what had happened at some point in its past. Unbelievable. Thankfully, you would never know, looking at it today.

We took pictures where we could, but in one whole big room it was not permitted, which was a shame. I couldn't really see the problem, though I know a lot of places with historic ephemera have concerns about the use of flash. I wish they could just have a "no flash" policy instead, if that's the case. I fired off one quick shot in the forbidden room (see right), being all nonchalant and avoiding as much as possible the eye-in-the-sky security camera. Ooh, I'm such a rebel! And after that, while in a different area, I got told off for putting my camera on top of a glass case. I mean, really? My camera (I didn't take my dSLR for space reasons) weighs little more than a wallet. Do me a favour, mate!

All done there by about 1pm, we next hit the bakery just opposite: the Horno San Buenaventura. This is a hugely popular tourist trap, yes, simply because it is massive and has lots of tables and chairs. But there are plenty of locals, too, due to the wide range of top-quality baked goods on offer. And of course, if you stay at the bar, like a local, rather than taking a seat, like a tourist, you pay less for your purchases. I had a café solo (an espresso) and a tocino de cielo. I think Red just had some water. The sugary gorgeousness of the tocino and the caffeine kick of the espresso would keep me walking until lunchtime (which was now, really, but since we'd had such a late breakfast...)

Off we trotted, then, to the Macarena area of the city. But I'll save that for the next post... Meantime, here are some pics from the Archivo General.

Friday, 5 March, and we’re off

The day of our Seville holiday to celebrate my 40th birthday finally arrived. We'd already taken Cat to the cattery the day before and had decided not to work today, in order to be able to pack and make sure we had everything we needed... including, unfortunately, a Jack In A Pack from Millets. This fold-down-into-a-small-bag raincoat is what we used to call a cagoule back in the day. They are super-sad, but those of you who remember the great wet Seville trip of 2008 will know we had to go prepared.

We left home at about 1:30pm after an early lunch, allowing plenty of time to get to Stansted airport. We were due to be there at about 4pm, and it usually takes about 90 minutes, but I wanted to leave an extra hour because the M25 on a Friday afternoon fills me with dread. As it happens, 90 mins was adequate, so arrived an hour early. Still, better early than late, I like to say. We kept as occupied as possible and finally boarded the plane at 5:45. I was the first passenger to board the plane, which I thought was fitting for my birthday trip.

On arrival, since we travelled hand luggage only, we were able to dash through customs (if one can ever really dash through customs) and grab a cab straightaway. While on the ride to the hotel I was able to practise my first bit of Spanish. "No es posible abrir la ventana?" I asked, noticing on this hot evening that I wasn't able to open the window to get some air. It seems he didn't quite understand ventana as car window, so I guess there must be a different word. Even so, he knew what I meant, flicked a switch up front, and I was able to breathe again.



We arrived at the El Rey Moro hotel, checked in, checked out the room, and headed out for food. Cerveceria Giralda, formerly a hammam, is always our first port of call in Seville. By 11:30pm we were eating our first dishes of the trip: tortilla en salsa de comino (delicious), tosta de queso de cabra (also delicious), and huevas fritas. But the huevas fritas don't look anything like the fried eggs we've had there in the past. Bit odd...



Ah, nota bene, my friends: Don't order huevas fritas if you want fried eggs. I've suddenly had the realization that it's a set of bollocks, fried. But they taste weirdly fishy, both in taste and texture. Red decided she can't eat them, but I plough on, aided by another cerveza. But even that didn't help me to finish them. As the waiter came for our plates -- only one of which was unfinished -- I asked him for clarification of what we had only half eaten. "Fish roe," he said in English, possibly embarrassed that I was pointing at my balls. "Ah, fish roe..." Phew!



As we sat there, chilling, we noticed people were starting to get turned away. It was only 11:50, so we guessed they must close at midnight. This was a surprise, but it forced us to get off our arses and have a wander around and back to the hotel. It had been a long day.





On returning, we noticed for the first time that what should have been a double bed was in fact two singles pushed together. This isn't totally unusual in hotels, but they weren't even made up as a double; they were made up as two singles pushed together. A request to reception didn't yield much success due to a lack of Spanish on my part and English on his. "Ask tomorrow," I was told. "I've not been here long."

"Okay." Hasta mañana, then...

Post #800, wherein I share some video from Seville

This footage was shot in the grounds of the Casa de Pilatos. Some sources will tell you that this building has this name because it was built based on the designs of Pontius Pilate's house. That is bollocks, at least according to our guide around the house. It's because -- quick history lesson -- back in the day when they used to have a Stations of the Cross thingumajig through the city of Seville, this location was the one that correlated to Pilate washing his hands of Christ's crucifixion. Don't say you never learn anything here...

Anyway, what is amazing, and what you can't really tell from the way I've had to edit the video, is that so many different beautiful sights are visible from almost any spot you choose to stand in. So much so that it's difficult to know where to point your camera. So I just keep pointing and shooting and cross fingers that something decent will come out in the edit. Hope you see something you like, even it's just the bearded woman breastfeeding a baby.

Post #796, wherein I get to some details about my holiday

So, we were all hopped up and ready for our brief stay in warm and sunny Seville. And then, just a couple of days before we left, it suddenly became apparent that it was going to be rainy and grey. Bugger. What can you do? We'd booked our tickets with hand luggage only, so we were committed to not taking big coats and cool-weather clothing...

"Well," I said, "It's not like weather forecasts are always accurate. Let's take a chance."

It's hard to travel hand luggage only, especially when you are allowed literally only one bag each, and that bag must weigh less than 10kg (22lb), and you want to cram in a video camera and stills camera and a couple of shirts and T-shirts and some spare trousers or two and clean underwear and socks and maybe some spare shoes... Hard, yes, but not impossible.

First things first, though: on arrival at the airport we had to queue at Ryanair's customer-service point to make sure our online-printed boarding passes were okay, since they said we were Irish (which we aren't) and that our passports expired on 1 January (which they hadn't). All fine; problem with the computer system. Phew!

------

We arrived late to Seville, and yet it still wasn't dark. That's always nice and summery-feeling. It got me off on the right foot. And with our hand luggage only we went straight to the cab rank and got a car straightaway. He drove like a complete maniac, doing about 130km/h (80mph) on streets that didn't seem built for such speeds, undertaking cars as we went. But at least that meant we got to our hotel quicker than we might otherwise have expected.

We checked in, freshened up, and headed straight out to one of our favourite haunts in the city, the Cervezeria Giralda, where we incredibly managed to bag a table really quickly, after ordering our first round of drinks and tapas, but before we'd managed even a mouthful, I think.

We ordered the tortilla al comino, so beloved of our last visit, along with a couple of other old favourites and some new dishes too. We drank beer and took pictures, and we wandered back to our hotel room sated and happy to be back in this great town. Tomorrow we would start our walking in earnest.

We had decided in advance that we would eat breakfast at the hotel. At least on the Sunday morning, anyway, rather than struggling to find somewhere open early enough. So we did, and it was good. Hotel breakfasts in the buffet style are usually good, but when you're paying €14 (£11, US$22) a head, you simply need to make sure you get your money's worth. So we did. Various cuts of ham were consumed, along with bacon, tortilla, doughnuts, coffee, and orange juice. A breakfast in preparation for a day's walking.

And off we set to the Plaza de España, hoping this time that it would be even more wonderful than the last time we saw it. Sadly, this time around a lot of it was boarded up for renovations. We didn't mind too much since we'd seen it before anyway, but it would have been nicer to see in all its glory. It was more unfortunate that the waterway that runs in the grounds was, once again, void of water. I was really hoping to see it in this context this time around. Guess we'll just have to come back again sometime.

But we did see some festive chariots carrying señoritas in their best Feria clothing. That was cool. (Video footage to follow soon-ish.)

And we did get accosted by some gypsies wanting to force rosemary upon us and read our palms. I managed to get away with paying mine only about 80c for her trouble. She didn't seem too pleased with that and seemed to be implying I should pay her €5 for each palm read. I just shrugged like I didn't know what she was saying.

And I'm glad I did. Discussions with my better half just a few minutes later revealed that she indeed had paid €10 for the great privilege of being told our children would be beautiful. Oh, joy!

Of course, just before having our futures read, a vending man had come running up to me screaming before grabbing me by the arm. "Lucio! Lucio!" he was yelling (in that Spanish way, so it sounds like "Loo-thee-oh"). I thought he was on about light or something (luce [loo-che] in Italian, luz [looth] in Spanish), so I just kinda kept walking, shaking my head in bemusement, trying to convey that I had no idea what he was on about. Maybe he was trying to get me to buy one of his fans or something...

Then it became clear. We stopped and started trying to communicate with him.

[One thing about the Spanish we've encountered in both Seville, both times, and Valencia is that regardless of how much you clearly have no idea what they are saying, they will just keep talking. To you or at you, I'm not quite sure. And while this can initially be somewhat frustrating, it's also somehow really very endearing. No amount of incomprehension seems to be an obstacle to their desire to talk to you.]

Over the course of five minutes we established that he liked my tattoos and that the best tattooist in the whole of Spain is Lucio (yes, the word he was shouting at me), who operates at the US base in Rota, near Cadiz. This chap, who told us his name was Fernando, showed me the tattoo of his mother's name and told us that years ago, when he had his done, nobody had tattoos and they were frowned upon by "society". These days, "everybody has them, even babies". He now intends to get his father's name on his other arm and portraits of both parents on his chest. I think we did pretty well understanding all that, being as we're really shit at Spanish!

See, tattoos can bring people together, my friends.

After our walk around the Plaza, we were hungry, so we headed to a little nearby cafe that we'd been to last time around.

The weird thing was, the overhanging trees were insane. Almost everybody sat outside was sneezing as the trees shed their fluffy leafy stuff.

A street musician wandered over to our table just as Red went to the bathroom. He was playing something akin to a guitar but made with twine for strings. He was a black guy, and given the proximity of Africa and its African heritage, I suspect the instrument was African of some time. "You speak English?" he asked, twiddling a little riff on his thing. "Yes," I replied. "Where are you from?" "England."

And that gave him all the ammo he needed to "write" a song for me on the spot. I still remember the lyric fondly. It went something like this:

Englan', Englan', Englan', Englan', Englan'.
Li'erpool, Li'erpool, Li'erpool, Li'erpool, Englan'.
London, London, London.
Li'erpool, Li'erpool, Li'erpool, Li'erpool, Englan'.

Ahhh, those words will stay with me a long time.

Seville and elections and Asda, oh my!

Just when we thought Seville couldn't get any better, they go and build this solar power station. Excellent! If you follow the link, there's a little film in the sidebar of that page where you can see how truly cool this is.

Meanwhile, it is polling day in my small town today. While the Spanish are removing troops from Iraq, permitting gay marriage, and building massive solar power generators, we are focusing here on whether or not the public toilets should remain open. This is a "town" with barely any shops worth coming for. Who the fuck do they think needs the public toilets? Certainly they didn't need the public library that used to be here.

And that cunt who currently runs our country has decided not to launch a full independent enquiry into the 7/7 London bombings because it will undermine faith in the security services. Um, correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't the fact that we have no faith in the UK's security services the reason we want an enquiry? Arsehole.

And on the subject of arseholes, Bush of course vetoed the plans for withdrawal of US troops from Iraq. I will hold up my hands here and say that I sort of know where he's coming from as regards not wanting to inform "the enemy" of his troops' withdrawal dates. The problem is, though, that I truly don't see Bush ever pulling out of Iraq. He is in this to win it; and if he can't win it, he'll just stay there pretending he's winning it. Prick.

And on the subject of Bush, I shopped at Asda today. The traffic going towards Sainsbury's was just not worth joining, so we headed the other way for our groceries. Asda has started stocking a whole lot of better stuff than they used to. A couple of years back when I was looking for free-range chicken, I was told that they "had some once, by mistake. Someone had ordered the wrong thing." (That is absolutely true!) Now, though, they actually do stock it! Of course, it's all money in Bush's pocket via his Wal-Mart connection.

Man, it's impossible to know what to do for the best sometimes. I'm pretty sure Sainsbury's gives money to Blair's lot anyway. Maybe I need to find a Spanish supermarket... Anyone know of one in the southeast of England?

More SPAIN stuff, with FULL-COLOUR PICTURES!!!

Parrots just fly around freely in certain parts of Seville. How fucking mad is that?! And how cool?


They were flying around near this column, a memorial to Christopher Columbus. I guess it sort of seems appropriate.


I think Red missed the point when I said a wanted a little head one evening...


The Mezquita, formerly a mosque but with a Catholic church built inside it, is a truly breathtaking building in the town of Córdoba. The interior is filled with these amazing columns and striped arches. There are some 850 of them.


This is me pointing up at our hotel room in Granada, where we stayed for one night to visit the Alhambra. Lovely hotel; big keyring (see Red's post, if you haven't already).


We went to see some damn cool flamenco, too.


Us two, on our last day in Seville, still smiling, despite knowing we had work to come home to.

Spain and Oscars and stuff

Last night, Wife asked me, "Are you done blogging about Spain?" The simple answer was no, there are still a few things I will post, including both pictures and words, but I had wanted to get my Chuck post done, and I'd wanted to do a movie review off my growing list of movies to review. So there will be more Spain stuff. I have some nice photos to share, and I need to do it before Wife nabs some of my choices!

But in the meantime, I also have to pay tribute to the Oscars and the Razzies. The Razzies are, of course, the anti-Oscars, honouring those films that are the worst of the year's crop, and they were announced today. The Oscars will be announced at 1:30pm GMT tomorrow -- that's 8:30am New York time.

Apparently, the hot ticket (if you can call it that) at the Razzies is Basic Instinct 2. I mean, did anyone even watch that? The trailer looked so fucking awful, I wouldn't have touched it with a bargepole. Seven Razzie nods is the legacy thus far for this picture, so let's see how it does at the ceremony, to be held on 24 February. The Wayans Brothers' comedy Little Man has equalled this number of nominations.

Other films in the Worst Picture category, accompanying the two above, are M Night Shyamalan's Lady In The Water, dodgy and wholly fucking unnecessary US remake The Wicker Man, and BloodRayne, which stars that bird out of Terminator 3.

So, what's going to be nominated for the Oscars tomorrow? To my great shame, I'm a bit out of touch with new releases, it must be said. Still I'd expect to see nominations for both of Clint's big war movies, a few tips of the hat for Dreamgirls, and Apocalypto is sure to figure somewhere. I'd like to see David Lynch appear somewhere for Inland Empire, and that Borat movie making an appearance would be fun. Despite so many people raving about Scorsese's HK remake The Departed, I'd love to see it totally snubbed. Scorsese is all washed up, and he needs to stop working with that freaky man-child DiCaprio.

So, what are your thoughts -- if you give a fuck, that is?