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.

Valencia: the end of the trip

Sunday, 25 November (continued)
We walked on up into some of the squares and wandered around, as you do, milling about with the crowds and absorbing the laid-back Sunday atmosphere on what was, frankly, a fucking glorious late-November day.

Ultimately our goal today would be to get to the Oceanografíc, a massive aquarium complex within the City of Arts & Sciences, but there was more uncharted ground to cover in the main city beforehand.

This first video is a portrait of the Palacio del Marques de Dos Aguas, a most incredible building in the heart of Valencia. Look out for Red swiftly removing her hands from the facade when told "Non tocar!" by the guard. An hour later, he was gone. If we had so desired we could have touched it to our heart's content.



And here's the last one... for now... The snack we stopped for at the beginning was orxata (aka horchata) for me, a local artisanal cold drink, and hot chocolate -- no, the thickest, chocolatiest hot chocolate in Christendom... literally melted chocolate, I think -- for Red. We each had our own dunking things, too. I finished every last bit of my deliciousness; Red, not so much.

Then dancing people in the square, in "traditional" dress -- so that's where they were going, those folks I mentioned in my previous post! And then, what's that? Shiiiit, ruins of the old city... underwater! How damn cool is that?!



3:45pm-ish
After a lot more walking, we stopped for lunch at the most delicious steakhouse. The front-of-house woman was Italian, so she was able to tell us what was good and stuff! Really great food, even though neither of us was convinced we really wanted a steak, but it was about 3:45pm by now, and all the restaurants in Valencia close no later than 4pm, and many seemed not even to open on a Sunday. We had to take our food where we could find it!

Next up, we grabbed a cab to the Oceanografíc. At some point in the not-too-distant future I will go through that material, too, and post some clips of dolphins and penguins and seals, oh my. There's also some footage of the city by night that's quite cute. But for now, with the festive season right upon us and other things to move on to, it's hasta luego, Valencia. It was a fun ride!

Intermission over: Back to Valencia

Saturday, 24 November (still...)
So after our huge walk down to the port, we had to wait for the America's Cup store to open. And when it did, unfortunately we were unable to buy what Red had wanted for her mother. So while the walk had been for nowt, it had still been a fun one! We looked out for a cab and headed back to the hotel room.

At the time Red was looking at possible hotels, she had read that this one had, in some rooms, only a window separating the bedroom from the bathroom. This sounded like great fun, perv that I am, so we really hoped we got one of those. And we did! It was cool and wacky!

We chilled and nursed our blistered feet before heading our for some food. My tattooist Xam is from around Valencia, and so I had asked him if he could recommend any good restaurants. He had given me a couple of names, one of which is apparently frequented by Spanish stars and royalty. We had to give it a go. So we headed out into the night. We wanted to explore some of the busy streets by night before eating, and we also had to stop in at an Internet cafe to check in online for our return flight.

Once we decided it was time to eat, we got a taxi. It took us all the way back to the port area, but only when we got there did we discover that the restaurant was closed for the season. Fortunately, just a few doors away was the other restaurant that had been recommended.

We sat and ordered food, wine, and water. We were ravenous. We'd not eaten since a small bite at 1pm, and it was now about 9pm if memory serves. The chances are that it was probably later because the restaurant had quite a few people in it, and people eat late in Spain. (When we were in Seville, we found this great steak restaurant. We went there at gone 9pm one night and were the only people there. It started getting busier as we were about to leave. Can you imagine eating a steak at 11pm?! Amazing...)

We ordered paella -- what else, since Valencia is the home of the dish? I must say, I enjoyed mine. Red was a little less convinced. We have an ongoing beef about paella since her birthday in Seville. I won't go into it, save to say that perhaps I made a mistake that we both ended up paying for. Sorry, pet. Kisses!

After dinner, we looked for a cab and headed back to the hotel, I think. We were shattered, and I was probably a bit tipsy, so my memory is unclear now!

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Sunday, 25 November
Next day we breakfasted fairly early so we could get out and pound the streets some more. We both love getting away from our desks, of course, and we love both beach and city breaks. But when we do city breaks, fuck do we do 'em! I mean, we walk our motherfucking feet off. You've got to, though, right? It might be the only time you go to a particular city, so you need to have no regrets about missing anything.

We headed into the old town area and walked the squares and looked at fountains and stuff. Just walking fairly directionless, letting the city be our guide. Well, letting the city and the guide book be our guides. And the map.

We found some crazy dogs playing in the streets. And then some men and women in "traditional" Spanish dress. By traditional, I mean, old-school, dancey, traditional, cos at the end of the day, traditional dress for everyone these days is jeans, T-shirts, jumpers, of course.

Then we stumbled upon a street where everyone was congregating. It was mayhem. Old and young, male and female. What was going on? we wondered. You know what it was...? Trading cards. Everyone was going crazy buying and swapping football cards. Incredible...

Here's the video of this leg of our journey.

Weekend diary, part 4

Saturday, 24 November (It just keeps on giving, right?)
I mentioned a couple of posts ago that we bumped into some more lost tourists on our way from the City of Arts & Sciences... Well, we teamed up with the four of them to find our mutual end destination: the port.

We doubled back on ourselves and, rather than walking all the way back to the Ciutat, we chucked a right, down what looked like a semi-residential area. We walked to the end, which was only a couple hundred metres, and found ourselves at the river. Instinct (with a face all screwed up like George's in Elaine's clasp) told us to go right, along a trail of dirt and bare grass, heading towards the railway bridge that spanned the river. We could see from our map that this was the right general direction. But this was most definitely not the right tourist way.

Then we saw a man stepping down off the railway bridge. "Well, he must've crossed it," we say to ourselves, "so it must lead somewhere." We continue. As the man approached us obvious tourists, one of our number still wheeling her suitcase over the great mounds of dirt, he appeared to have a wry smile on his face...

We got to the bridge and realized it was a pretty crappy affair, certainly not likely to be the major river crossing we were hoping for. Still, it was wide enough for us to walk down without fear for our lives, so we did.

The interesting part was when we got to the other end. Y'see... there was no exit point. The bridge ended, and our way was blocked by a fence. That's right, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, we were fenced in like half a dozen wild animals. Caged in our prime. Well, there was nothing else for it, of course, but to climb...

After our climbing adventure we continued to walk. We passed the place where refrigerators go to die and we threw a right at the next road junction. At this point our merry group splintered. Suitcase Lady, it turns out, was not with the rest of them, and she trucked on alone. Red is a fast walker, so she trotted on ahead while I chased after her coat-tails, and the other three held back to check their own maps rather than be dragged into the Great Unknown by us crazed Ingle types.

But we were right, and as quick as a very very slow flash or quite a quick tortoiose we were at the port. Well, it probably took the best part of another 45 minutes, past various abandoned cars, and more fences where building work was going on, until finally, FINALLY we got to the port, where a guy was offering boat tours around part of the America's Cup course. We declined. By this time, it was about 3:50pm, we'd been awake for about 11 hours, and we wanted to get into the America's Cup shop and buy something for the mother-in-law and get back to the hotel room that we still hadn't even seen...!

Here's the video of these stages of our misadventures:

Weekend diary, part 3

Saturday, 24 November (continued, still)

Not so much to read this time around, but a couple of videos to watch.

The first is yet more walking. We did a lot of that, did I mention? This time through the lovely Turia Park.

The second video is from the jaw-dropping City of Arts & Sciences, just wandering around leisurely.

I love the sounds on both of these video clips, just stuff and sometimes chit chat and sometimes industrial clanging or children shouting. But sometimes just an incredible silence that is almost unfathomable in the middle of a huge city. Wonderful.

Thanks for watching. And have a great weekend.

Weekend diary, part 2

Saturday, 24 November (continued)
So to get to the big, long park, we first had to walk down a big, wide street. But this big, wide street was super-groovy, cos it had a big, wide walkway running down the middle of it -- kind of like a mini-park in its own right. People were out walking their dogs, couples were canoodling by their cars, and the occasional tramp was sitting on a bench with his shopping cart of worldly possessions next to him.

We walked past a cool tree, which looked like it was straight out of Pan's Labyrinth, too. Here's some video of this bit of the walk, including the tree and a sneak peek at the big park below us at the end of the clip.



So then we climbed down some steps into the park, and it was coooooool, like I said yesterday. And we walked and walked. We wanted to walk to the City of Arts & Sciences designed by Santiago Calatrava. We didn't realize how far it was. It looked quite near on the map!

But eventually we spotted a bit of the famous architecture, rising up from the horizon, and this spurred us on. We had flown in over the complex, and it looked amazing from the air. We simply had to go there. We walked and walked some more.

Finally we hit a fence. We could see where we wanted to be on the other side, but there was no direct route. So we followed the fence around, hoping it would eventually lead us to an entrance of sorts. And it did. But this was our first real sense of how much building work is still ongoing in Valencia. It is Spain's third-largest city, and yet it is still relatively undiscovered (save for the America's Cup being held there earlier this year). As a result of this newfound interest in the city, it seems there is a push to make it as tourist friendly as possible as quickly as possible.

Once outside the Ciutat, we sat a while and took some photos, then walked around the complex a little, down as far as the Oceanogràfic, which is an enooooormous aquarium type thing. We wanted to see how much it cost to get in and what the opening hours were for the Sunday, which we did.

But we had walked a long way from the hotel, and we knew we had to get back eventually. First, though, Red was keen to make our way to the Shop of the America's Cup, down in the port, in the hopes of buying a little something for her mum. So, off we set, following our trusty map. We came out from the Oceanogràfic and chucked a left. It looked a bit ... undeveloped ... but that's all good. We walked past some tourists on a corner who looked lost. But we had our map and we rounded the corner, only to find there was nowhere to go.

We doubled back and asked the tourists if they were looking for the port, too. They were. The six of us were now on a combined mission...

Weekend diary

Saturday, 24 November
I would say the alarm woke us at 4am, but in truth neither the wife nor I had had much sleep. This all goes back to the problem we are having with Cat as a result of a problem with the neighbours' cat. Say no more. By the time we have risen, showered, dressed, breakfasted etc, it is 5am and we are officially running late. We get in the car and drive to the airport. Fuck, it's cold! I mean, really cold. Even after driving for 40 minutes, more than halfway to the airport, with the heating running, we are still both freezing. Brrrrrrrr. Of course, we get to the airport in time, not great time, but in time. Blah blah blah plane, blah blah take off, blah blah land.

After a two-and-a-half-hour flight, we land at Valencia airport at 11am local time, give or take a few minutes and take a cab from the airport to our hotel, the fairly recently opened Vincci Hotel on Calle de la Paz. En route, the very chatty and friendly cabbie explained how the local Valencian language, in many ways, is rather more similar to Italian than it is to Spanish. Cool. On arrival at the hotel, at about 11:45, we discover (as suspected) that we cannot check in until after 2pm. We leave most of our bags and stuff and set off for a bite to eat.

We are ravenous, but we know from our Seville experience in January that Spaniards keep crazy time as regards eating. We eventually find a little tapas bar on, Plaza del Ayuntamiento, one of the main squares. The guy there tells us that they only serve seafood tapas. Although that's fine for us, I can't help suspecting, by the way he seems to say it, that many tourists don't like seafood. But then this is a port town, so seafood ought to be expected, no? We ordered a half-portion each of prawns and squid rings, with a pair of beers to wash it all down. The first few mouthfuls were great, but after a while it became a bit much. Deep-fried fish and beer on empty stomachs = not ideal. Oh well. We ate what we could and moved on.

We decided to head towards the park area via some other bits of the city, such as the Estació del Nord and some other stuff. Here's some video of the estació, which is Spanish for "station".



The park is so cool. Right through the entire length of the city, where once there was a river, there is now parkland. Some city planners thought it was a good idea back in the day, and so they diverted the flow of the river and created a wonderful public space. And all the bridges that spanned the waterway now span the park. It's so cool! Kids and dogs and buskers and tourists all just hanging out, cycling, walking, roller-blading, whatever, enjoying what was a glorious late-November afternoon.

We walked and walked and walked. And we got hot. The sun was beating down, and although we had lightened our load on arrival, my leather jacket was soon too much. At one point both the missus and I had stripped down to T-shirts, along with many others out and about. The 24th of November, and I'm in a T-shirt. Now that's what I call a rockin' good time!

More stuff later.

Did you miss me?

I suspect you didn't even notice I was gone, but on Saturday morning, Wife and I left for Spain -- Valencia, to be precise -- and now we're back. It was a short long weekend just to see a new city, and it was kind of our Christmas present to each other (well, that and a little stocking filler or two).

A lovely and completely unrelaxing relaxing time was had by us both, and more info, pics, and vids will follow.

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?

That package from Chuck

Just as we were putting Cat in the car to go to the cattery on the morning of 8 January, I espied our postman walking down the terrace. (Cat will have plenty to post about about his spa retreat, too, so keep your eyes peeled for that.)

"Hi there," I said, in my usual cheery way. "Anything I can take off your hands?" He replied in the affirmative, dug deep into his sack (tee hee, I said "sack"!), and pulled out a white box measuring 21 x 14.5 x 8 cm (8.25 x 5.75 x 3 inches).

It was addressed with a large address label to me, and it had a blue Airmail sticker on it. A quick glance at the sender's address revealed it to be from someone named simply "Palahniuk" c/o his agent's New York address.

I was so excited, but I knew I had to contain myself until after the trip to the cattery. Wife was amazed at how cool I was about it, but I had to stay focused on the job at hand! The opening of the box would have to be done methodically, taking the time to appreciate its contents to the full. According to the customs label on the side, the box contained CDs and toys, to a total value of $10 (£5). The label was also signed by Chuck himself on 30 December. Wow, he was even working on this letter-answering task right through the Christmas holidays.

What follows here is some pictures of the contents of the box. Note that the pics were not taken at the time of the initial opening (I didn't have my brain in gear enough to document that), so the craziness of all the purple glitter that flew everywhere with each slight movement is a little lost. In fact, the glitter got so everywhere, that we even found some on the carpet of our hotel room in Seville. I guess it got stuck to something
-- clothes, shoes, whatever -- and travelled there with us. Or it may have been stuck to the small box of the chocolates we took with us from the box, and that Chuck had said I should give to Wife, "as part of her birthday gifts".


The signed customs label...


The top of the letter...


My power cow!...


A peek at the package...


And another peek...


And another...


And here are the CDs. I've removed my name, natch.


Look: he even asked after my holiday. What a guy!


The full list of contents reads like this, and might I point out that I think that's more than $10 worth of stuff, Chuck!

first and foremost, the letter itself
my Power Animal: a cow (although it has horns, so I guess it's a bull)
2 exclusive CDs of Chuck reading short stories, one dedicated, the other signed
self-adhesive "My name is" name badge, à la Fight Club, signed
black-and-white photo of Chuck with chicken, signed
Silly Putty (I used to love this stuff as a kid)
a rubber severed, bloody finger
flick-knife comb (I used to have one as a kid, and I loved it)
box of four chocolates, which Chuck suggested I give to Wife
pen knife (surely that's not legal to send through the mail?!)
glowstick necklace
2 bouncy balls
10 plastic Roman coins
tip of a spear
24 normal birthday candles
8 "relighting" birthday candles
deck of magic cards
12-page pirate colouring book
4 mini crayons
tin of sugar-free mints
rubber spider
mini harmonica
journal
carrot seeds
money-plant seeds
herb seeds
forget-me-not seeds
temporary tattoos
postcard for the book Clown Girl, which has an introduction by Chuck