Sevilla Bachanalia (the rest of vacation)

So. Yes, last night was fun. En route to Calle Betis (American bars, Spanish guys looking to hook up with American girls or fight American guys) I made friends with a couple of northerners. They convinced me to try a different venue: Plaza de Alfalfa. Yes, like the bean and the Little Rascal. People in this plaza hang out on the street and drink alcohol they have brought with them, occasionally going into an actual bar. We are offered drugs (don’t accept) and shots (do accept) then go to a pirate themed club called Dubloon, or something like that. The girls I’m with somehow berate the doorman into letting us in for free, bypassing a line two blocks long. Not sure how long we were there. Late.


My cell, sink and door

DAY THREE

Morning: breakfast, then Internet café. Hours and hours of online life. I actually manage to catch up on my work e-mail, for now. Halle-f’n-luyah. Afterwards I go to a local Irish pub and meet a couple of cool girls, Nancy and Melanie, Greek and Welsh respectively. We are supposed to meet tonight to go out. Let you know how it works out.

Next I go back to the hostel. Read. Drink more Stoli.

So I meet the girls back at the Irish pub. One of the bartenders and another American guy join us. We next go to a Scottish bar. Yes, there are such things. Our bartender friend decides to start ordering rounds of Jager. It all goes downhill from there. I eventually get separated from my little posse and end up wandering back to my hostel alone. No idea what time it was.

DAY FOUR

I spend a few hours feeling bad about how much I drank the previous night, then begin again. I finally make it down to Calle Betis, and another Irish pub. Here I meet another two Americans, Seth and Jesse. These two are actually my age and live in Seville, teaching English. Seth also used to be a bouncer, so we have tons of great stories to compare. We hop to another bar, Long Island, and have pizza delivered while playing darts. Jesse takes off and the boys wander down to another place back on Calle Betis, Mia Soul, I believe. Seth and I talk and drink for hours. We talk so much that we forget to keep hitting on the French girls next to us, and they leave. Then Seth almost gets us into a fight with some US military guys. We could have taken them (Navy, ha), but I smoothed things over. We do a shot of tequila, and we’re all friends. The bar closes. We try to talk our way into a private club party, but it doesn’t work. We part ways and head home.


Cathedral again

DAY FIVE

Starting to feel a little touched in the head. I’ve been traveling for a month now. At present, the only constant in my life is e-mail and a crappy hostel room. I’ve met some cool people here in Seville, but I still can’t help feeling a bit lonely. They have so far all been “single-serving friends”, a la Fight Club. Hang out for a day, then never see them again. God forbid, am I homesick? I find myself actually looking forward to working again. Whoa. I am definitely touched.

I shower, check e-mail, and pig out at Tex-Mex, a bar-restaurant (guess what kind) just off the cathedral. Now I’m writing this, drinking Guinness, and watching Spanish League football.

Continuing, I finally get around to buying some presents for people. If you get one, you better act elated. I finish my Stoli, then go out one last time. I meet some English girls and defend them from the advances of more military guys. They appreciate it, but not enough, if you know what I mean. Bed.

DAY SIX

La Duena of this little hostel bangs on the door, waking me, telling me to leave or pay another day. I leave. I check e-mail one last time, eat a burger, then get on the train. At the Madrid station I once again catch the hotel shuttle and check into my home for the next week. I spend all evening watching TV.

Observations:
The one worth remembering is this: I have never visited a city with a higher concentration of beautiful young women, ever (Jaco, Costa Rica doesn’t count - those were hookers). Ironically, a good half of these are not Spanish. That non-half is mostly American, plus others from all over. Someone is doing a great job of recruiting all the beautiful people for language programs overseas. Or maybe it’s just Seville. Either way, it actually pisses me off when I think about it too much. Dammit.


Last one I saw, at the train station


In case you are wondering, yes, I left a lot out.