Acting Like a Tourist

Sundays seem to be my day to act like a tourist. I'm not sure why. It's just working out that way today. I was scheduled for a 4 p.m. work skype call today to finish up some editing on a book but I had lots of time before that, it was a beautiful day and my cold seemed to have pretty much gone with the wind.

After breakfast, I hopped on my bike with two destinations in mind. One was something I saw on the map that said it was the ruins of a Roman aqueduct. I've seen pictures of these amazing vaulted structures in different guide books and thought it would be cool to see one up close. The other was the Casa de Pilatos, which I read was a replica of the house of Pontius Pilate where Jesus was condemned to death. I was interested because there was apparently some interesting "mujedar" design (mujedar is the Islamic style of architecture that was done after the Christian reconquest of Spain and before all Muslims were either forcefully converted, expelled or burned at the stake).

I started off with the aqueduct. It turned out to be quite small, just five or six arhces, not very big, and looking like it could have been built in 1960. It was hard to believe that it was older than the remnants of the great wall I pass regularly on my bike rides that remains of the wall that used to surround Seville. I guess it did its trick though, carrying water to the city, and didn't need to be as grand as the ones I've seen in guide books.

From there, it was a short ride to the Casa de Pilatos. The ticket agent asked me if I wanted just the ground floor or the whole house. I told her the whole house. I think it was 3 euros more. She told me to go in, turn left and wait at the top of the stairs.

I was a little confused.

I walked through the bookstore into an amazing entry way that was covered with tiles that opened into a grand courtyard with a fountain and several large classical Greek/Roman statues that I think are actually originals. Around the edges of the courtyard, the walls were covered with tiles and heads of different Roman looking faces lined the top. Gardens and other rooms shot off from the courtyard. I wasn't sure if I was supposed to be waiting at the top of the stairs for my tour that was to begin in 20 minutes, but I wanted to explore. So that is what I did, keeping an eye on my watch to be sure I wouldn't miss the tour.

At 10:55 I went up the stairs which were also covered from floor to ceiling with tiles, and the ceilings were amazingly detailed mujedar style wooden ceilings. The building was really a work of art.

As the tour began we were led into a group of "salons" by a smallish, probably gay, Spanish man who spoke enthusiastically in both Spanish and English. I kind of chuckled a few times at his English. He would say things like, "we are going to veeseet the salAn of Frantheesco something or other, kind of singing the words the same way in English as he did in Spanish. He was not as robotic as the tour guide at the bull ring, and I kind of liked hearing things first in Spanish and then in English, giving me the opportunity to check my understanding and get translations for some of the words I didn't understand.

The upper floor tour was not that interesting though. The rooms were small and dank and filled with old paintings by not-so-important artists, other than one by Goya and a few by Velasquez' teacher. They were dark from years of age and the subject matter was not that interesting. Faded tapestries hung on the walls of one room and another room had furniture that was badly in need of repair. Things I found more interesting, like some of the ceilings were not explained, and I was with a group of about 25 tourists, most of whom were behaving rather badly. We were told to stay on the gray carpet to preserve the floor and a few people strayed off the carpet. When the guide was explaining things in English, those who understood the Spanish started chatting, oblivious to the fact that they were being rude to the tour guide and also those who were trying to listen to him (like me). I was glad when we were finally released and I was allowed to return to the rooms on the first floor which were much more interesting to me, but now were more crowded than when I first arrived.

I snapped a few more pictures and got on my bike and rode through some of the small winding streets until I reached Plaza Nueva, and from there rode to the cathedral and stopped at Starbucks.

I never go to Starbucks in the States, but when I travel, it's a nice oasis amongst the confusing choices no matter where I am. In Bangkok, I know it will be air-conditioned and have nice music playing. In Taiwan I knew the spoke English. In Seville, I know they have refreshing fruit frappachinos.

I passed gypsy women trying to trick tourists into accepting "free" rosemary that would cause them to clean out their wallets, wanting to say, "DON'T ACCEPT THE ROSEMARY", but deciding it was not my business, parked my bike and took a walk through Santa Cruz.

I am not sure why everything seemed so crowded. The little streets of Santa Cruz were packed with tourists, the Alcazar had a long line of people waiting to get in, and even the street in front of the cathedral was full of people. I am not sure if there are more tourists in Seville than there have been, because it is now much cooler and more comfortable, or if it was because I was out later than usual. Either way, I was just killing time until I could sit down and order some tapas for lunch.

Finally at about 1, I went to the restaurant where I had garlic shrimp and papas bravas. The same waiter threw a menu at me. When he came back I asked for his recommendation and he enthusiastically recommended the fried fish. He said fried sardines, hake and one other type of fish all came on a combination platter. It was 16 euros. I didn't want to take a chance on three kinds of fried fish but wanted to try the anchovies (or were they sardines?), so I ordered them and the shrimp.

They were okay. I think they are what we call smelts. They were little headless fried fish dusted with flour and fried. They needed salt, or a sauce or something. Compared to the bubbling dish of shrimp I got that came in melted butter full of pieces of garlic, they were pretty bland. My garlic shrimp caused quite a few heads to turn as the waiter brought them out, they were sizzling and the smell of garlic wafted along the sidewalk. I saw two other tables get them after I did.

It was a nice lunch and I felt comfortable. I'm a little beyond being a tourist at this point since I really know my way around and no longer carry a map. Even when I am exploring places I have never been, I don't care where I go because I know I will eventually end up some place familiar. Getting lost is now half the fun. I'm also learning some foods that I like, and when I go out I usually order one thing that I know I like and one thing new. At least that way I will always be sure of liking at least half of my meal.

Tomorrow will be a return to the "living in Seville" me - gym, market, maybe even laundry. Since most things are closed on Sunday, Monday is my day for taking care of business. But today, I enjoyed acting like a tourist and not feeling the fears and doubts I had when I first arrived. I was a tourist who knew what he was doing, including not accepting "free" rosemary gifts.