Seville cast a spell on me, overwhelming my senses with its beauty. Our hotel was a typical 4 star, shabby, but trying to keep up appearances as well as possible. Named Hotel Becquer after a 18thcentury Seville artist, whose engravings of provincial Spanish life were featured throughout the hotels hallways. Becquer also had a son, who became an iconic poet in Spain.
After finding a car park to stash the van, the kids and I headed into town for lunch. Immediately, we stumbled upon an incredible little restaurant called Azafran. Cool Gustavian color scheme, natural light, and tall, desk-like tables, we ordered some tapas.
Flaminquin – a roll of ham, breaded and fried, stuffed with cheese
Atun Escabechado – A large hunk of fresh steamed tuna, pickled in vinaigrette
Bock Damm Beer (Henry’s new favorite, I think he likes the name and the demonic goat on the bottle)
Salmorejo – cold tomato and garlic soup with diced dried ham, boiled egg and olive oil garnish.
Sangria – my new favorite drink!
Fortified by this terrific little lunch, we pressed on to discover the city.
Winding narrow streets, sunny and hot, we walked everywhere. In fact, there was so much to see and do, I forgot to write in my journal.
Sites we saw:
Alcazar of Seville - Sour orange trees in the hot sun
Torre de Oro
On the recommendation of a flamenco teaching friend, we bought tickets to a tablao, a flamenco performance. Held in a small courtyard of an ancient house, the tablao featured some of the up and coming flamenco artists. Their feet moved so fast it was impossible to tell which foot was stomping, a black patent blur of gunfire. The guitarist and singer were tender and passionate in their music, the entire performance riveting.