We are being stalked – and we see our hunters drift around the corner as we enjoy a quiet Seville meal while our two children sleep – one in Krys’ arms and one in the pram. A shiver runs down our spines as they lock eyes on us, and make their way menacingly towards us. As they get to us they draw their weapons and despite the pleading in our eyes it starts……. the worst busking version of Despacito we have ever heard in our lives. For the next 5 minutes we are attacked with the ‘sound’ of a distressed electric violin and labouring saxaphone being contorted and amplified beyond comfort. So to then be asked for a contribution for the performance that startled the kids and ruined a quiet dinner was a bridge too far. The only contribution I intended to make was to jam that saxaphone so deep in a place that it’s only wind power from this day forward would be rectal. It’s not like it would sound any worse…… the joys of alfresco dining in Spain is that these assaults are only a lack of talent and an instrument away.
The other thing we’ve found about eating out in Spain is that service standards are still some way behind. The subtle art of grabbing attention through eye contact doesn’t work here – it’s either a borderline verbal and physical assault or go hungry. On the times we have ‘caught an eye’ the wait staff may nod, but it appears that this means ‘yes I see you and I choose to continue to ignore you until you yell at me and attempt to physically wrestle for my attention’.
And this service extends to cabs. We were changing accomodation in Seville so rather than try and manage 3 suitcases, two bags, a pram and 2 kids on public transport (yeah we are travelling ‘light’) we thought a cab would be a better idea. That was until our Spanish driver decided that he had got us close enough, so vomited his cab contents (ie us and our luggage) out into a narrow cobblestones street in the approximate location. While we ended up finding our accomodation about 300m away, that 300m felt like miles pushing a pram and dragging luggage across cobblestone streets. Obviously the Spaniards of yesteryear had greater considerations that pram wheels or Samsonite luggage cases when putting their road infrastructure together.
The tail end of our Seville visit was interesting. Feeling comfortable and adventurous we decided to hire some bikes and ride around town with the kids strapped on the back. Was all going well until our well planned ride ran directly into one of Sevilles many Easter processions, leaving our route blocked. An idea to just ‘head in the general direction of home’ saw us going in confusing loops until I bailed up a well dressed Spanish couple to help point us home. But our detour had pushed our ride out beyond Liv’s sleep time, and almost on cue at 3.30pm I saw her head drop limply to the side of the baby seat, and start bouncing around on the plastic side – the helmet came in handy after all. It was so sudden she looked like a baby JFK taken out by a second shooter in the grassy tapas bar. I don’t think it was her most comfortable sleep of the trip.
And that pretty much brought our Seville adventure to an end. We had ridden in cars, bikes, boats, horses and buses but if you ask the girls what they loved the most they say a random cow in a shop window beside our accomodation. Not sure they are enjoying the experience like we are. And if we can get them home without ingesting the equivalent of 38 packets of cigarettes we’ll be doing well here. Everyone smokes in Spain; wouldn’t surprise me to see a dog light up while chewing on a Schmacko. Reminds of that joke about what to do if your girlfriend starts smoking but given my mum sometimes read this, this probably isn’t the place to answer that one.
Anyway we are now in beautiful Ronda, where day 1 saw me attempting to translate ‘I’m sorry for knocking over your wine with my big arse’ into German. But more on that later..
Adios
Trent, Krystal, Emelia, Olivia and some wine stained pants
smallthoughts 