Life: Idiotropic

Granada to Seville, just under 4 hours.  Getting into the center of Seville and finding our apartment among the web of overly narrow one-way streets, another 45 minutes.

The easy drive between these Andalucian cities gently undulates with the road through a olive covered countryside as far as the eye can sea.  In and around rolling hills and over mountains, both olives and road ramble on.  It's beautiful.  I saw one vineyard, a few small towns, castle ruins sprinkled here and here, but mostly single white homes in the center of acres upon acres of olive trees.  One here.  Another on a mountain in the distance. 

There's something special about olive trees.  The thick trunks, silvery leaves, and squatty size aren't grand or magnificent like my west coast redwoods, but like the old wrinkled tortoise, there is something dear and wise in these ancient trees.  I'd love to sit under one and listen to the stories it could tell.

At 1:30 I picked up my cell phone and, per the directions in our rental information, called Jose to let him know that I'd be there at 2. 

     "Um, we're eating lunch right now, couldn't you come at 2:30?"

     "What are we supposed to do?  Drive around in circles for 30 minutes?"  I was more sarcastic than I'd intended.  But really.  Traveling for 4 hours in a car with 4 kids.  We were there to see Seville and wanted to get out and get settled.  A bit of verbal tennis, then I agreed to call when we arrived.

30 minutes later and sure enough, we drove around in circles for another 30+ minutes.  Not that we planned to, but there is this ring road in Seville that only goes in one direction.  The lane that goes in the opposite direction (the direction that our GPS had hoped we'd take) is quite clearly marked "for buses and taxis only."  So we got to Seville before 2, ended up in a bus lane by accident, got out of that lane, and drove in a path not unlike the cue ball in a fast game of pool.  Our apartment was in the Alameda district in the historic center of town, within the old walls that still circle much of the center, flanked on one side by a river, and within a labyrinth of one way streets.  At one point, I seriously thought that we'd never actually reach it by car and would have to walk in.  As it was, the apartment stood on the narrowest portion of the street where no car could possibly park (unless you're a bakery delivery truck who doesn't care about blocking traffic), so when we did arrive, we parked 3 blocks up on the sidewalk on Calle Relator and I went to call and get the keys while Kirk waited with the girls.

A heavily built girl (by Spanish standards) in her mid twenties drove up on a moped, the only thing that could get anywhere quickly in this neighborhood, parked on the sidewalk, pulled out a set of keys, then showed me as she opened up all three locks - one for the front door on the street, another for the iron gate that led to the courtyard, then the third, trickiest for our apartment door on the top floor - the only apartment on top with a huge private balcony still wet from this morning's rain.  She spoke near perfect English having spent a year in Chicago with a school program.  Once I got the preliminary information, she left and I ran out to meet Kirk, and enlist the girls in hauling all of our luggage from the car up into the apartment.  The girls then stayed behind while Kirk and I searched for a parking garage.  28 Euros/day.  Blech.  I need to start factoring parking rates into lodging costs.

Though I enjoy cozy days at home with no outside obligations and time to tend to things here, while on vacation, I am fairly tireless.  Sitting makes me crazy and if allowed, I could go from morning to night walking and photographing with only brief breaks for a coffee or a muffin  - just enough to keep me going.  Of course, this drives even Kirk crazy and isn't possible with the kids.  There is a balance that frustrates me, but is necessary with "family travel."  Still, today I'd spent almost 5 hours in a car and it was time to move.  The kids had spent 5 hours in the car and wanted to relax.  So, they watched Brady Bunch on Tiara's laptop together and Kirk and I took off for a couple hours of exploring together, something that we don't have the luxury of doing very often alone. 

The Plaza de Hercules lies at the end of our Calle Relator, a large plaza lined with trees and today, with "art" booths as well.   Shiny metal tables and chairs fill the wide pedestrian spaces outside the restaurants surrounding the plaza running together so it's only by the menu that you can really tell which waiter will come to you.  Almost 6, the tables were full for purely social reasons.  A drink, a small plate of olives.  That's 6pm fair.

Within the plaza stood two long rows or white tented booths for the fair.  One large tent had low embroidered and leather chairs and tiny tables, hookah pipes and traditional teas.  A few played loud music.  Mostly, it was disappointing.  When I think of art or crafts, I want something hand made.  And even more so, I want it hand made by an artist sitting there selling it herself.  Handmade by an underpaid weaver in Africa is not the same.  After Granada's Albaicin, I'd seen enough of this in a more authentic setting anyway.  Most everything in this fair fell under the "overpriced Moroccan import" category.

A nice stroll, a survey of menus, two rumbling tummies, a decision made and we stopped at a darling little red building with pastas on the menu.  Looked nice and reasonable.  Our hunger made us forget the hour.  Ugh.  6pm.  No food for us and no food to-go for the kids as we'd hoped.  Dos cafes con leche, a nice conversation, and a time to relax in Seville's Alameda with the band playing on the stage in the background just far enough away that it added more than distracted from an already perfect atmosphere.  Two storks flew overhead. 

We stopped at a tiny overcrowded grocery for laundry soap, a delicious smoked salami (best I've had in Spain), and a few other basics before heading to the apartment.  The shelves inside were abnormally tall and horribly packed and each aisle was wide enough for one size 10-12 woman to walk through.  No bigger.  The counter was so crowded it was hard to figure out where to pay.   An Asian couple stood answering questions and checking people out as quickly as the spoke.  Their daughter stood by the bins of candy picking out pieces for a customer.   I tried to hear the Spanish through the heavy Chinese accent.

The apartment is very nice, clean, and well decorated.  One of the two couches upstairs unfolds into a double bed.  A small, but well supplied kitchen and dining area are included in the large upstairs room.  Down the narrow marble stairs are two nicely decorated bedrooms each with their own bathroom.  It was a good size for us - quite enough for 3 nights.

It had been unseasonably cold in Seville and stone floors don't insulate much.  Instead the cold cuts right through and it's so difficult to warm up.  Kirk turned on all three space heaters to try to warm the place up.  I went downstairs to start the shower so that the three younger girls could get clean and jammied.  The water was hot, Elise was ready to get in, then the place went black.  Downstairs, the metal shades were down, so everything was completely dark with no outside light getting in.  Elise was scared.  I turned off the water and waited until Kirk found the box and turned the lights back on.  Tiara was cooking pasta.  I turned the water back on and got Elise in.  The water wouldn't get hot.  It was barely warm, so the poor littles all took very quick, but fairly cold showers.  The electricity went off again.  Then on.  Kirk was getting quicker at finding the box.  3 minutes later it was black again.  Then a fourth time.   The television had been on.  We turned that off.  Turned off the shower, the stove, one of the space heaters.  I called.  Surely we should be able to have heat and cook at the same time?  An apartment for 6 should allow showers and cooking at the same time. 

An electrician came with the man who was in charge of repairs.  They experimented.  We turned things on and sure enough, the switch flipped and it was black again.  But there's nothing really wrong.  We just can't run too much.

Here in Spain, people sign usage contracts for electricity.  It's capped at how much you can use at one time.  If you go over that usage, it automatically shuts off.  In this small apartment, there is rarely a need for more electricity than the cap they have established, but it is not enough to run heaters and any other item.  Lights, ok.  TV, ok.  But we must choose between warm water, heaters, and cooking.  Laundry, forget about it.  Microwaves?  Only if nothing else is on.  A crazy first night in Seville.  But only for us flustered adults.  The kids sat cuddled together watching Brady Bunch on Tiara's laptop thankful for a charged battery.