Well, I no longer feel like Joseph K. More in control of going where I want to go instead of running around trying to have myself "arrested." You know?
I was in the shower a little while ago wondering where Sevilla's water comes from. Does it come up from the south--from the Straights of Gibraltar? It could be the same water Morocco drinks. Does it come from the north--near Madrid, following the same route we took today? Does it come from below us--from an aquifer or some ancient construct conceived of by an inventive genius I can imagine having leathery-tanned skin and an engineer's focus, eyes squinted from the sun and from the weight of ideas. Or is it from a river--like how we get our water at home? I was shaving my legs with the little bottle of Kiss My Face cream I keep in my bag and, since I always use the lavender kind, I thought, "I wonder if the scent of this will make me miss being home?" But I can't remember if it did because I started thinking of the conversation I'd had with the man on the late-night lobby shift downstairs. I said, "Hola. Necissito...mi...llave? por favor?" He then, obvioulsy impressed by my facility with the language, rattled off 45 seconds of friendly and totally incomprehensible Spanish as he handed me a key attached to a fat, inflated intertube with stick-on numbers. We both just looked at the key and laughed because, this is the key.
Eariler today we were picked up at the Sevilla airport and taken to our hotel, where we all promptly took a long, post-24 hours of traveling (flights/connections/running around airports) nap. I awoke to a little baby crying in the room next door. The mama was consoling the baby in Spainish and I thought... I'm in Spain! We are staying in the old district where geraniums and vines on balconies hang into cobblestone streets so narrow, you sometimes have to step into a doorway to let a car pass. We ate at a little restaurant that could have been transported from the lower east side of NYC just this morning, kitch and Scandinavian-modernity in tact. Our waitress had a fashionable haricut and a tight little shirt that said "Rock Star" on it in metallic lettering. She asked Girogio about our show tomorrow night but said she can't go because she'll have to work.
I was surprised to see how much things are the same in the bohemian communities wherever you go. The food and wine, however, was... way different. Richer. And the coffee was delilcious. I mean, it was a regular cup of coffee but it tasted like a secret recipe involving a seriously rare combination of ingredients passed down through traditional songs. For the main course, Giorgio and I had a fillet of fish with a tomato and bay leaf sauce spooned over the top and Ivan had roasted pork with a light fruit jelly. Then we all had a little chocolate mousse cake for dessert.
We walked over to meet everyone at the South Pop Festival that is already going on. We bumped into lots of people who spoke English well and even one other American from the festival. Then we walked around a little more before coming back to our little hotel. And now we are caught up. I'll post some photos tomorrow and some news on our trip to see the cathedral. I heard that Sunday is the big, opening processional to the cathedral for Holy Week.