gofarther.me

Did we walk or did we stroll? It took four and a half hours. I think I prefer strolling. It’s true that we walk everywhere–that’s why we rented a centrally located apartment in the old town; however, today we strolled. Yep, we strolled.

We strolled through neighborhoods we had never traversed before–narrow passageways where the brilliant sun on this magnificent day could not penetrate, small balconies almost touching the wall on the opposite side of the “street.” No cars here–two people can barely stand side by side. And then suddenly, an opening and a small plaza over which towers a stately church, and, opposite, a cafe with chattering people enjoying company with friends.

We strolled wide avenues with busy traffic and large round-abouts centered with great fountains, one tall and tiered, another with water jets and another with fine spray and another and another–this is a city of fountains. To one side, a city park. The flowers are beginning to bloom and we realized that, in Seville, spring had sprung. And another fountain around a dignified statue of someone historically important.

We strolled the Seville World Exposition site, from the early nineteen hundreds. It has a wow factor, stunningly beautiful, and the Spain of your imagination. Horse-drawn carriages on the grand plaza and self propelled water craft in the canals along with tandem bicyclers bring joyful activity to the scene.

We strolled to the Santa Justa Train Station. It it large, and airport like, with display screens and restaurants and rent a cars offices and shops, and it is busy. The light-filled atrium is a comfortable place to stop and sit a spell.

We strolled home to our apartment through the cathedral square–it was open and people were flowing into its cavernous depths. I entered. The great organ was playing and worship was about to begin. Winding my way through the naves I came upon the worshippers and a soloist singing a beautiful refrain. And I paused to remember friends at home who were lifting their voice to God as well.

Kathy and I loved the stroll. WEG

We need to go to the market down the street for some groceries. Because it is so close, we get food we want for the day. Or, we might just decide to eat Tapas–there are so many kinds, you would have trouble eating the same one in a month, unless you found a favorite must-have. Tapas are like big appetizers and/or hors d’oeuvres with meats or vegetables of all kinds mixed in interesting and tasty ways. You order two or three at most, and you have a big meal–most people stand at high tables to eat rather than sit–cheaper on the menu in some places, and that gives folks an opportunity to move around and visit–my kind of thing–I think I did that before tapas style became the rage.

Kathy and I made the right decision, for us anyway, to spend significant time in one place at a time, putting sight-seeing and travel secondary to experiencing life in a new place. A young woman here in Seville at the market we frequent now knows me and laughs because she has to ask for my passport when I use my credit card–policy–and we both know by now that I am who I am. It’s that knowing smile when she really doesn’t look at the passport but holds it in her hand, since it is policy, after all. I think she is a sanguine in personality like me and, for sanguines, policy really doesn’t matter that much in life. It’s more like, get the job done fast and efficiently and don’t let the rules get in the way. The chestnut-roasting guy on the corner knows I want the dos Euro amount for a snack. He is a cheerful guy, every once in a while shouting out a short sales pitch, and his roasting mechanism is cool–a home made metal cone on a small charcoal grill on which the chestnuts rest directly on the charcoal while roasting. Since chestnuts are so sweet, the smoke coming out of the cone is pleasant, like a sweet cigar. The chestnuts come out charbroiled and easy to peal. Even if you leave some shell on one, it is a pleasant added crunch. We have loved buying bread in a small, out of the way, bakery on a stroll–it’s organic and heavy and grain-filled. The owner says it’s “muy bien” and I whole-heartedly agree as I eat a piece in our apartment with European butter and blueberry spread. This will be our bakery while we are here. And all of this just steps from our apartment without ever having to get in a car. This is what I pictured this year to be. Thank you God for allowing it to be so, during this time. WEG

2/1/13

Long before there was a Paula Deen, our dear, sweet Arleah Hillegeist said something to the effect, “If all else fails, just add butter.” I’ve done that consistently over the 30 or so years since I heard her say that. Kathy and I have always bought no salt butter at the best price we could find it. At Costco, and then in grocery stores, I saw the Irish butter called Kerrygold–aptly named since it takes your gold to pay the steep price. At four times the price of common butter, my frugal German upbringing forbade me to purchase it. I must admit, however, every time I passed it by, I dreamed about it at night. At the Seville market we frequent, looking for butter, there it sat in the case, right beside a Spanish butter named Puleva. I was happy to note that the Irish brand was only about 30 cents more than the Spanish brand. I suppose with both countries being a part of the European Union, it does make a difference in cost. This my conscience could handle.

I bought both. Now the taste test. Yep, price in this case means better butter. Here’s the kicker: both are better than the butter we can get at home. Spanish wins in cost and Irish wins in smooth creamy taste. Both are more than good enough for me. Just call me the gourmet critic. WEG

January 31, 2013

It was on sale at the market in Seville, and it beckoned to me. Why not romanticize the bedroom and put in a soft candle, I mused. The price of a small candle seemed high at $8.50, but tolerable at half that price on sale, and it smelled like vanilla. What a nice surprise for Kathy! I could not understand any of the Spanish language label; no matter, I had my candle. A candle is a candle, right?

The surprise was not for Kathy, but for me. Once lit, the result was more fit for a brothel than a pastor’s bedroom. The candle turned different colors, filling the bedroom first with red, then green, then purple, then blue, then yellow, then orange and on and on and on. How can they make it work like that? There was no off switch.

Wow, imagine my surprise when Kathy came in and said she liked it! Wonders in Spain never cease to amaze me. WEG

I didn’t know it would be so hard to buy milk products in Spain. The milk comes from Austria in non-refrigerated cartons with a pull tab at the top. That is interesting. We can do without milk, but cream is another thing. Understand, this is a huge market–no staff we could find can speak English and, in this instance, pointing does not work, so we laboriously went down the aisles looking for cream, not once, but three times–no cream. Back to the apartment to figure out the right words to say. Once back in the store, I find a friendly stocker and say ,”Crema.” He speaks to me in many Spanish words and I say, “English,” and he responds, “No.” I say, “Crema por cafe,” as I made a drinking gesture. He smiled and signaled for me to follow. I did, and he took me to the liquor area of the store to the coffee liqueur. Yes, it is a coffee with cream. Wanting to be polite, I said, “Gracias,” picked up a bottle and went on. I’ll tell you, it is the best cream I’ve ever drank.

By the way, Kathy found real cream amongst the yogurt. Four dairy cases of yogurt, one, yes one small carton of whipping cream. I told her, she has to drink her cream and I’ll drink mine. WEG

I like surprises, and I know some people don’t, but I can tell you this–the surprises in Seville are good. Around every corner is something new and different, it seems. City plazas or squares, pocket parks, narrow alleyways that lead to amazing outdoor/indoor restaurants, bubbling fountains, statues or other artwork on columns, flower-planted courtyards, tree-lined walkways, beautiful tile/brick/rock streets with wonderful shops lining the sides, ancient walls with ancient lamps/lights, towers and more towers, musicians playing and setting moods, crowded lanes and then no one were discoveries just today in the neighborhood of our apartment–I cannot wait to venture out farther, taking the advice of this blog, go farther.

By the way, we are only 60 steps from the side entry of Seville’s largest department store from our apartment entry. El Carte Ingles is five floors and three buildings of super, super store. It is part Target, part Macy’s, part Nieman-Marcus, and part Kroger–part Target, because it has merchandise for the everyday person; part Macy’s, because it has large department store items; part NM, because it has high end designer boutiques scattered throughout and part Kroger, because it has a gigantic grocery with a gourmet store within the store. Did I mention that the side entry is only 60 steps from our apartment? I hid the credit cards and money from Kathy. It is not an exaggeration to say that there are over 300 other stores within 10 minutes’ walk of our apartment. We will not experience them all, at least I won’t–can’t speak for my wife–I won’t get past the pastry shops. WEG

There it was, the picture in a fourth grade boy’s mind come to life–the banner! Raised by Ferdinand III in 1248 over Seville, the capital of Andalusia in a campaign to drive the Islamic Moors/Arabs from Iberia, it now lay encased in glass near a side altar in the magnificent Seville Cathedral. I had read about the reconquest of Spain by Christian forces and it had captivated my mind. The image of the battle banner being hoisted over the city was in a recessed corner of my mind, but never forgotten. Today, what was once a distant thought became reality in that ancient piece of cloth. I do not know God’s economy of time, but I was impressed that for centuries Christianity was under Islamic dominion in this part of the world and then arose to once again flourish. The banner is proof. I stood in awe! WEG

We decided on Seville for a “headquarter’s city” because, as a young boy in grade school I had read about the fascinating history of the area and, since then, wanted to visit it. Wow,,,double wow…triple wow! As soon as we arrived, it was amazing. Palm trees caught attention for height, and orange-laden trees lined the streets where old Spanish architecture predominates. Our apartment is on a narrow, stone-paved, pedestrian-only street in the middle of everything. Within two minutes are dozens of restaurants: in fact, right next door is a pastry and ice cream shop that sells sandwiches. Within three minutes’ walking are major department stores, boutiques, and “mom and pop stores” of every description, including a market from which we purchased our groceries. (Forty kinds of honey, 46 kinds of sardines, over 200 kinds of cheese–I stopped counting–and 26 kinds of cured ham hanging by the bone caught my eye.) A major city square nearby invites a stroll with its open air market. Major historical landmarks are within a six minute walk on cobble stone lanes lined with orange trees, now fully fruited.

As I type, ancient church bells clang. When we emerged from our apartment to find a place to eat, we were enthralled by a stirring military band majestically marching in procession behind a statue of the Christ Child on a silver (not painted) platform surrounded by candles and bouquets of roses. The platform bearers and musicians were dressed in black uniform. We can hardly soak it all in, but we have a month to try! God be praised! WEG

January 25, 2013

Today was bucket list day in Madrid. We spent much of the day at the great Museo National Del Prado where we viewed masterpieces by Goya, El Greco, Velasquez, Titian and on and on. My head is spinning with intriguing information. For instance, in Tintoretto’s Christ Washing the Disciple’s Feet, the perspective changes as you walk from side to side while viewing the painting. I marvel at such mastery of art. Most of Goya’s dark period paintings are at the Prado, a time when his anger at the King caused some mental instability and his paintings turned dark and morbid. It is so fascinating to view the politics of the day through the eyes of the painter.

Kathy and I love museums. This was a great day in one of the world’s finest.

The Museo Del Prado

I knew octopus and squid were important to Spanish and Portuguese cuisine and the first time I saw it on a menu, I ordered it. Really good! Kathy and I have eaten in two Spanish sit down restaurants–the hotel suggested them to us as serving authentic Madrid food. Here is what we have learned so far–1. the food is excellent; 2. the wait staff is solicitous–one brought us coffee liquor as an after dinner drink on the house; 3. you eat dinner after 7:00 p.m. at the earliest–the hotel restaurant doesn’t open till 8:30; 4. the food comes in huge quantities–you will not leave hungry; 5. the food definitely is different than anything we are used to eating in restaurants–i.e. the super crusty bread is served with a type of blue cheese and cured pepperoni to spread instead of butter; 6. there is no rush to get you out the door–graceful, kind and slow; 7. we are loving the Spanish experience. WEG