It's not Alcatraz

Becca is in a coffeeshop downstairs writing postcards and sipping on coffee, while I hang in the Seville Internet Center. We´re across the street from the Cathedral, an imposing Gothic structure. It´s sunny and not quite hot yet, but getting there.

We arrived in Sevilla on Thursday after a good couple of days in Granada. We stayed at an awesome hostel in Granada, with mostly English-speaking young travelers. At 28, Becca and I were definitely among the oldest visitors, except for a hardcore California hippie mom traveling with her 19-year-old daughter. But all the 20-year-old guys had sexy accents, shaggy hair and tans, so we were pretty happy. The community-focused hostel sponsored a tapas tour of bars in Granada and cooked cheap dinner one night.  It was great, though it was very much a college dorm. I shared a bathroom with 12 other people, except I was missing the crucial shower flip flops from my dorm days.

While Granada was quaint and pleasant, I definitely like Sevilla more. The private shower ¨might have something to do with it. As does recovering from my first 2-days of travel crisis. It´s always exciting to find out your ATM card doesn´t work anywhere, and a long call to your bank provides no help whatsoever. Thank goodness for my parents and exciting money wiring technology.

Sevilla is bigger than Granada, and more familiar feeling. There is more to do. Like shop. There is little chance I am leaving this country without a pair of Campers. And we´ve already hit up H&M.

We haven´t just been shoppers though.  We´ve been to Alcazar, which I insist on calling Alcatraz. It´s an impressively large palace and gardens, with very hard to find bathrooms. We had fabulous dinner Thursday night at a Andalusian- Cuban fusion place, where we discovered the wonders of fried bananas in tomato sauce and that dehydration makes me feel sick. Then we had some beers on the street where everyone comes to drink.

We eat. A lot. Coffee and wine are regularly consumed. We walk. A lot. My feet are a comedy of soreness and inconveniently placed blisters. The new shoes I bought to alleviate this problem only added to it. But damn, they are cute.

Last night, Becca and I had dinner at a pizza joint in a 18th century Muslim bathhouse. We had fantastic white wine, for 5€. Afterward, we went to a bar known for its flamenco. It was an old coal yard and hidden in some alley. Then we drank Sangria at an outdoor cafe until 2 am. And got lost going back to the hotel. Apparently, booze impairs my map-reading skills.

Today we are going to the Art Museum and to explore another part of town. Right now, we´re waiting for my laundry to finish. Tonight we´re going dancing to dawn. Becca can´t leave here until we´ve stayed out all night at least once. Good thing I bought a cute dress to wear.

Monday, Becca heads home and I go to Salamanca, which is a small college city a couple of hours outside Madrid. I will hang out at coffee shops and wander around the campus. Now all I need to do is get in touch with the hotel I am staying at. The message I left yesterday said something like "My name is Kristine Coco. I would like a single room for Monday through Friday. I, er, uh, will called you in morning. Thanks."