Sevilla

My childhood memories of Seville were: orange trees, whitewashed walls, Moorish mosaic tiles and shady inner courtyards with fountains. It was all just so yesterday.








The cathedral, which started life as a mosque in the 12th century, only to be rebuilt by the Reconquista christians as the largest Gothic cathedral in the world (only the orange-tree courtyard and the minaret/belltower you can see above remain of the original). Columbus lies inside.







Nearby is the entrance to the Alcazar, Moorish palace. (Queen Isabella debriefed Columbus here after his New World discoveries)...






And from Islam it's only a few steps along to the old Jewish Quarter, Barrio Santa Cruz.


... famous for its narrow Kissing Lanes ...



Murillo is buried somewhere under the bricks here, his tomb lost.




Dinner and a glass of wine in Santa Cruz ...




Finally the sun is setting around 10pm, the streets emptied out now as it's dinner hour in Spain ...

El Mundial: Spain the world champions!

Last night we rolled down the dirt road from our house to the local village bar/restaurant, El Pellistre, to watch the world cup final.
The locals were already filling up the porch, draped in flags, wearing their national team shirts.


A TV screen mounted in a corner, above a couple of wine barrels labelled Pedro Romero- local bullfighting hero ...


Grabbing a table on the crowded, small veranda, we made our allegiance clear from the start (lest we be mistaken, God forbid, for Dutchies) ...


Some were already letting off fireworks - their optimism high before the match even started.
They had put their faith, after all, in Paul the psychic octopus who had already predicted victory for Spain ...



(The inscription reads: El pulpo Paul visita "El Pellistre"!)

Inside was a large room with air conditioning and another TV screen, but the real fun was out on the porch in the still scorching heat. Not only were the boys gathered, young and old ...



but whole extended families, grandparents and children ...



During that whole long match - and boy, was it long, with only near misses and no goals - their enthusiasm never wavered. They chanted, waved their flags and yelled Viva Espana. And guess what they were blasting away on, at every near-triumph or disaster? Vuvuzelas!

And then finally, the goal! From then on it was a blur of joy and noise ...






... helped on by a few supportive tourists ...


and champagne was on the house ...


And how did we feel? Happy for our compadres, but most of all proud to see our country's amazing feat in pulling off a stunning tournament.

Though personally, having idled away a pleasant half-hour this morning ranking the Spanish team on my desktop in order of hot, hotter and hottest, I do feel they could just have given Spain the cup ahead of time, purely on account of the sex appeal of their players.
In partial evidence, I give you ...


and ...

and OMG ...

Las vacaciones en España!

Arrived in Malaga this week and drove into deepest Andalucian countryside.
Spain is dry, brown and relentlessly hot - temps hovering around 41 degrees C.
Stunned by the heat, pale and flaccid after 3 years in the drizzly land of the Poms, we have only so far managed (other than our local supermercado) a trip to our nearest town, Ronda.






Historic Roman town and home to Spain's oldest bullfighting ring ...
Plaza de Toros ...



Little-used now, I'm glad to say - essentially a museum.
And a place where a girl can ride a horse with a hot (ha ha) caballero ...



Ronda, central site of the Spanish Civil War, is where Hemingway supposedly hung out, and the setting for 'For Whom the Bell Tolls'.





Oleander (I think) - the signature flower of southern Europe, grows like colourful weeds wherever you look ...



Wait - a smiling Buddhist monk is part of this picture?


Must be hallucinating. Time for rehydration with a cold cerveza ...