I’m shedding, I mean, writing to you from Spain. Seville to be exact. I am stuck in a small bag and it is hot as hell. She’s got the zipper closed on me so that I won’t be seen and immediately stored in Cargo where it smells like gasoline and is probably much hotter, not to mention traveling with all the luggage, most of which can kill me on impact. It will take us 20 hours total to get to France. Is she out of her fucking mind?
Seville was a great inspiration for her writing, so everyday I took double siesta. One for her and one for me as she revised an entire novel and completed another two mandatory documents for this publishing process she calls work.
We don’t do much exercise. It is very hot. Besides, I am losing all of my hair and this occupies most of my day, rubbing myself against the couch and shaking in the kitchen. I see her sweeping daily but bbbbaby she’s ain’t seen nnnuthing yet…
I do miss the yoga, but I am a bit glad that she leaves me home when she goes on her bike rides. The Sun in Seville shows no mercy. We attended a beach party the first weekend with a company called Planet Spain where I nearly died. The best part was the three-hour bus ride filled with loud music, and also non-stop volleyball, sangria, mojitos, and everyone fed me sausage, okay maybe I wasn’t going anywhere as long as they kept feeding me chorizo.
Anytime you leave an urban area in Spain there is nothing but rows and rows of beautiful sunflowers. I am sure that some of them were planted, but nature just pushes on. There are so many of them that at a glance without focus they look small despite their large circumferences.
Only 1 hr down in the 15hrs to Barcelona, before our five hour connection to Marseille. They perhaps have the best nickname for green in Spain. Maria is her name and she brings us together everyday. Perhaps one stoner can see the light in another stoner’s eyes or laugh or smile.
They don’t use dryers for their clothing and the hanging process is yet another form of everyday meditation like cooking and cleaning my hair everywhere.
Three hours down now, but we stop for 45 min. This bus is filled with Syrians. They speak a bit of Spanish and are bent on talking to us about Obama. I only understand Puta! She keeps saying Si, Si, Si. Make sure you ask for a whole sandwich because many places like to serve only half.
I shed stealthily. My room is small and my bed a single, what Americans foolishly call a twin. Everywhere you are in Seville you are outlined by orange trees, but they aren’t ripe. They’re lime size and color, but always the most deformed solo orange can be seen sleeping on the ground right under a tree that shows no signs of another ripe fruit. It is the strangest thing. It isn’t the same one I promise. I can tell, and these cauliflower ear style oranges are just so ugly. The apartment is situated on a street with many other buildings and between them is great space for my 5-yard sprint and chasing a long-haired Chihuahua that barely notices me. I also fancy the stream of ants everywhere, but who is picking the oranges. I must know.
Its one big party here in Seville. I’ve been smuggled into so many bars. People arrive to the café at around eight, drink a few café con leches, but always a beer or several before they leave the café around 12 or 1. They must sleep for a little, siesta’ing around the apartment and then do it again at around 8pm. Tapas consist of the usual fish meat and cheese selections, but everything here is decidedly better with mayo. I like the Roquefort cheese they drip over their meat. A video was taken of me as they smeared my nose with it. That was annoying, especially the second time, but it is so delicious. Every night is one big adventure. There are always tons of women wearing shorts that just don’t quite cover their ass cheeks. It is hot and perhaps it’s their best defense against swamp ass. I wouldn’t know.
Now having experienced two months in Europe, I can say that people here have no concern for things like cellulite or “abs.” They trust that who they are is enough, and nothing would stop them from drinking. Sure they wear jewelry, do their hair and make-up, but aren’t self-conscious/obsessed in any of the obvious American ways I have seen.
After a month in Portugal, and being forced to talk about Spain at great length in my visit there, I half expected discourse from Spaniards on their estranged relationship, but I was definitely misguided. Spain walked away from Portugal like I do from taking a poop: kicking dirt up to get speed and then zoom in the opposite direction. They just needed to move on and they have. They never mention Portugal, not the country, not the people, and most certainly not the language.
Not a bar or restaurant bathroom in Seville will ever have paper. This is why older men and women walk around the streets trying to sell you travel pack of tissues. They will say anything to get you to buy these tissues. Spanish itself is a rather easy language to learn. It isn’t very difficult to pronounce and conjugation is easy enough. However the people here refuse to at all costs say the “S” sound in their words, instead they have replaced it with a “TH.” Why would a whole nation want to seem as though they have a lisp? Perhaps lisps don’t have a presence in their genetics. Also, almost every female here wears eyeglasses, and men are hipster skinny, but there was this guy known as “Lolo,” I didn’t fancy him but he is the basic expression of sexy here.
Touch is really important to the Spanish as it should be for all humans and I will never introduce myself again without kissing both sides of someone’s face.
But there was this gem of a lady we met, and I do love cuddling with her.
This was our second beach trip, as there isn’t a beach in Seville at all. The Spanish love iced cream as much as Portuguese and there are always so many advertisements for ice cream in front of the bars and restaurants. But bars don’t play music! The make a clear distinction between discotheque and bar, but that’s no problem because you can easily pull out your phone and play music for the entire bar. No they don’t have a jack that you can plug into their speaker system. They don’t have a speaker system. What they give you is a very large glass or plastic container so that you can magnify the volume by playing with vibrations, more or less the same we do with our bodies in interaction.
They make the most out of their public parks and open spaces as all summer long they are changed into outdoor clubs, of course with outdoor beds and canopies.
The architecture is to die for, literally.
Avenue of the Delicias is lined with huge homes decorated and plaque’d with their respective countries and are perhaps empty save for the occasional visit from a diplomat. This might be the best occupation a person can try for. It is a small city, but don’t tell them that.
Most of the people that live in the flats there are students as they have a big University covering the city, but these are some of the most beautiful places a student can live. Fountains, Cathedrals, Trams, and Horse & Carriage are the standard for most cities, but they do it quite beautifully. However, their signature here is rooftops and terraces. You will not find a place that doesn’t have access to the outside, all the better for me to sunbathe in.