Seville Diary Pt. 2: The Ramblings of a Hungry, Leisure-Starved American
Written January 2023 via journal. Photos via my phone + disposable camera.
It’s my third day in Seville. I really need to keep working on my Spanish. Some interactions go excellently, others are spoiled by my asking of “Que?” or “Tu hablas ingles?” that makes me want to follow up with, ”How do you say “Sorry for being a huge dumbass” in Spanish?”. Restaurants have been the best places to practice. In one moment, I’m sweating and panicked wondering if I’ll pronounce what I want to say correctly. In the next, I’ve ordered something (sometimes not knowing entirely what it is) and I’m chowing down on some amazing food.
My gluten free diet has completely gone out the window. I’ve eaten more wheat in the last three days than I have in the last five years. So far there’s only been one bout of stomach sickness, but I’m sure more will come. I heard before traveling here that wheat in many parts of Europe is much more tolerable to digest for gluten-sensitive folk than wheat in the U.S., but if that fact alone isn’t enough to make you take a diet risk… have you seen the pastries and breads that they make here?! I don’t care if there’s rat poison in them, those beauties are going in my belly. Can’t be any worse than anything available for consumption back in the States. So new foods to try in Seville! The tortillas have been a favorite! Not Mexican tortillas, tortillas in Spain are like an omelet. The most common is a tortilla de patata, where potatoes are cooked into beaten eggs and fried in a skillet into a large golden-brown frisbee. My favorite by far is the tortilla de gamba. This one has caramelized onions and shrimp in it. I know it sounds like an odd choice of filling but let me tell you, it is amazing! Speaking of shrimp, the seafood here is off the charts. Being that the city is on a river and close to both the Atlantic Ocean and the Mediterranean Sea, this should come as no surprise. I’ve seen every variety of fish or sea-dwelling creature being served in the market. Tuna, salmon, whitefish, blackfish, anchovies, shrimp, octopus, shellfish, and even small sharks. In the Mercado de Triana, fish vendors have their spoils lined up like proud mothers. There were fish there that I couldn’t recognize, including one with a long body and teeth that put dogs teeth to shame. I went out for tapas last night and ordered fried cuttlefish.
This city is growing on me, and I’m starting to build a routine. Whereas I had no idea what to say or where to go three days ago, I am slowly learning how to get around. I wake up, prepare to leave the apartment, explore the city while trying to find a spot for coffee and one of those divine postres, go for a run, enjoy dinner, etc. It’s not a rigid schedule because roaming is the best part of traveling when you’re somewhere new. As long as I’m fed and feel safe, I’ll galivant for miles through the streets without a care in the world.
It feels like everything moves much slower. Meals are savored, especially when with friends and family, so when you’re seated at a table for a Spanish dinner expect to stay there for at least a couple hours. Also siesta is a thing here, so expect a lot of businesses and restaurants to be closed from 2:00-5:00 p.m. so workers can eat and rest. This is a great time to explore, make plans, or take a nap. Everything reopens around 6:00 or 7:00 p.m. and dinner is served around 8:00 p.m. I find these practices so interesting. The standard “9 to 5 job with a 20 minute lunch break” that I’m familiar with simply doesn’t exist here. I know it sounds like an easy concept, to try to slow down and enjoy your day, but sometimes in American culture you can get too caught up in work. Getting top of the class, getting the promotion, climbing the ladder of success and fortune. All of it is very fine and dandy, but there has to be some level of importance in sitting to watch the sunrise or getting yourself some ice cream. It seems most of the people here try to cherish their day, to enjoy little moments rather than rushing through yet another Tuesday. They don’t take each new day for granted the way I have. This might just be my perspective as an outsider, but many of the locals seem genuinely happy. They have a content and refreshingly casual attitude. Maybe it’s something that comes naturally to them. I constantly see people biking, walking, spending time with one another, reading in the parks, sitting on bridges, etc.
There has been a strange overcast on me during this trip. I know so many people who I know wish could go on a trip like this, who deserve a break. Plus back home I constantly feel like I’m juggling work, running, cleaning the house, taking care of the dogs, managing appointments, running a tight schedule, etc. When walking the streets here, sipping a cortado and admiring the sleepy river, I feel guilty. I am having an amazing time, but there is so much work to get done at home. I feel guilty that I cannot responsibly help people at work while I am here, but over and over again I can’t help but let the same mantra repeat in my head: it doesn’t matter. Not that helping people and supporting your family isn’t important. It’s the ego-driven, self-imposed people that come with my work that seem to irk me. There is so much more to life than pretending that these “problems” have any worth. The bartender’s smile last night, the lady who sold me one of her clocks, the man who shook my hand, being a part of the world. That’s far more impactful. Not crawling on the ground trying to beg and scrape for positive reinforcement. I know a lot of people that feel the same way.
I’m sitting in the laundromat waiting for my clothes to dry. I need to run soon, so all of my running shorts are getting washed. I think I’m going to get some garlic prawns next door first.
