After a week of hardcore beach resort time, we headed inland and westbound to Seville.
Life felt like it was cut out of a Woody Allen film - of his European phase - and we were just another bunch of English speaking tourists, sight-seeing with our heavy machinery DSLR, marvelling at everything from the exquisite Alcazar to street side-orange trees so perfect they looked fake.
On New Years Eve, we met up with Pauline and her friend Juliet, who happened to be in Seville for the holidays. We ate grapes out of a tin at midnight on Plaza Nueva as people set off impromptu fireworks around us. We walked around Seville wearing flashing Mickey Mouse ears, while being proposed to by drunken strangers (and saying “yes!”) and drinking champagne with a group of Spanish girls who knew little English.
Exhaustion kicked in, between intermittent bursts of energy. Things went wrong in the best kind of ways, and each of us took turns in having breakdowns which we would laughed about hysterically after the fact.
In short, Seville was our version of the Hangover.
Cathedral.
The Alcazar. Not nearly are grand as the Alhambra in Granada, but of a slightly different style and much less packed.
Plaza Espana.
There was a large, open, flat surface. There was a fountain in front of a landmark. So naturally, I did the only thing any self-respecting teenybopper would have done in the situation: I JUMPED.
Lauren did not wish to be airborne.
Anny and I lacked synergy.
But we got there in the end. Even if I looked like a frog.
Sunset spammage.
xx
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