Showing posts with label cycling. Show all posts
Showing posts with label cycling. Show all posts

Friday, 6 February 2015

January in Seville

The gardens of the Alcazar in Seville

January has always been a fairly pointless month for me.  Christmas and New Year celebrations out of the way, the next thing to look forward to is Spring.  Unfortunately, it's still winter, so you have to put up with crap weather and no festivals to look forward to.  That's what January has always been to me - a month to "put up with".

14 months ago I started a relationship and I put this theory to my, at the time, new girlfriend: that January was pointless.  As her and her sister's birthdays were in January, she didn't quite agree.  So now it was time to reassess.

One thing that changed for January is that it is now a time when I go on holiday because it's her birthday, which means there is something very much to look forward to.

Last year was Vienna.  Snow laden, it was extraordinarily beautiful.  Palaces, theatres, monuments, there is so much historical opulence to take in.  To the degree that frankly, it feels like they're taking the piss a bit.  It's like "yeah, we get it, you have nice buildings, just give it a rest already".

Well this year we went to Seville.  Frankly, it's also a bit silly.

From arriving and walking the streets from the bus stop looking for our hotel, there was a lot to take in.  Whilst yes, palace's are a feature, more impressing is the river, endless churches and ornate gardens.

The hotel we stayed at was the Boutique Hotel Moro.  Highly rated by travellers, this is a good budget hotel with uniquely decorated rooms with full facilities set around a pleasant, tranquil courtyard.  A bonus as well was that if you booked direct through their website you got extras included such as breakfast, use of bikes whenever you wanted, and use of their roof top jacuzzi.

The hotel was based in the Barrio Santa Cruz part of Seville.  The Moorish influence is certainly present in this maze of tiny, winding streets.  Somewhere you can get lost in, whether you want to or not.  Seriously, I don't think we ever made it back to the hotel the same way twice!

We were in very close proximity to one of the main landmarks of Seville, the Cathedral.  The third largest church in the world, this is a significant building.  If anything, it's too big.  When you see it from any angle there is so much going on.  It's impressive but also a bit of a mess at the same time.

Part of the Cathedral is the Giralda Tower.  This was originally a minaret built to be part of a Mosque.  Seville was the centre of a civilisation where Muslims, Christians and Jews lived in peace together for hundreds of years.  Don't worry though, some Christians fucked it up.  Cheers guys.


Cathedral and the Giralda Tower

We had arranged a guide to show us round the Cathedral and the Alcazar, the close by royal palace.

British colonialism has left behind a bloody history of barbarism and exploitation.  However, one good thing out of this is that if you are an English speaker you can expect to travel practically anywhere in the world and be able to speak in your own language.  Hurrah!

Seriously, we just learn how to say "hello" and "thank you" in the native tongue just out of sheer politeness rather than any necessity.  The tourist centres of Spain certainly fit in to that mould, but Seville is different.  In Seville they speak their own language, and that's it.  Of course plenty speak some English, but expect to do some work to be understood.  This is no bad thing of course.

Menu's are available in English, but you will usually struggle if you have any specific questions about any of the dishes if you don't speak Spanish.  I will go as far as to say that if you have any specific dietary requirements at all, perhaps it's best to avoid.  It's hard to get across the question "does this contain wheat" with just hand gestures! 

Our guide was a very pleasant chap, but to say we had paid for a service his English wasn't great.  That's fine, but it does mean I can't really explain intricate historical details about the city because I just don't know them.  Go on Wikipedia, that's what I'd do.

He also had the laugh of a psychopath.  He has killed before, I am sure, and will probably kill again.  However, the love he had for his home city was certainly infectious.

And understandable.  Taking the bikes out one day we went through the Maria Luisa Park.  A large and gorgeous park, this was the centrepiece of the 1929 American/Spanish exposition.  Celebrating their relationship with America, the exposition was designed to showcase Spain, and Seville, to the world.

As it was about the relationship with America, all the American countries were invited to build Pavilions as part of the exhibition.  The delicate pretty buildings do not feel out of place at all in the park, and give a sense of living history that can still be enjoyed today.

An alternative to this is the site of the 1992 Exposition, which lies to the North on the other side of the City.  It's an alternative, because it's a dump.

The exposition's theme was the "age of discovery".  Many countries contributed to the exposition with it's themes around Science and technology.  Today, however, it's a mess.  Some of the buildings are used by Universities and industry, but many just lie empty.


Expo '92 as it is now

Overgrown with weeds, this is a sorry looking, albeit fascinating, site.  Like gaining access to a ghost town, you almost expect to look through a window and see a table set with dinner that has been left uneaten for two decades.

Over 40 million visitors were attracted by the exposition that year, which means it was an extraordinary success.  It's just a shame it's legacy doesn't live up to that of the 1929 expo in terms of beauty.

January, as it turns out, is an odd time to visit Seville.  The city is at it's coldest and quietest.  We still got a few nice sunny days where it went up to 19 degrees, so that was certainly an improvement on England.

A constant theme was walking past so many tapas bars to see the only occupants being a bored member of bar staff on their phone.

Deciding on a special meal one night me and Sally, dressed up, went to a nice restaurant which was particularity known for it's paella.  Service was not a problem as we were literally the only people in there all night.

We had a waiter who was never more than a few feet away, apart from when you heard a huge cheer from the kitchen where he would nip off quickly.  We found out Seville were playing that night in the Copa del Rey.  He gave us a drink on the house each on the night because they were so glad we were there so they didn't get too bored!

On the last night I surprised Sally by moving us to a 5 star hotel.  This was quite the experience, much of which you might expect.  What I didn't expect was a free bar that you could help yourself too, which included Moet champagne, sherry, etc.

An indicator that we are not used to this level of service was that we both stock piled booze, so much so that I was pouring away a number of glasses of champagne the next morning.  I think we worried we would be found out as the working class scum that we are and booted out!


Just one week in Spain had this effect on Sally

That night we went out on a wander and found a Jazz club.  A theme of the trip to that point had been that most entertainment wasn't on as it was the quiet part of the year.  Here we found a great quartet playing and also, after time, discovered that we were sitting next to a guy who was originally from Devon.

The quartet also included a very good young clarinettist, and as that is my instrument, I was very happy.  He even spoke some English as well, so we had a very good geeky conversation about playing the clarinet afterwards.

Whilst many things are hard to translate, music is universal.  It left me feeling bad that I hadn't played my clarinet in ages.  Perhaps I should get it out of the case soon, and just play thinking about wandering through the streets of Seville with the woman I love, without a care in the world.

Friday, 15 August 2014

Getting in the saddle

The mad bastards

It’s an usual taboo, but one I must confess to.  I have managed to get in to my 30s without being able to ride a bike.

Apart from being toilet trained and learning how to walk, there are few expectations of an adult more universal than being able to ride a bike.  Even if you don’t have one it is expected that you could ride one if you choose.  After all, “you never forget”.

Of course, I did try to learn, and the important thing is that I was able to swerve to avoid the car, but my muscle memory involved in braking wasn’t quite there yet, so I hit a curb and flew over the handle bars.  One broken arm later and I gave up the idea of ever learning to ride a bike.

This is a concept I have been perfectly happy with, especially when in my twenties I learnt how to drive.  The car is a wonderful concept.  Unlike a bike it has a roof, a radio, and heating.  Added to that it is also entirely impossible to fall off the bloody thing!

However, times change.  I started a relationship at the end of last year with a wonderful woman who decides she wants the best for me.  Turns out, that includes getting me to ride a bike.  Despite my protestations, she was determined that she would teach me.

She had me riding up and down her street as she held my seat for balance.  An image immediately recognisable to all parents, made absurd by the fact that I’m not a child but instead a 6 foot tall man, with a bald head and a beard.  To add to the absurdity, I was learning using her bike, which is only a 16 inch frame.  The only way I could look more physically comical would have been by wearing clown shoes.  In this scenario she looked more like my carer than my girlfriend.

As it should be

And yet, with plenty of patience, she manages to get me cycling.  The thought of cycling on roads still worries me though.  Parks and pathways near her home have only the danger of social embarrassment.  Roads, with 4x4s, BMWs, and other assorted wankers present the very real threat of death!

My fear is in no way abated knowing that the only thing I have to warn drivers and other road users of any impending peril on my behalf is a tiny bell.  The sound it emits is less likely to make people think danger is afoot than to think their microwave meal is ready.  I’m thinking my head is about to be split open like a brick dropped on a cantaloupe melon from 20 foot, whilst around me people think their chicken Korma is ready.

But Sally finds a solution to this, by booking us in to the Manchester Sky Ride.  At this event certain road are closed off to provide a 12.5km route through the city centre just for cyclists.  Free from the worry of cars I am able to cycle along at my own pace with Sally alongside me through the city centre itself.

Passing The Etihad stadium (AKA the council house), Piccadilly station and the Town Hall I gain in confidence monumentally and start to really feel comfortable with my new bike, purchased merely days before the event.  It was a signal of commitment on my behalf to buy this bike, and one that has been justified because now, with a huge dollop of help from my better half, I now feel that I can say yes, of course I can ride a bike.

Ready for the Sky Ride