As I realised I just have been to Sevilla 5 times within 3 weeks, I was still happy (and needless to say somewhat exhausted) to go again. My friend was leaving for Italy the next day and we needed to get her dress fitted before Feria (surprise, surprise, another party in Spain!). After that, I'd go back home and she would spend the night there to catch an early flight.
The night before we left, my friend had dyed some of her clothes pink and was in a slight state of panic as she had to get her stuff packed - and dry. Nevertheless, the morning we were heading out to Sevilla, she was ready and we showed up early to find the bus with the engine on public display. Meaning...we wouldn't be leaving anytime soon.
Unfazed, we decided to get some coffee and wait for whatever would happen. A point of view I seemed to have come to adopt while living in Spain. 'See what happens'.
An American older man addresses us, saying we would have plenty of time to take a coffee, as it was obvious the bus wouldn't leave anytime soon. Turns out, he is my neighbour. He lives only 5 houses away. It also turned out he's extremely talkative to a point were both Paige and me wanted some quiet time as she turned to her laptop and me to my book. He didn't seem to notice.
After arriving in Sevilla and saying goodbye to Sam the Fireman (no joke) we got on to grab a cab and to our appointment with our diseñadora (designer).
Paiges dress is simply stunning. It is not a traditional flamenco dress, but it has most of it's features. However, you can both wear it for Feria as for weddings or other special occasions. She fell in love with in the first time she saw it and it's absolutely perfect on her.
When I talked to my mum today she mentioned that my dad was concerned about the dress I had bought. "Does it really has all the ruffles and colours and what not more?" Yes it really has. And it's gorgeous. I have designed it myself, and with some suggestions of the designer, made it to a traditional yet modern flamenco dress. White, black and yellow are the colours. I just love it. It's heavy, but it fits like a glove! I'll have to send a picture of the dress to my dad, and see what he says then.
By the time we were done, and absolutely starving, we went for a fantastic lunch and quite a bit healthier than the previous meals we devoured during Semana Santa.
Simply a lovely day, including a frantic hair-flower search and an impossible to localize El Corte Inglés. It's official...I'm the worlds worst city tourguide!
Soon it was time to say goodbye and got a cab to her hotel. I had until then not yet decided if it was better to stay for another 20 minutes or just continue with the cab. I ended up deciding the last. The cab driver, however, wasn´t pleased as there is some stop and pay thing happening where it is appearantly custom to inform him about a drop-off and go-further drive. How the heck should I know these things? I don't get cabs everyday. He starts complaining about that, explaining me he'd have to charge me the starting fee, while stopping the car and turn the meter on and off again. I make a joke about the economic crisis, which he didn't take that well. Hey I really don't care about paying an Euro more! But...we end up chatting quite pleasantly about Semana Santa, La Feria, Americans, and the fact that he spend his summers in Rota, where I live. That seemed to create a bond and he offers a truce by giving me a discount. (I REALLY don't fret about paying the goddam extra euro). We end up at the station as I need to take the bus back home. Another problem...He cannot change from 50 euro. God...at this point I just want to be home, because I'm just really tired and he asks me if I could be so kind to change it somewhere. I do, but not before making clear that I AM taking my Feria dress with me. Absolutely NO WAY I'm leaving that behind. I get the note changed, everybody is happy and I wait for the bus clutching my beloved dress.
When I get off the bus, Miguel hasn't arrived and a man comes up to me asking for a sigaret. I don't smoke (anymore). He realises quickly I'm not from here and tries to confuse me by asking fast questions and repeating them (maybe a demented ex-cop). Lucky for me, I answer all of them just as fast and in perfect good Spanish and am not fazed by his attitude. He gives up and I wish him good night.
Why do (older) men in Spain treat women this way? That's how I feel when I am alone. Like I am a target or something. Maybe I look too sweet and easy to take advantage off. Or maybe I was just too tired.
I secretly curse Miguel for not showing up earlier, but it's not his fault and when he arrives we go to his mum for diner. Two glasses of wine later, I'm happy as Larry and dog-tired. I thank her from the bottom of my heart for the beautifull dress she sponsored and it almost makes her cry. I just love her.
The day is over and I can finally, finally spend some quality time alone with my guy. We played the X-box untill 2 in the morning.
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