We wondered if the bar would be open for us to grab our bikes and go, but no worries. By the time we showed up with our bags there were already people in the bar, shouting at each other as before. When Dodie wanted to ask me to hand her the handlebar bag, I couldn't hear her over the din. Sometimes in such circumstances we try shouting as well, but not this time. It takes too much energy, unless you are a trained shouter.
We made it out of the bar and were soon in the peaceful countryside.
Rather than take the trouble of plotting a way into Seville on our own, we decided to simply use the track given to us by the Classens, showing how they did it. We would get on board with them at San Lucar la Mayor, so we only had to make our way down to there. There were several towns on the way, like . We appreciated these as we went, but now were not seeking out the downtowns or the churches.
The land and the road were the primary focus of our morning ride. We were really impressed, and were saying that this route should be some sort of named and famous thing, rather than just an anonymous run into town.
We were expecting to see oranges at Seville, but what we mainly passed this day were olives. 'We understand when we are looking at carefully pruned apples, but olives not so much. Still it is clear that the olives here are very carefully tended.
When we got to San Lucar, we found the bit we were traveling through to be rather busy and rough, and the A-472 was not looking very appealing. So we were glad to the Classens in hanging a right and going down through the town. We were glad, that is, until we came to the road totally barricaded. We stood there and stared for a fairly long time. The thing is, barricades often do not phase us, but they had done this one up to make it clear it was serious. There was even an electric fence warning, and a symbol denoting no people allowed, not just no bikes or cars. A we stood there, a driver arrived on the scene. have been having more trouble with Spanish here than in Mexico, and basically can not make a word people are saying. Yet the driver and us managed to agree that going back through town to get on the A-473 as a by-pass would not be a good idea. Rather, he indicated what looked like a private laneway, and had us understand that this would be a way through. He backed this up by driving along the lane, discussing it with a lady living nearby, and motioning us to follow. He then guided us along, to an intersection where he left us with some last minute instructions about how to go.
Dodie always has an eye out for storks, but I have stopped photographing them, unless there is something special. Dodie claimed the nest below had a baby stork. Maybe.
Just being on the Classens' track did not make the ride easy or obvious. There were bikeways, that came and went, or devolved into dirt, there was uncertainty as we watched Keith circling about, looking for the way, and there were spots of vexing heavy traffic.
It's disorienting entering a large and unknown city, and in terms of taking photos you don't know what is iconic and what is irrelevant. I just snapped a few random shots and hoped they would show something. What I was seeing was a beautiful and spacious city, with some broad and empty boulevards.
But soon we turned into the old "Santa Cruz" barrio, and now I was seeing the extremely narrow and twisted streets of the former Jewish quarter. I got to see this quite a lot, as we spun and twisted looking for the apartment we had rented, close to the Cathedral. The GPS was not accurate enough to guide us through the maze effectively, so we had to cast about a lot.
We found the apartment, which was lots more than we could have wished for. It has two or three outdoor patio spaces, and a large bedroom, sitting room, and kitchen nook inside. It is just around the corner from the Cathedral and in the shadow of the former Hospital los Venerables. In the shadow of means we have the bells of that building to look up at from our front patio.
Our next thing was to look for a place to eat. It gave us trouble, because menus were hard to read and understand, and because tables were often full. But we did find one place, decorated by seven bull heads!
We were happy with what we got. There were some misgivings after I ordered, because of the "mojo picot" sauce mentioned in the description. I got out my phone and it told that this is an often very spicy sauce originating in the Canary Islands, which are part of Spain, out in the Atlantic near Africa. That would make it very authentic, but maybe inedible. It turned out that the brochets were not only not smothered it the sauce, but it was very mild!
