Assumptions ♡

From The Pillion 
ASS
  U
  &
 ME

People carry assumptions, about other countries, other people. The most assertive claims come from those who’ve travelled to other places only ‘with their finger on the map’ to use my dad’s expression.

So let me dispel a few myths.

We were in Southern Spain - and what d’ya know?? The buses run on time, shows start at the appointed hour and the football crowd behaves in an orderly manner.

Don't be late!

There are friendly, helpful and kind people everywhere. We’ve met them. Of course you’ll find specimens that match the stereotypes and there are grump-pots in every nation. Luckily, they are in the minority. Africa won’t be any different in that respect.

The last few weeks in Spain were quite relaxing and to me they felt more like a holiday than travelling.

First, we spent a week at Lucy and Wes’s place, lazy mornings, reading, tasty meals appearing from the kitchen whilst we gazed at the sea - bliss!

And now we’ve ended our sojourn in Seville. I loved it. We’ve been staying in a modern apartment in the old part of town, sufficiently removed from the tourist attractions to experience the Andalusians at work and play.

Sevilla

We’ve had pedicures (the Pilot declined) and haircuts (both). No matter how often the Pilot pointed at the photo of a Spaniard with a shock of black hair - he still emerged looking like, well, Simon, with grey hair, just less of it.

In our neighbourhood were churches and tapas bars aplenty, small corner shops, piazzas full of inviting chairs, I could live here!

Our neighbourhood

The church bells go nuts regularly and at 2pm local children burst out of school buildings, into the arms of waiting mamas (mostly), laughing and shouting.

Personal space and low decibels are a concept uncommon in this part of the world!

Life calms down between 2 pm and 5 pm only to rev up seriously late in the evening and you haven’t been to Andalusia unless you’ve visited a tapas bar. There’s one round the corner from us called ‘Ricardo’s’ and we’re practically regular locals.

It’s packed, it’s loud and it’s lively. You have to be assertive to squeeze into a space at the bar.

Four or five men buzz about behind the counter, attentive eyes darting back and forth. Three orders are being taken at once, shouted across to the chef and a colourful and tasty assortment of tapas makes its way to the rightful recipient. Mostly. We supplemented our cheese with an orphaned basket of bread and who knows who made off with our olives??

Basil Fawlty’s Mañuel would have been sacked after the first shift!

So we set sail in the early afternoon yesterday, digesting the European and anticipating the African leg of our trip. 😎😎

El Camello, resting

P.S. The bike now has a name: El Camello.