141. Six get into a Fix

Seville

Bullring to Museum

Camp to Seville

Baguettes made, children assembled (or is it the other way around?) we were off to Seville for the day. Fyfe has been keen to go to Seville since we arrived. A beautiful drive through arable open country with the sweeping grey cultivated soil on low rolling hills gaining the green hues of winter wheat striking and coming through.

Arriving in Seville after the long drive we were very tempted by the beautiful garden park Maria Luisa Park but carried on into town as we were here to see the city. As usual when discovering a new city we pointed the Disco for the Cathedril as this virtually always takes us to the centre of a city's old town. Typically this also involves squeezing the Disco through tiny lanes on cobbled streets with the same impact on locals as a Hummer makes in NZ (everything scaled accordingly). Fortunately, for us the underground carparks in Seville have two metres of head room though most of the corners within and ramps to change level require a series of three point turns with extra vigilance by me as the reversing sensors are temporarily out of action though not for long as Jacqueline and Audrey brought a new one with them on their return from Blighty this week. Our park was across the road from the Bullring so it made it easy for us to get our bearings.

Jacqueline was particularly keen to visit the Museum of Fine Art so that was our first call. As the route was lined with shops and distractions we typically need to multiply the map walking times by two or three however the day was sunny and warm and this is the best way to get the feel for any city.

At the museum there were free lockers with keys so there was a flurry of activity as we all took a locker each and flung in bags, coats etc. I did have the presence of mind to photograph everyones key tags as there was reasonable chance that at least one key would be misplaced. As a last minute thought I tossed the Disco keys into my locker as metallic items are always a pain when being scanned for security. The museum is in a converted monastery with three internal open courtyards and contains eleven galleries. It would appear that only two things have ever happened in Seville's imagination.

Mostly the museum had endless baby paintings with its mother plus various hangers-on, angels etc. as well as similar number of slow murder paintings of the same baby being killed thirty odd years later, as a man. Mixed into this were various incantations of hell and murder.

One room was dedicated to paintings from a Convent. This collection was quite dark and foreboding which, if that was all the occupants got to see would have been quite oppressive. Only the XI gallery varied from this theme and contained a lovely collection, quite a relief and a celebration of life and colour.

Some snaps from the gallery below. I did not feel inclined to take many photos of the religious paintings. 

Blog continues below....

This would scare me into submission

J bought me a monochrome shirt of this dude

From the gallery we headed for the Cathedral with various shop vacuums sucking us in along the way. Of note was Abanicos de Sevilla where the proprietor was totally engaging and patient with the result that we left with fans for all except Fyfe and me plus a few more for others. His patience may have been tested when Roman pulled a drawer, behind the counter, out too far upending all the fans onto the floor at his feet. To his credit, Roman was horrified and in tears of humiliation helped put all the fans back in. To be fair to Roman he was putting all the stock that we had been shown away in the drawer when disaster struck. The proprietor was great about it. Eventually, the vacuum was equalised and we were able to progress a little further before being sucked into another selling Flamenco dresses with similar consequences, this time a full dress for Iris and a skirt for Audrey.

We explored the cathedral and environs by which time everyone was hungry so into a restaurant for dinner. We were virtually the only ones there and at one point I observed Roman getting a very satisfactory aeroplane ride round and round with one of the waitresses, in the distance.

Iris and Audrey disappeared into the toilets and reappeared in their dress and skirt respectively, very pleased with themselves and looked great. They both wore them from this point on, exploring the city, getting positive encouragement and friendly comment from both men and woman on the street as we headed back to the carpark arriving at about ten thirty which was far too late considering that we still had an hour and a half drive back to the camp ground. Arriving at the car park Roman insisted on feeding the fifteen Euro into the machine, not bad for a days parking in the central city and we headed for the car, bound for home. This should have been the end point of todays blog but unfortunately not.....  

A minute later at the car we could not locate the verified ticket and in the process of going through everything I realised that I did not have the car keys - horrors!

At least I knew the number

It did not take long to work out where I last saw them and what had happened. We still had the pamphlet from the Museum of Fine Art and phoned, not expecting an answer as it was now nearly eleven at night. After about twenty rings I was about to resign myself to finding a hotel when there was an answer but in Spanish. Back to the parking attendant who spoke no English but Google translate managed to get across that we were in a fix and a possible remedy lay with the security man at the gallery. The man in the office managed to get a colleague who had a good grasp of English and he phoned the museum on our behalf, on my phone.

The guard was obliging and went and looked in locker twelve and then the lost property box at security and there were no keys there. I couldn't believe it but had no other option but to get rooms for the family. I knew this wasn't a problem as I have great faith in the Expedia App on my phone. Thankfully, I had gone back to the car this morning to grab my USB booster battery for the phone.

I was shocked to see on Expedia that everything was pretty much booked but found, booked and paid for two rooms, five kilometres away. A late model Prius taxi was hailed and we bundled in, the children forbidden to talk as, by law, the six of us can't legally fit in a taxi and we would need two. Hopefully, if they were quiet the driver wouldn't realise our number. Looking at the drivers TomTom I realised that the five kilometres Expedia quoted was a straight line and we had to head back to a bridge over the Canal de Alfonso XIII, the beautiful river that runs through the city and about the width of the Thames making it a twenty minute trip. Not to worry, it wasn't like I had a lot of options at this point. We got to the hotel, suppressing any grumblings from the children and discovered the road gate closed and locked. We waited in the car while I tried to contact the hotel and eventually got a Spanish answer. I had to ring off then using Google Translate, communicate our predicament to the driver, in a slow two way conversation with him shouting so loud at the phone that it kept cutting off and each time I talked to the translator App the children would either say something or when I paused offer a suggestion that the phone would add also - sigh. Eventually, the driver phoned the hotel and learned that reception was no longer receiving guests (courtesy Google Translate).

I found a number in the UK and phoned Expedia and got a very nice chap, obviously in India. I explained our predicament and he put us on hold for a long time while he sorted arrangements for our satisfaction. After a long time he came back and said that we had missed our checkin which, for this hotel opens at three in the afternoon and closed at eight pm. I explained that this was four hours before Expedia let me make and pay for the booking. For this we got another long wait on hold and he came back to us and apologised but there was nothing he could do and suggested that we email Expedia for a refund. We had now been in the taxi for nearly an hour and a half. Using Google Translate (not a speedy process) I asked the driver if could find us suitable accommodation for the night. It was now nearly one am in the morning.

He was very obliging, made some calls and took us back into town and dropped us, to the children's delight, at a superior establishment for two hundred and seventy euro. Roman could barely walk as we had by now been in the small taxi two hours. To our amazement the total charge for the taxi, on the meter, was forty three Euro. I am pretty confident that in the UK that would be nearly two hundred pounds and a similar fortune in NZ. The concierge had three double rooms for us and I was so relieved I was beyond caring about the cost though I did note that if we had breakfast the next morning, at the advertised fifteen Euro each, in the morning, that would be nearly one hundred and eighty NZ dollars for breakfast alone!

At one thirty in the morning we were shepherding ecstatic excited jetset children into bed, the boys in one room, us in the middle and the girls on the other. This was quite a process as everyone had to test bidets, explore the contents of the minibar, sample all the gels, moisturisers etc., play with the little safe, decide on a pillow from the range provided, test and familiarise themselves with the air conditioning controls, ensure that the television worked and what stations were available, test that the room numbers were the telephone numbers for each room, read the hotel documentation and make their case for the common sense solution to have breakfast in the restaurant as that was what the hotel expected, rationalise that sleeping wouldn't be easy without; Mr Hop; Cuddly; Barnaby; White Rabbit & Brown Bunny.

While all this was occurring I realised that tomorrow I would have to hire a car, drive for two hours to the Giantavan, break in somehow (I have taken a lot of care to make it secure) as the keys for the caravan are in the Disco, silence the alarm, while keeping the caravan secure for Morocco then drive back to the Disco then return the car. At best I thought this would take about seven hours and considerable expense. Needless to say I did not share the children's excitement going to bed.

To be continued.....