142. A Key and a Ring

Seville

Day 2: Read yesterdays blog to make sense of today's blog

Morning

Woke early, knowing I had a big day ahead. Most supermarkets seemed to open at nine but I found a Carrefour Contact that opened at eight, only a seventeen minute walk away. Considering the cost of the hotel breakfast I was a generous Dad and staggered home laden with goodness and some not so goodness. Also brought baguettes and salmon, ham and makings including clingfilm to wrap them as regardless of the key outcome the family was going to be out and about all day. Grabbed a banana and iced coffee and set out for the Gallery in order to find the missing car keys myself as I couldn't believe that they weren't there - I know they were left there!

My FaceBook snap as I crossed the bridge

The morning was absolutely beautiful and I took the snap on the left as I walked, feeling very stressed and looking forward to retrieving the keys. It was a forty minute walk to the Gallery and despite my predicament I did appreciate how wonderful it was to be here, in Seville on this beautiful winters day.

Arriving at the gallery I inspected the lockers in detail, jumped up and down to look to see if the keys were on top of the locker and pulled the big tramping pack lockers out from the wall as I had sat my bag on them to repack it and maybe the keys had fallen behind. I was feeling a little desperate. One of the guides, unaware of my predicament, was not impressed. The duty manager talked to me in long sentences as I asked questions on Google Translate so I resorted to asking yes/no answerable questions. Her patience with me started to wear thin when I insisted on asking the security guard, shop staff and ticket office myself. I laboriously wrote out my contact details both here in Spain and in the UK with her protesting that it was not necessary as the keys are not here!

I was gutted as I knew I had left the keys at the gallery. Eventually I set off, retracing our steps to the Cathedral. The proprietor at Abanicos de Sevilla was concerned and helpful and felt that contacting the police for keys would be a waste of time. The dress shop was closed. With heavy heart I made my way back to the hotel, dreading the hassle of hiring a car as I was tired and my credit card was locked in the Disco. I had little idea how to break into the caravan without causing major damage.

Just as I was about to cross the river the woman from the Gallery phoned and with huge apologies informed me that they had found my keys. The had been handed to a director and he had taken them home (or something similar). I was so overjoyed I didn't care, life had just got very simple. I sauntered back to the gallery, at peace with the world and a grin upon my face. Arrived at the gallery, now bustling with tour groups and visitors and the woman rushed out, full of apologies with my keys.

I told her I love you, you are my hero and she laughed and gave me a big hug. By the time I got back to the hotel at midday I had been walking for four hours and with only three hours sleep so exhausted.

Afternoon

Children were so excited to be in a hotel and still loving their rooms. Jacqueline had six baguettes (two gluten free) made and ready to go. I had a half hour with my feet up, some breakfast and we were off to the car to drop stuff (shopping and breakfast surplus) and recover my card.

With much deliberation we decided to do a bull ring tour. This was quite a decision as I do not support the industry at all and watching animal cruelty for entertainment disgusts me. I had done some reading earlier in my trip and wouldn't attend a live event. The evidence is compelling that bullfighting shouldn't continue. I was aware that even viewing the ring was in some part supporting the industry. We had a family talk on the river bank while we ate lunch, including the arguments for and against and we decided to do the tour.

The Bull Ring

The tour started with a lovely lady welcoming us and we were issued with the very good recorded systems that most of these places have. Our first stop was to look at bull fighting art and culture. The art made me so uncomfortable that had I been on my own I would have left but children are remarkably matter-of-fact and our lovely guide was handsomely presenting a counter argument to my own, given prior to arriving. We had agreed riverside that we would not present our own opinions once on the tour.

The famous moment of death of a toreador
at this ring where the King
witnessed the death of his friend

When we got to the ring, Roman stayed close to the guide and then behind the barriers. I didn't think much of it until I asked him what he was doing. He had taken my comment prior to the tour that it was lucky that none of us were wearing red as the bull would be unlikely to charge us when we were in the ring to heart and wasn't taking chances.

Roman at a safe distance

The tour was interesting but I remain convinced that as the last bastion of gladiator fighting this sport has no place in the twenty first century.

We then went to a cafe for a light dinner but were dragged out for a fascinating parade but frustratingly were not able to establish its purpose.

My phone informed me when I went to bed that today I walked twenty seven thousand three hundred and eighty two steps - I believe it!