Pióro

Arriving in Seville, we found out that the way the hostels work, is that they quote you one price on the phone to get you hooked, and once you show up, tired, dirty, and ready to crash… oops, that room isn’t available, but you can have this one that is more expensive.

So we decided to shop around.

A middle aged Australian man saw us hostel shopping, and in his attempts to sell us incredibly inflated Flamenco tickets, brought us to a hostel that he knew, where he spoke very fast and very good Spanish with the owner, arranging for us a room. We mistakenly told him that the lowest price we could find was 30 euros, but that we were looking for less. We should have lied and told him that we had found 24 euros, or even less… oh well, we are learning the street smarts as we go.

So, tired and dirty and ready to crash, we took the 30 euros room, and felt a little hoodwinked, and majorly bummed… the bathroom had no toilet seat, the yippy dog didn’t seem to like us, and we didn’t even know where we were (crazy tiny, winding streets).

We decided to just stay the one night, and after eating some lunch, we would go looking for another place.

So we sat, in the actually very nice central patio, full of chirping birds, and many, many plants, and nice shade, and made friends with the dog, and found the clean bathrooms down the hall with the toilet seats, and chatted with a med-school girl from California about Jose Saramago and free Flamenco, and found out what street we were on, and met a local painter/artiste, and talked about literature and art, and were given free delicious strawberries from the owner, and decided that it totally rocked and that we would stay. The end.