Boni's Sevilla
Trip Start
Oct 07, 2009
1
11
60
Trip End
May 25, 2010
Seville, Andalusia, Spain and Canary Islands
Saturday, October 24, 2009
Top traveler tip: If you want to have a bench to yourself on a bus, wear a hoodie, put your hood up and look at the ground. This way other passengers can't see your face to assess your mental stability. This works on all but the most crowded buses.
I slept soundly, and woke as we entered Sevilla.
Half asleep I walk into the bus depot. Arriving in a new place, with a foreign language, is a stress for every traveler. I smile to myself as the other tourists mill about nervously, trying to make sense of maps, and crowd the information kiosk. I just have to sit and wait, one of the many benefits of couch surfing
Chicken's blood and other delicacies
.I meet up with my host Boni and his friend Eduardo, and follow them to the car. We arrive at Boni's house, I drop my bag in the living room, and find myself a comfy spot on the couch. It's clear to me that I'm on their schedule as they chatter away in Spanish. It becomes apparent that this will work to my benefit; Boni is determined to show me Sevilla his way, and the first stop is the local market. When he does speak to me, his English is a little broken and cautious, but he soon warms up to it.
In the market Boni competes with a group of hunch-backed old ladies for the shop keepers attention as he buys fish and vegetables for dinner. Its loud in the store, considering that there is only about a dozen people. Spanish pride themselves on being loud, it turns out. Eduardo explains that Boni will prepare a local dish, and that he hopes it wont be too strong for me. I assure him it won't. I'm here to eat.
After a tough afternoon of shopping, its time to kick back a few beers and enjoy some tapas. Nothing like a few plates of strange and wonderful foods to bond a foreign foodie and his local hosts. Without my consultation the food is ordered and the beer is poured. Cold sweet salty prawns arrive first, followed by tripe braised in tomato sauce on chips. A plate loaded with a variety of deep fried seafood is the most familiar dish for me, but I'm happy to be eating all sorts of foods that we don't consider desirable back home. The nasty bits, the little fish; It's a shame we don't eat this in North America, the world would be a better place. A dish of liver and onions arrives. OK, its not my favourite, but I'll certainly choke it back. I stab a piece of liver, but it doesn't respond as liver usually does. I bite into it, and breaks off like soft rubber.
"Now, you don't really know what you're eating, do you?" Eduardo asks
I don't.
"Its chickens blood." He then goes on to explain how the blood is collected, congealed, sliced,then boiled or fried. Its not my favourite dish of the meal, but I appreciate its authenticity. The onions are good.
That evening we met up with some of Boni's friends for dinner and drinks. Again the food was fabulous, but I wont bore you with the details. After a lengthy dinner I was seriously exhausted, and ready for bed. But Boni wasn't done with me yet. Determined to show me the real Seville, I follow Boni into a cramped sweaty bar. A flamenco performer controlled the crowd with authority to the accompaniment of a small group of drummers and guitarists. Her songs were haunting, vaguely familiar, and still unlike anything I had ever heard. The bar was so packed, it was impossible to reach the bar. People crammed into the open doorway. If this was Canada, the fire chief would have closed the bar. The show came to a close, the crowd erupted into rowdy applause, and I pushed my way through the crowd to the fresh air outside.
Its been a long day, and I'm ready for bed.
