Se-vee-ya and an identity check
The Oficina Turismo at Sevilla Santa Justa is scheduled to open at 1000. But Chief Pilot G is in no mood to wait. Breakfast at the station, a couple of stretches, shoe-laces retied and Lonely Planet consulted, we march off towards the city centre.
Sevilla is the capital of Andalucia which was a stronghold of the Muslims in Spain in centuries gone by. First stop is at a Muslim monument, the Alcazar. The audio guide in English is well worth the money as the voice holds forth on Mudéjar architecture and Muslim royalty.
Lunch means calamares and fries for me and Pizzeria San Marco for G. An hour later I struggle to stay awake aboard the boat tour on River Guadalquivir but the message gets through: Expo ’92 was Sevilla’s moment in the sun and no one will be allowed to forget that.
1500 hrs
G will not patronize anything bloody and I am left in the company of treinta other tourists and a pretty guide for a fascinating tour of the bull-ring Plaza de Toros de la Real Maestranza.
Map in hand, I navigate to the last stop in Seville, Plaza de Espana, and reunite with Chief. Half an hour of rest and mouthfuls of masala puri later, we steer towards the station and Malaga.
Sevilla is the capital of Andalucia which was a stronghold of the Muslims in Spain in centuries gone by. First stop is at a Muslim monument, the Alcazar. The audio guide in English is well worth the money as the voice holds forth on Mudéjar architecture and Muslim royalty.
Lunch means calamares and fries for me and Pizzeria San Marco for G. An hour later I struggle to stay awake aboard the boat tour on River Guadalquivir but the message gets through: Expo ’92 was Sevilla’s moment in the sun and no one will be allowed to forget that.
1500 hrs
G will not patronize anything bloody and I am left in the company of treinta other tourists and a pretty guide for a fascinating tour of the bull-ring Plaza de Toros de la Real Maestranza.
Map in hand, I navigate to the last stop in Seville, Plaza de Espana, and reunite with Chief. Half an hour of rest and mouthfuls of masala puri later, we steer towards the station and Malaga.
Malaga
At Malaga station, G walks into the Renfe ticket office but my path is blocked by 3 uniformed officers. I have no clue what they want and call out to G for assistance. Passports are asked for and names are relayed one alphabet at a time to HQ. Showing our institute ID cards doesn’t help and I wonder what’s going to happen. But by the time the bags are X-ray screened, HQ has cleared us and we are free to go.
But it’s another hour before we can ease the backpacks off the shoulders at the Albergue Juvenil Malaga. Both Chief and Navigator are clueless where ‘1.5 km west of the city centre’ lies and eventually resign to taking a taxi.
At Malaga station, G walks into the Renfe ticket office but my path is blocked by 3 uniformed officers. I have no clue what they want and call out to G for assistance. Passports are asked for and names are relayed one alphabet at a time to HQ. Showing our institute ID cards doesn’t help and I wonder what’s going to happen. But by the time the bags are X-ray screened, HQ has cleared us and we are free to go.
But it’s another hour before we can ease the backpacks off the shoulders at the Albergue Juvenil Malaga. Both Chief and Navigator are clueless where ‘1.5 km west of the city centre’ lies and eventually resign to taking a taxi.
posted by Chan at 23:00
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