The cool Autumn breeze offered some welcome respite after a scorching five days in Malaga and Granada. Being October, I had not allowed myself to expect anything more than a temperate climate. Ill-prepared for such tropical conditions, my pink skin was an uncomfortable reminder of my meteorological naivety.
I'll not pretend like I had done my homework on Sevilla, nor am I ashamed. As a regular traveller, I have come to believe that movement and learning are not mutually exclusive, and to leave your knowledge in the hands of experience justifies the very act of travel.
And so like many times before, I walked. I walked down the unknown streets, a place where fear and excitement meet, where emotion is multiplied tenfold. I walked on roads flattened by the bloody soles of pilgrims and the rubber soles of tourists. I walked to the house. The house of Paco.
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Though many hosts pride themselves on being verbose and enthusiastic, Paco has a rather more phlegmatic disposition which I find very appealing. He welcomed me warmly without being overbearing, and kept a distance without being frigid. Though my sejourn at Paco's house was brief, I am certain that more time together could forge a strong and enduring friendship that would stand up to the inevitable and often deleterious consequences of distance and time.
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Paco's house is fine. The bed is comfortable, there's a fridge in the bedroom, though guests can use the kitchen if needs be. Everything was clean and orderly. It is located in an alternative area of Sevilla, where one can eat and drink without paying the higher prices found in the main tourist areas. I'd go back.