Do you ever dream about the real Spain? With its moorish arches, strips of golden beaches, flamencos and toreros?
Yeah, I live that dream. While I can’t say I know anyone who is a bullfighter or live on a beach, I am happy to call Seville, the Andalusian capital home. Today, on its 31st anniversary (my boyfriend is six months older than it!) I took the time to remember what I love so much about my new home: shrimp and other goodies from the sea, ferias and flecos, azulejos, toastadas, Cruzcampo and sunny afternoons with my Spanish family. I did what any of the 8.2 million inhabitants would do on their day off:
Sleep in, then have a toast with olive oil and ham.
Grab my bike and head into the center to pay homage the the bandera de verde y blanco, then visit a museum for free.
Finally, have a beer in Salvador.
Te brindo a tí, Andalucía, por ser tan grande y tan guapo. For your linxes and horses, your sherry and olives. For your gente and your history. For Picasso, Murillo, Antonio Banderas and David Bisbal’s hair, clearly.
And many thanks to Blas Infante.