Just home from a fabulous 24-hour getaway with Nog at the gorgeous Hospes Casas del Rey del Baeza – yet another wonderful thing that has happened to me because of that “useless waste of time” Twitter. Anyhow, am going through the 156 photos I took and trying to write up a proper report of my visit before this evening’s Tapas Tour, but here is just a taste of it. Meanwhile, you can check my tweets from yesterday on my SevillaTapas and SevilleExpert Twitter streams that also link to iPhone pics I took. We had a great time.
When and where was your last getaway?
casa azahar 
Looks fab, az. Look forward to reading your report.
Our last getaway was a trip to France – to coincide with an uncle’s 90th. We spent a few days on the Plateau des Millevaches in Creuse. The weather was poor but the peace and quiet was wonderful.
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I wanted to open a trial blog and call it azahar, but checked first and saw that there is somebody by that name already. So I called the new blog alcantara, even though I found out that it is the brand name of a synthetic textile used e.g. to line the inside of cars.
I see you are in Seville.
I am (I was going to say “here”……..)in the south of Madrid.
Next to where I live there is a frutería called Azahara, and you would never believe: it is installed in a former furniture shop, a large luxury furniture shop with large, well designed windows! Before it became a furniture shop during la burbuja it was a cosmetics shop. The point is that I would never have believed that as a foreigner and immigrant he could pay that kind of rent selling fruits and vegetables. Well: sometimes you have to stand in line to get in.
Bye.
I have the flu, am not normally that talkative.
Bye
Postscript:
yes the photos are de 5 tenedores, as it were, and I took (for me to see), the grey one you had of Cadiz, a dam in the sea, with a series of lamp posts.
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Universal outsider, I heard him declare
“I don’t want to be here, I would rather be there”
He’d rather he didn’t, but surely he knows
He takes that here with him wherever he goes
—
Or maybe Edinburgh last year in August.
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Twelve years ago, in the late spring of 2000, I told my Albino Ex I wanted to get away for the weekend at the beach in New Hampshire where he had enjoyed hanging out as a kid. We booked two nights and arranged for his “best friend” of schooldays to pick us up the second morning.
The temperature dropped to 55 F. A northeast wind blew in bringing rain. I got a sore throat so bad it bled. The rental car company gave us, instead of a compact, a huge boat that I couldn’t drive. His parents met us for dinner the first night and his mother spent an hour and a half sucking every last crumb of flesh off the fragments of a lobster. The “friend” called ahead about picking us up, found I was not up for a four hour trip up the coast and back to look at some real estate (a little side excursion he had just decided to fold in), blew us off and left us at the hotel, where we couldn’t stay an extra day because a tow truck convention had arrived in town. We had to store our bags for a fee and walk around the town till four pm. Observing upon returning that I was pissed, the “friend,” though he got us back to a travel hub, subjected me to a campaign of abusive e-mails once we were all back home.
This kind of thing is why I never go anywhere.
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I love getaways… Counting the days till November 2nd!
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