History reminds me that as hard as we feel today is, it has always been horrific. A painting in the Seville Cathedral intrigued me, two women, carrying oversize teacups looking up to the heavens with a lion licking the toes of the one on the right. 

The painting is by Goya, the famous Spanish artist from the 1700s and the legend of these two sisters, Justa and Rufina, quite horrifying. They were potters in 287 when some pagans came through town wanting a sacrifice to their goddess and the sisters refused to worship their Venus, being loyal Christian dames. A fight ensued where the Venus worshippers broke all the girls pottery and in the tussle a statue of the goddess, carried by the bad guys, broke. The sisters were thrown into prison, stretched on the rack and their flesh torn with iron claws (I don’t really want to know) and forced to run barefoot over sharp rocks. When this did not overturn their faith, they were starved. One sister died and the next one was thrown to the lions who became tame as kittens, thus the licking of the feet. Exasperated that the lions would not cooperate, the pagans broke her neck. This all happened in Seville where they are now venerated as saints. Life can suck. My consolation is imagining Rufina snuggling with the lions before her martyrdom. Welcome to Seville! 

The cathedral is quite ornate and golden…

We take a break from the torture and beauty to go to the vegan place recommended by the Seattleites yesterday at the laundromat. It doesn’t disappoint and provides a reminder of home with food I love. I take my açai bowl to our rooftop hotel and enjoy the sun and write until our timed entry at Alcazar de Seville, home of kings! 

This place is STUNNING and still used by the King and Queen today, though they have so many options I can’t imagine they are lounging around the castle with all these tourists poking about. 

The inside is stunning but it was the gardens that brought true delight to my soul. Peacocks, a maze, fountains, it was a non-Disney wonderland.

Traveling in February does mean that the flowers are not as prolific as I have heard they can be in Seville. I do imagine in the warmer months it is stunning. 

This evening we force our tired bodies out the door to an Italian dinner house, San Marco Santa Cruz where we are entertained by a guitar player and the rudeness of other diners. In Spain the pace at meals is leisurely. The serving staff does not hop to your every need but they get to you when they can, especially when it comes to paying the bill. You need to ask for the check to be brought and until then they leave you alone (some might say ignored). Tonight a foreign tourist behind us stuck his arm rudely high in the air with a Hitler salute and snapped his fingers twice at the server across the room while loudly saying, “La quenta,” as the gentle guitar music plucked along. I sat there, my mouth gaping in shock, as the server gave him a withering glare, waggled his pointer finger back and forth shamingly, with a “No. No.” proceeding to turn his back and leave the room. It was so satisfying to see the rude finger-snapper put in his place and we left the server a very good tip. 

We leave for Arco de la Frontera tomorrow but not before we stop at a tiny shop for custard tarts. That is all they sell, I love that —specialize in one thing and do it extraordinarily!