Beer: Cruzcampo 5%
From Triana we return back to our apartment by a tortuous route through Semana Santa crowds and processions. We get lost, but eventually find our bearings – and our way back to our accommodation; which is in itself right in the centre of all the activity. Our apartment faces Calle Cuna through which many processions, returning from the cathedral, pass.
The crowds and congestion and fear of getting lost again - leave us wary of going too far away in case we get stranded. We get stuff in from the supermarket, and decamp to this bar – on the street/alley where our apartment’s situated. The procession is due to pass at 10pm. It’s 8.30pm when we get to Café Santos, but we’re not risking going any further.
The bar is more back street than we’d normally consider. It’s perfectly alright, bog standard basic, tables and plastic chairs and beer served in wine glasses. The barman, I reckon, looks like Kevin Rowland.
At the table over the way sit a very matriarchal family. The blokes are left holding the babies while several generations of women hold court… seemingly in an air of perpetual mild disapproval. Matriarchs are great. It’s noticeable how the Madonna is venerated, apparently more than her boy. Almost all the processions have two pasos: one, the first, will feature Jesus suffering during some part of his last few days and hours. The Mary paso is the main attraction. It’s almost as if Jesus’ suffering was secondary to Mary’s grief… there’s a theological debate there somewhere; the apparent backlash against the inherent sexism of plans hatched between father and son, with scant regard to the emotional wellbeing of the mother.
A glass smashes somewhere in the bar. Nobody cheers. Idiot foreigners.
From Triana we return back to our apartment by a tortuous route through Semana Santa crowds and processions. We get lost, but eventually find our bearings – and our way back to our accommodation; which is in itself right in the centre of all the activity. Our apartment faces Calle Cuna through which many processions, returning from the cathedral, pass.
The crowds and congestion and fear of getting lost again - leave us wary of going too far away in case we get stranded. We get stuff in from the supermarket, and decamp to this bar – on the street/alley where our apartment’s situated. The procession is due to pass at 10pm. It’s 8.30pm when we get to Café Santos, but we’re not risking going any further.
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| Rowland serving C'campo |
The bar is more back street than we’d normally consider. It’s perfectly alright, bog standard basic, tables and plastic chairs and beer served in wine glasses. The barman, I reckon, looks like Kevin Rowland.
At the table over the way sit a very matriarchal family. The blokes are left holding the babies while several generations of women hold court… seemingly in an air of perpetual mild disapproval. Matriarchs are great. It’s noticeable how the Madonna is venerated, apparently more than her boy. Almost all the processions have two pasos: one, the first, will feature Jesus suffering during some part of his last few days and hours. The Mary paso is the main attraction. It’s almost as if Jesus’ suffering was secondary to Mary’s grief… there’s a theological debate there somewhere; the apparent backlash against the inherent sexism of plans hatched between father and son, with scant regard to the emotional wellbeing of the mother.
A glass smashes somewhere in the bar. Nobody cheers. Idiot foreigners.
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