The over friendly bloke who arrived (late) to show us our apartment was, as they tend to be, something of a tour guide – marking places on the map that we should go to/see. We explain that, though we’ve been to Seville a number of times, we’ve never really explored the Macarena area. He points out an excellent tapas bar near Alameda de Hércules, which has prompted this Saturday afternoon expedition in inclement conditions. We’re bedraggled and miserable – but find the place. It looks awful. It looks like a TGI joint, an “all you can eat” diner or summat.
But it’s pissing down. We’re cutting an increasingly forlorn smear through what seems like a potentially trendy area; and Café Cental (the next port in a strorm) seems quite a trendy bar. We don’t feel we belong. It’s way too young and cool for us – but not achingly/archingly so. It’s nice and relaxed, and the beer is very nice – and only twice as expensive as the local brew.
We have a couple. We discuss whether this place (and possibly Alameda de Hércules in general) is another gay bar (in the gay area). We’re not sure. We don’t care. We’re too damp to care (and not in a sexy way). We think on going somewhere closer to our digs – somewhere closer to our budget, and back amongst our trendless aged demographic.
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