Today I got to thinking about blogs. And remembered how important it is that I finish out as many Europe memories as I can here, even one year after moving back to the states. Because the longer I wait, the harder it will be to remember the little things.
So, before I move on from Seville, here are a few more memories to archive away:
* Paul had done some extensive research before we left for Spain, finding the best ice cream in town. One night he said he had a surprise and we walked what felt like, to my seven-months-pregnant self, three miles (it was actually only 1/3 of a mile), and took me to La Fiorentina as an anniversary gift. It was amazing, highly recommended. We went twice in the two days we were there.
* Seeing orange trees for the first time in my life. And learning that most of these particular orange trees produced inedible fruit.
*Getting "lost" back in the medieval quarter and coming on a little street filled with heirloom baby clothes stores. A lot of custom tailors for baptism gowns and the like. I'm still heartbroken that I didn't pony up a wad of euros to get a little shirt/shorts/shoes set I saw and fell in love with - later I saw almost an exact replica of it (instead of in blue, in red) on little Prince George at his sister's christening and thought, "Dag nabbit. Missed it."
*The intricate ironwork. Fountains, street lights, window grates, everywhere.
* This convent right next to the Cathedral. The nuns there are completely cloistered, but you can buy cookies from them by using a kind of transaction lazy susan in the wall. You put your money on the tray, turn it so it goes inside. Then they take your money, put cookies on the tray, and turn it back to the outside.
* Please note our ubiquitous Rick Steves guide book. Never leave home (to Europe) without it.
* This world map!
* And a smattering of tiny other moments - seeing the ancient lead pipes still in place from the Roman aqueducts, sleeping in so late because of the complete darkness achieved with solid wood shutters, almost leaving my purse (with our passports) in a taxi on our way to the train station, being surprised at how small the famous bull ring looked, being surprised that this was the first country we'd been to where people generally did not speak (or try to speak) English with us (I always thought it would be France or something), the huge hanging racks of curing ham (jamon) from the ceiling rafters in almost every restaurant and the little cones beneath them that caught melting fat, tapas (legit ones), waiting out a rainstorm under a tiny porch on an even narrower medieval street, a city hall that looked exactly like Odense's, the largest and most gilt altarpiece I'd ever seen (biggest in the world, turns out), going to the Alcazar and standing in the reception hall where Christopher Columbus returned and gave his "hey, found something" report to Isabel and Ferdinand, and the very, very, very first time I ever heard Paul say a swear word.