The First Night

 Yes, the first night lasted until five thirty in the morning, until la madrugada, that magical time of night (or day, depending on how you look at it) when the sun it just peeking over the curve of the planet and people are either turning in or crawling out.

Toro toro toro! (I insisted on this all night, but apparently they don't have bull fights at 2 am. Or in March.)

So really, it could be called the second day, and this

could be called breakfast.

(Yes, those are french fries on Lesley's hamburger.)

Triana Backpackers

Home sweet home, for two nights at least.

I have to say, this is waaaay classier than I imagined our hostel would be. I patted myself on the back more than a few times when we had finished exploring.

And I didn't take pictures of the terrace. Hammocks.

The First Taste

Technicolor churches. Sprawling gardens. Fortress-like universities. Questionable maps of Italy. Rivers that are actually blue. Paella. Salad with tuna and apio. I say again, paella.

Oh, Sevilla.

The Odyssey (Sevilla, Day 1)

Spending the night at the airport in Rome seemed like a really, really good idea at the time, and in the days leading up to it.

It still amazes me that three pretty intelligent people made a lucid, conscious, and deliberate decision to sleep on a cold tile floor rather than take a butt-early train from Florenze. Objectively, actually, it sounds plausible: Arrive in Rome around 10 o'clock, take the bus to the airport, sleep on a nice comfy airport bench until our flight is called, and mosey on through security to the international terminal.

Ha.

On the one hand, I was absolutely exhausted that night and the day after. Despite our best efforts (which included wine, Jack Johnson, and comfy pajamas), not one of us got more than an hour's sleep Thursday night. We arrived in Sevilla and passed out. I, being resilient and relying on seemingly endless reserves of energy, adjusted pretty quickly to the lack of sleep, but my friend Lesley was dead for the rest of the trip.

In retrospect, though, it was something unique, something I don't think I could do again, but that I'm definitely glad I did. I don't think I'll ever forget Lesley chugging her mezzo-bottle of bad wine and then throwing herself at the ground, or Ben and me sharing my iPod as I complained about the bruises I was getting on my hips--bruises which are still visible.

Finally here:

I can't exaggerate how excited I got to see Spanish instead of Italian on the signs at the airport!