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*Before I get into this, just know that I am typing this on what is probably the most turbulent flight of my life. The pilot said it would take a full three hours to fly from Sevilla to Manchester thanks to “strong headwinds”. I pulled up a turbulence forecast, and it looks like a straight chop fest. Which means I’m going to hate every second of this thing lol. I had previously (somewhat) gotten over my flight anxiety, so here is a real test. God gives his toughest battles to his strongest soldiers; time to strap up. Godspeed, amigos.*

Recap

Sunday, December 5th

6:15 in the morning: RISE AND SHINE BABY WE’RE GOING BACK TO ESPAÑA!

The bus station was pretty far from my hostel in Lisbon, and I would have been cutting it close taking the metro, so I called a Bolt (like Uber, but half the price in Europe). My driver whipped through the streets of Lisbon, and I made it to the station in time to grab the world’s worst croissant and most average coffee from a store across the street.

The bus ride was going to be like 6.5 hours total, so with the time change (no idea why Portugal is in a different time zone than Spain) I would arrive at 2:30. It was three girls and me on this 50 seater chartered bus. We stopped for like 30 minutes at some truck stop in the middle of nowhere (coulda sworn the driver said “5 minutes”, but it was more like 35), before stopping In two coastal Portuguese towns on the way.

I arrived at 2:30 and walked out of the bus station to a pretty crowded street. Especially considering the station is a 20 minute walk from the center of town.

My hostel, La Banda, (best hostel in the world btw. Or at least the best hostel staff. And since the people are a huge part of the experience, I can confidently call it the best hostel in the world) is two blocks from the town center.

As I got closer to the hostel, the streets got more and more packed. Which was really weird for a Sunday in early December in Sevilla. I took a look around the cathedral, and there were people everywhere. 20-man lines at the gelato shops. Christmas decorations hanging all over the place. Massive Christmas trees (read: metal cone substitutes for Christmas trees. Ain’t no evergreens in Southern Spain) in each square.

I figured people flocked south for the better weather. I arrived at the hostel, and Kara was working the front desk. She looked equally happy and surprised to see me. Considering it had been almost three months (that long? that’s insane) since my last trip to southern Spain, I would have been surprised too.

I dropped my stuff off and met my three (4 person dorms are elite) roommates. Steph: a French/Scottish (which made quite the accent) girl working remote, Serin: a (South) Korean girl on vacation, and Tom: a good ole’ lad from England.

I headed to the gym (never cancelled my membership from September LMAO) to pick up and set down some heavy objects for a while. After the gym, I just explored the city for a bit. It was dark now, and the crowds had really picked up. The Christmas lights were beautiful, the Christmas village by the river was really cool, and people just seemed happy to be out and about.

I got back to the hostel and Federico (Italian homie #1) was there. He informed me that there were two national holidays this week, hence the massive influx of tourists. That made a lot more sense. I showered and went to the rooftop bar, where Juan and Jesus, two guys in the local band Canastereo, were playing. Juan worked at the hostel as well, and we had hung out some on my last trip to Sevilla.

I met several locals who had come to hang at the bar, as well as Kane, another London local traveling to Spain for the week. I also met one of the new hostel workers, Nico, who was manning the bar. After the rooftop bar closed that night, we all went downstairs to go out. Fede took most of the group to a flamenco show on the other side of the river, while Kane, Serin, and I went with Nico and some locals to a bar in Alameda (main bar sector of town).

We were there for an hour or so before Kane, Serin, and I headed to another spot. I ended up calling it a night around 2. It had been a long day lol.

Monday, December 6th

Wake up, hit the gym (may as well get my money’s worth), then back to the hostel. Juan was working the front desk, and he’s been my go to for local food spots. He recommended Puritana (a fantastic choice. Brunch slapped), so I went that way for some grub. I spent most of the afternoon exploring the Christmas villages in the town squares (it’s so funny seeing snowflake decorations in a city that will literally never receive any snow), buying a new pair of airpoors (wired headphones, mine broke and I lost my airpod case lol), and writing a bunch of stuff. (Finally got this Portuguese laptop figured out).

That night I headed back to the hostel for dinner on the rooftop, and Francesca (who, as you may remember, has a way cooler version of my sister’s name: Frances) was back in town from Italy. We caught up on all the random stuff that I had been doing over the last few months, and she told me that she was working there full-time now. Congrats on the promotion, Francesca 🤝

I met another American, Marshall, on the roof that night. Marshall was in town from San Francisco for a week or so. Marshall, Kane, Serin, a ton of others from the hostel, and I went to one of the riverside bars after dinner.

Marshall doesn’t speak any Spanish. I speak the most Americanized version of really bad Spanish. So when we tried to mingle with the locals, it went about how you would expect: perfect.

My problem with Spanish right now is that I can understand 75% of what people are saying to me, but when I try to speak back it sounds like Jordan Belfort talking on the phone in that Wolf of Wall Street scene after he had taken like 27 quaaludes. Not too coherent.

After an hour of using incorrect verb tenses in a foreign language, Marshall and I headed to some place called Ruko Rock. Imagine an American dive bar, but with way less Americans. And more Spaniards.

Cool place. Met an Irish dude named Brian that we hung out with later that week.

Tuesday, December 7th

Wake up, gym, new brunch rec from Juan (Paradas 7, also slapped. I went three days in a row), back to the hostel to chill with the homies. Except this time, a twist!

So I studied abroad in Sevilla three years ago. My good friend Mason and I spent eight weeks living with the coolest Andalusian family: the Chacon’s.

Me, our señora Carmen, Mason. I was a 260 pound beefcake. Miss those days.

In September I made plans to visit the fam, but the plans fell through. However, I texted Carmen again on Monday, and she texted me back this morning. We made plans for me to join them at dinner Wednesday night. Does my Spanish suck? Big time. Will I be able to adequately communicate? Honestly, no idea. Spanish in Sevilla is muy defícil. But we’re gonna try, baby.

Back at the hostel, I hung out with Fede until dinner that night. Marshall and I planned to go back to one of the riverside bars, and a new hostel guest, a Dutch guy named Sam, joined our crew.

We hung out down there for an hour or so before Brian (Irish dude from yesterday) texted me and said that a club called Uthopia was nuts. So we obliged and headed that way. Brian was correct. It was, indeed, nuts. I’m pretty sure Marshall fell in love with a Columbian girl, and he doesn’t speak a lick of Spanish. Shooters shoot, my dude.

Wednesday, December 8th

I did not go to the gym today lol.

I did go to the same breakfast place as Tuesday. And I spent most of this day writing as well. Honestly a pretty chill day all around. I hung out on the roof with Marshall, Sam, and Francesca (bartender for the night), and she told me I need to bring a gift to my Spanish fam before dinner, so I grabbed some red vino on the way over.

As a 24 year old dude who knows nothing about wine other than some bottles cost more than others, I think I made the perfect selection. I arrived at mi casa pasada at 8:30, and Carmen came down and let me in. Thank God that Javier “Javi” was there tonight, he’s the only one in the family who speaks any English.

We had a blast catching up. I showed them pictures from the trip, they asked me about work and school, and they made fun of Javi for being their only single child, as they have like 8 grandkids from his siblings.

After dinner I headed back to the hostel to hang out. I met a cool couple from Austria (I think the guy’s name was Phillip?) who had been in Sevilla for two weeks or so, and they were pretty good friends with the hostel staff.

I convinced Fede to throw the America **** Yeah Spotify playlist on the rooftop speakers, and we got really rowdy to all things Tom Petty, Lynyrd Skynyrd, and 38 Special. A proper good night.

Thursday, December 9th

Leaving Sevilla is sad, because it is probably the closest thing that I have to a home base in Europe right now. I stayed there 2 (but really 3 if you count before and after Lagos as separate excursions) times this trip. I lived there for a couple of months three years ago. And I accidentally paid for a gym membership there for the last three months. 

Whoops.

Woke up at 10:45, which was way later than I expected to sleep. Half of my clothes were dirty, but luckily the laundry people didn’t pick up til 11:15. I scrambled to shower and drop off a bag downstairs. $8 for a 3rd party washing and folding your clothes is fantastic.

Thanks to some new travel restrictions, I had to take a COVID test to enter England. $40 to get my nose swabbed. At least they were free in Germany smh. I went back to the same brunch spot for the 3rd day straight (Pareta 7 slaps, go check it out if you’re in town), ate the same meal for the 3rd day straight, then headed back to the hostel. Where I wrote, a lot.

Fede was playing the America **** Yeah playlist on repeat in the lobby, which was sick. I picked up Burger King (healthy!) at 6, headed back to pack my stuff, and said my goodbyes.

Fede, Francesca, Kara, Andrea, Juan, (and you new cats: Theo, Tomas, and Nico), you guys rock. Thanks for making Sevilla fun. Probably going to have to run it back this spring!

I arrived at the airport around 7:45 for my 9:20 flight, and got in pretty easily. There were only 40 people or so on the plane, so I got an exit row to myself. However, the pilot called over the speaker before takeoff and said that it would be a long three hour flight thanks to strong headwinds. Which was no bueno.

But I made it (relatively) unscathed. I took a bus from Manchester to Liverpool, where I’m meeting my good friend Jake for a proper good weekend watching some football (read: soccer).

There’s a twist. Gabriel, a guy I met on the beach of Barcelona in August (!!!), who has been following along the whole time, hit me and said he wanted to meet up this weekend. So he’s coming to Liverpool too, and we’re going to have a grand ole’ time.

Traveling is fun, isn’t it?See below for the previous and next chapter: