So, after learning the definition of “wicked caliente“, we left Cordoba super early in order to sight-see in Seville before the heat completely neutralized our will to move. We also wanted to get back to Cadiz in time to watch the big match. 

 Breakfast in Sevilla: coffee and churros (Spanish for your large intestines). It tastes better than you would expect.

Another city of labyrinthine design. We wove our way à la trial and error until we found the Cathedral we wanted to visit. That took longer than you would expect.

 Construction started in 1402, and the cathedral wasn’t completed for another century. The sheer size of this church (the third largest in Europe) is a testament to the piety of the Spanish.

 After the church visit, it was time to head to the Alcázar of Seville (Palace of Seville). See the sun creeping up the sky? I’m throwing this all at you quickly because it is getting warm.

Originally a Moorish fort, this palace has great examples of Mudéjar architecture. Mudéjar is the name given to individual Moors or Muslims of Al-Andalus who remained in Christian territory after the Reconquista but were not converted to Christianity (thanks, Wikipedia, I hope you are right about this splendid cut and paste explanation). 

The surrounding gardens were beautiful. But again, it’s getting hot.

Yalla!

We have one more stop to make after the Alcázar: the Pilates House. I’ll complain about the heat one more time and say that we slugged our way over to take some pics and try to be good visitors. Sadly, the Helios rendered me largely brain dead during this visit- so I don’t recall much. In any case, here’s me standing next to Athena. I have carried the nickname “Minerva” in the past, and Athena is plus ou moins the same representation in Greek Mythology.

Enough of this cultural enrichment. We’ve gotta drive back to La Puerta to watch the World Cup Final! I’m doing the driving for this two day trip, and my fantastic planning skills almost gets us into a jam where we run out of gas on the scenic, yet deserted stretches of highway road. Nice. I will spare you the lame story, but it really was a little bit stressful- especially when our trusty Garmin told us to take turns that didn’t exist in order to reach a mythological gas station.

I was 99% convinced that we’d be stranded in the middle of nowhere in 100 degree heat. I quote Jake, my co-pilot: “I’m not pushing this thing.” 

How do you say “much-o screwed over” in Spanish?

Luckily, the football gods were smiling on Spain and our car. We made it back to a great Irish pub and were ready watch the match with a bunch of expats (really, this makes sense…)

 And yes, we celebrated our ability to fill the gas tank with more than a few beverages.

We didn’t have a reservation at Molly Malone’s, so we weren’t supposed to get tables, never mind a seat (the place was understandably packed). Did we need the luck of the Irish to score seats, or even to come upon a gas station in the nick of time?  Nope, we had the luck of the Bassetts on our side the entire time! No problemo!

Waiting for the sun to set and the match to start. It was hot!

Let’s cut to the chase. We all know the outcome of the game, and I just happened to start filming with my crappy little camera at the right time:

(Shhh! I still say hockey is more exciting)

It’s safe to say that things got pretty crazy after that. Good for Spain. Lots of Red and Yellow waving about, lots of euphoric drunkies running about. But I’m old, and we had a flight early the next morning to head to north. I’m old and at peace with my lameness, so I did not stay up all night to party- unlike the rest of Spain.

Flash-forward to the following morning at the Jerez airport. We walk out to the tarmac in order to get on our plane. Check out what we saw- so cool to see Spanish pride even out on the luggage trucks: