Paella in my Sevilla hostel

Your Spanish Lullaby in Sevilla, Spain.

Feeling sick in Sevilla, Spain.

I hardly left my hostel my first two days in Sevilla, Spain.

I’d been starting to feel sick in Paris and my last night there was restless. I hardly slept and ended up waking up far too early in the morning to pack my bags and puke.

In a fit of just wanting to get places as soon as humanly possible I spent entirely too much money taking taxis to and from the airports. As I’ve said, I’m not very good at being a budget backpacker. If something helps get my sick self to a bed that much faster, I jump.

Of course, the directions on the Seville hostel’s webpage told me to have the taxi drop me off at a certain place and then the building would be just around two corners. I assumed the place in question was some big monument or something (I was wrong). I assumed the street name it said to be at would be in front of me when I was dropped off (I was wrong).

And so, I got lost. Going two blocks. Of course. Not really lost really. I just wandered up and down in every direction looking for the street name I was supposed to find and didn’t find it. And I didn’t have a map.

Did I mention it was hot? It was 35 degrees Celsius, which the taxi driver had said was around 75 Fahrenheit. He was wrong. It was about 95 Fahrenheit. And, silly me, was wearing a sweatshirt because it didn’t fit in my backpack and I didn’t want to carry it.

A guy at a news stand pointed the right way for me and I soon enough found the street I was looking for and found my hostel. The streets in Sevilla are tiny and curvy and there are a lot of them and they all have too many names. So, apparently, that is why the directions didn’t say to take the taxi to their door.

I spent most of the rest of the day in bed, minus a walk to find some food. Because I was hungry. Because that morning I had thrown up everything I ate in Paris.

It was hard to tell what stores and restaurants were open or closed. It’s August and it’s hot in Sevilla and because of that many locals go on vacation. So a lot of places are closed. But then even the stores that seemed open had all their lights off, which, I’m assuming was a way to keep things cooler.

After wandering for a few blocks, I found a sandwich shop and jumped on a tomato cream cheese sandwich. Which only came as half. I should have ordered 20.

And then I stayed in bed the afternoon minus a trip to the hostel bar for free sangria and paella. Which was delicious. And I’m told if I thought hostel paella was delicious to just wait for what’s to come in Valencia.

Paella at my hostel in Sevilla, Spain. Your Spanish Lullaby.

Paella at my hostel in Sevilla, Spain. Your Spanish Lullaby.

Paella at my hostel in Sevilla, Spain. Your Spanish Lullaby.

The next day I didn’t leave the hostel, or my bed, really, at all, except for a grocery run to make food. I was still coughing and blowing my nose too much to want to get out of bed, to want to experience anything in Spain besides a a Spanish lullaby and a pillow. And I wanted to rest up to hopefully kick the cold away so that maybe just maybe I could eventually see some of Spain outside the few block radius of my Sevilla hostel.

Hi, I'm Val. I spent most of my 20s in a standstill, unable to pick which path in life I wanted to take. I wanted the nomadic life of a traveler but also wanted the husband, the condo, and the kitten. Unable to decide which life I wanted more, I did nothing. When I turned 30 I’d had enough of putting my life on hold and decided to start “choosing my figs.” So, I quit my job, bought a one-way ticket to Europe, and traveled for three years. Now I'm back in Chicago, decorating my apartment in all the teal, petting my cats, and planning my next adventure.

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