Shedding the Kummerspeck



Why do I find myself going back again and again to photos of my trip to Seville?

It’s not only that it’s such a beautiful place – I’ve seen my share of those. There’s something about Spain in general and Seville in particular.

So this is a bending, sunlit corridor. At this particular moment, it seemed like the way to approach the blog this evening.

Plenty going on in the world of lahikmajoe presently. For one thing, I’ve got family visiting. That’s often good for a bit of fodder for the old Miscellaneous Blog. After that, or during their visit, the World Cup kicks off.

I could tell you I think Argentina has an easy draw and they’ll waltz through their group, but everyone knows that. Not very optimistic about the chances of the United States team, but every four years the fans get their hopes up. I’d say Germany was an early favourite a year or two ago, but they seem mismanaged of late. We’ll see if they can turn that around. I’ll certainly be cheering them on. I’m always for my adopted homeland. It’s a thing with me.

Otherwise, the weather has turned warm, or warmer, and the mostly beautiful of Munich have begun their annual shedding of Kummerspeck (‘grief bacon’) and clothing of nearly all sorts. I suppose I should talk about those last things at another time – hopefully soon.



slowed to a crawl

Getting out of the sunlight

Because of a new job and other obligations, there hasn’t been much time for blogging lately. Nevertheless, I was going through photos of Seville recently and  was reminded of the above moment when I escaped the burning sunlight. If you’re wondering whether this place was as peaceful as it looks, the answer is yes.

My friends who live in Seville, with whom I stayed  on that trip, were visiting Munich earlier in the summer, and it was such a pleasure to show off my adopted hometown.  There were a few evenings, after I’d been in the office all day and they had been traipsing around taking in the sights, where we sat and watched the dusk fade to nighttime.

There were no particularly profound things said. We reminisced about earlier times and momentarily solved some of the world’s more complicated problems. As much as I love the other seasons, this seems to be something particular to summer. That feeling of expansiveness after a good meal.

Some of us at the table had had what seemed to have been the perfect amount to drink, while others picked at the cheese plate that was served in lieu of dessert. Time may not have stood still, but it certainly slowed to a crawl.

Nothing like a meal with old friends, is there?

tapas and a breath of fresh air

locals on their lunch break at El Atún

Had seen everything I was going to see on this trip to Seville and it was time for a break. Having been advised that this place was particularly good, I made a beeline for El Atún. Just to be sure I got it right, I’d written down my order:

espinaces con garbonthes‘ (spinach with chickpeas) and just to make sure I didn’t miss out, I politely asked for ‘aceitunas‘ (the plate of olives that I’d been assured would come with or without me saying anything).

The waiters seemed to delight in the ridiculousness of my having written such a simple order down, but were very friendly and generous with their good-natured, knowing smiles. It didn’t hurt that I was carrying a Real Betis Balompié shopping bag. Soon enough, they were telling me that this was the only football club worth paying attention to in Seville.

gazing longingly into the kitchen

The food was exquisite…I’d had proper tapas with loads of meat dishes the night before (and it wouldn’t have bothered me if there was meat in the spinach), but it was somehow perfect to have this plate of superbly prepared vegetable after so much meat and cheese and bread…I was both sated and satisfied. Very much so.

statue in the Plaza Nueva

Right around the corner from the Plaza Nueva is this unassuming tapas bar. I’d never have given it a second glance had it not been recommended. And despite the unbelievably memorable and beautiful things I’d seen in the capital of Andalusia, these few moments alone with my small plate of olives were the nicest I could imagine.

So many photos I could show you. So many stories I heard from an old friend I visited here who reminded me what it’d been like to be fifteen. Yet the nicest thing I can tell you about is a quiet spot outside of a bustling kitchen where I could simply catch my breath.

It was that good.