Seville, Wednesday and 3rd Day

Oswaldo decides to spend the morning with me and we head over to see the nearby Casa de Pilatos - a wonderful old merchant's palace, part of which is still used as a residence by the Dukes of Medinaceli.  The empty downstairs rooms are covered in colorful Mudejár tiles

and through graceful archways we can see the marble fountain.

Behind lies an orchard, with clipped trees lining the collonades and with pruned bougainvillea trunks snaking skywards to spread their blooms on the roof terraces. This must look wonderful during the summer.

There's a guided tour to the upstairs apartments, which are still furnished and where no photos can be taken. The rooms are crammed to the gills with objects (Oswaldo murmurs to me, "..and you think WE have a lot of stuff…"). Most charming are the fairly recent family shapshots  adorning every surface, adding a lived-in atmosphere to the otherwise august room.

Then we head out again to have lunch at the restaurant I'd seen on my first day, the Restaurante Las Escobas, where we pick a table in the sun and order tapas and cold beers from a friendly waitress. 

Thus fortified we head over to the enomous cathedral filling our vision just across the street . It's the largest Gothic building in the world and inside the arches soar 37 meters, reminding me of a visit to Ely cathedral. The same high grey ceilings, although the light in Seville is very different from that of a 1978 February morning in England.

Christopher Columbus' tomb is here, carried by four somber knights

and off in a corner room are a collection of the most impressive church treasures I have ever seen, like this gem and pearl-studded crown

After the cathedral we head down towards the river, passing on the way the restaurant, Sabine, where we will dine tonight with our university hosts, but also this amusing sign advertising a private investigator

We walk to the Plaza de Toros, but have to part ways, when it turns out you can only visit in guided tours, and Oswaldo's free time will be insufficient. He returns to his meeting in a cab while I wait for the tour to start, with a motley group of tourists from all over the world, sitting on a bench in the covered walkway behind the arena. I observe a Korean mom, brand new yellow Vuitton bag slung on her shoulder, who shares burst of giggles with her teenage son while tall, aloof husband looks disapproving. They all take pictures of each other with their Samsung phones.

 A petite guide, toreador red uniform hidden under her brown quilted coat, explains the arena is divided into the shade and the sun sides, with ticket prices at 120 and 20 euros respectively. The arena holds 14.000 spectators.

There's special seating for the Royal family when they here, which is not often, she concedes, when asked. At most once a year.

For the rest of the tour no pictures are allowed. We visit an art gallery with many pictures of bulls being felled by matadors, and vice-versa, along with brutal renderings of horses being gored by bulls. A British lady shares my dismay about the horses role as collateral damage and asks the guide if they often die during the bullfights. "Four horses per fight used to die," she says matter-of-fact, "but no more. They use protection." In another room full of artifacts several stuffed head of bulls are hanging on the walls, most of them with an ear or two missing, taken as trophies by the matadors. There are also several splendid toreador costumes. When the tour is over I return to the sunny pavement, grateful I will never have to watch a bull-fight, but glad to have done the tour, and walk along the river until I turn inland to eventually reach the hotel. I have walked for about six hours. Not bad for a recently broken ankle.

Our host José Domingues Ferreirós has invited all the conference participants to Sabina, a restaurant, we discover, which has been justly praised in Tripadvisor.

and after our dinner we walk through the old Santa Cruz quarter until we get to a flamenco club, where the dancers have unfortunately just finished. But there's a pianist, playing and singing Spanish songs with gusto, and in between songs he chats with the audience.

A lovely way to end the evening and well after midnight we tear ourselves away to pick our route back through the tiny streets. We're surprised and grateful when we actually find the hotel!