The super-trendy (by Seville standards) lift in Metropol Parasol, aka the Mushrooms: essential for a hobbling crone like me who wants to enjoy the view from the pasarela.
Yesterday I injured myself in a particularly moronic way. I stubbed my foot, really hard, against the wall, and as a result my big toe was agony – so painful that I couldn’t put any weight on that part of my foot and I was hobbling around like a medieval crone.
My husband was convinced it was broken – he’s a typical Spaniard, always looking at the negative side, convinced everything is going to go tits up, all doom and gloom. No, they’re not always singing and laughing, drinking sherry and dancing Sevillanas. The Andalucians, especially, have a Dr Jekyll/Mr Hyde type split personality situation going on.
Death and joy are very close bed partners – look at bullfighting, for example. Where else does a man wear such brightly-coloured, ostensibly jolly garb to go and stick spears in a bull until it collapses from exhaustion and is (often messily) dispatched? Or flamenco – the pain on the faces of the dancers and singers is something you don’t forget easily, but then neither is the passion in the interaction between a male and female dancer.
Anyway, turns out Mr it’s-all-a-disaster was wrong (ha!) – as he dropped me off at Urgencias of our local hospital, I was dreading the Monday morning rush hour of hypochondriacs and panickers like me, and what do you know? I was in and out inside of a half an hour. Thankfully the waiting room wasn’t as heaving as I had expected (I even took a gossip mag to pass the time; with the Duquesa de Alba’s forthcoming nuptials, the prensa rosa is positively slapping it on – endless pages about the dress, the designers, the guest list, the arguments over inheritances, the food etc. Riveting stuff).
So I was swept straight into triage, where I asked for an X-ray; waited just 15 minutes for radiografia (hardly time to scan the pages of my rag); then straight to see the very pleasant doctor, who told me my toe has a contusion (sprain), and isn’t broken (hurrah!) – and she even spoke English. Result! My average length of visit to this hospital with children – and there have been a few over the years – is 3.5 hours.
Still hurts like hell, but at least no need for plaster, crutches etc. I’ll be damned if I’m going to miss any more of my Semana de la Arquitectura (Architecture Week) guided tours – today I had to forego the chance to see Seville from the unusual vantage point of the cathedral roof (and you therefore missed some potentially spectacular photos. #bloggerfail). There’s no way I would have made it up all those stairs, and last time I checked, they didn’t have a lift – how inconsiderate.
At least tomorrow’s visit – the Mushrooms and Antiquarium– has a lift, and a very snazzy one, at that. And I’m hardly going to miss the chance to gaze in wonder at more Roman mosaics, am I?
This is my third post in the A Post a Day challenge – it’s all WordPress’ fault, though blame also has to be laid at the door of my fellow blogger Digamama who convinced me to partake in this masochistic month-long activity. I will try and make tomorrow’s post more interesting, I promise. I’m just warming to the task, so stick with me – it will get better.
“…a typical Spaniard, always looking at the negative side, convinced everything is going to go tits up, all doom and gloom. No, they’re not always singing and laughing, drinking sherry and dancing Sevillanas. The Andalucians, especially, have a Dr Jekyll/Mr Hyde type split personality situation going on.” – Ahahahhahaha! How right you are!! I really thought it was just me! D-Man is very much the same way – for a usually happy person, he can be so dramatic, so gloomy, so seemingly hopeless (though he’s changed tons these past few years, I would ideally like to credit my California-sunshine soul for that). Andalusians especially have quejarse down to an art.
Amazed to hear your total amount of hours spent in urgencias! I’ve only been twice, and I would say my total has definitely been over 7 hours. Though I can’t complain, because it’s hellova a lot cheaper than visiting the emergency room in the States.
Interesting to hear your MN (media naranja, I love that expression) is the same – dramatic/gloomy/black. It can be hard work sometimes, can’t it? (Actually, I just try to ignore him when he’s like that.) Urgencias always seems to take longer with kids, too, and waiting with them is sheer hell. My son once got told off for sitting in a wheelchair – he was a bit bored after hanging around for three hours, so you couldn’t really blame him. However, in their defence, one of their doctors spotted a rare blood disorder my son had, so they’re alright by me.
Yes, the waiting room is a dire place. I had the joy of visiting the ER at the Macarena twice last year. It was a regular fiesta of hypochondriacs!
The stairs going up to the cathedral rooftops are tall and steep – hard to climb even without foot damage. Curious to know what is different about the Mushroom tour than just going up on your own.
I know, I’m curious too, that’s partly why I’m going, also a good excuse to leave house in evening without family in tow! And good blogging material!