Afternoon silence, heat, and quiet cooing of pigeons

Blinding light on white buildings, stopping under the shade of a bougainvillea...
After finishing my practice today I wanted to run through a sprinkler. That is not a desire I usually have. I didn't really do all that much but my little studio is already toasty.
It is utterly cloudless and brilliant blue out. I rode a bike back and noticed the fountains of water coming out of the ground - like a water park - in the Alameda. I doubt that I could convince Kathy to run through them with me. My only other friend/ possible romantic interest (unsure), Oscar, I don't think so either. Probably only a fellow Canadian would do that.
I don't drink anything refrigerated if I can avoid it, usually. But I put a liter bottle of Casera in the fridge and the mixed it with some vino tinto. And took a cold shower.
Suffice it to say that this all makes me very happy.
By the way, Sevilla is not a place to visit in the summer (for non-Kims). Not unless you only care about hanging out in a city at night and sleeping in an airconditioned room during the day. Perhaps only the desert area to the east rivals it for heat; I don't know. Some people say this is warmer than normal for this time of year, others say it depends on the year, and it is around now that it starts to heat up - that there is only winter and then summer.
Marta is playing the opera Hansel and Gretel - some 20th century composer I forget - tomorrow, two shows in a theatre, that have been sold out for month. I'd guess that this differs from home, in the importance people here place on these kind of activities. She said in her city Segovia, a smaller city in the north, it is even more difficult to get tickets to cultural events like ballet and opera, in a reasonably large theatre.

My neighborhood is actually a neighborhood. This city is made for human beings to live in. There are gathering places maximum a block away, where people are crowded in the evening talking. Some places are larger and more sophisticated, others are nothing more than two tables outside Juan's tiny abaceria. But they are all right here where we live. The same people can go meet each other at one of many little places right in this neighborhood, where they know everybody. There are enough though, and some of them are large enough, that strangers can go too, and if you get sick and tired of so and so gossiping, you could go further into the city. This is what life is about. I am not part of it yet; I still go by and look most of the time, but it is there, and if I want to join in bad enough, I suppose I'll find a way eventually.