The annual Feria de las Naciones is back in Seville again and running until the 1st of November. We checked it out last night after some tapas at Azabache (where, yet again, I had a row with a waiter), which is just round the corner from the Cathedral.
The Feria had a lively crowd of bohemian spectators, which suited us as there weren’t so many pompous Sevillianos (I was still angry from the tapas bar), and we had a great night, especially after trying Japanese Sake, Greek Ouzo, Australian and Argentinean wine, Asturian Cider, and finally Brazilian Rum.
Every night there are various dance shows, including Salsa, Samba, Tango, and Flamenco, as well as impersonators of ABBA, Elvis Presley, Dirty Dancing, and Michael Jackson.
Last night was the famous ‘Egg Frying Band’ from Africa.
The Five Fryers, as I preferred to call them, were happy go lucky Africans who knew how to play the bongos, dance and entertain the crowd, and, mostly importantly, fry an egg.
After various dances and fire swallowing, the cheekiest of the group set up a mini stove on the craziest of the group’s stomach. He balanced several wooden strips and set it alight. Then they bought out their lovely assistant, or rather grabbed someone from the crowd, and make her fry the egg.
But did she fry it?
Of course she did.
The crowd went wild when the egg was done, but they refused to try it; if it’s not mixed with potatoes in Sevilla, they don’t want to know.
As mentioned before, we had tapas in Azabache. The food was excellent quality, but the staffs were a bunch of losers. When I entered, a chef said to a waiter ‘Look, here comes an American,’ as if I’m American, and as if I can’t understand what you’re saying you muppets. I ignored them, ordered, and enjoyed the meal.
‘I bet they try and rip us off in here,’ I said to Chia before asking for the bill. They did. They’d charged me for a more expensive wine.
‘Sorry, but I asked for this wine, not that wine,’ I said to the waiter, pointing out the cheaper one.
‘Oh yeah, well we didn’t have any of that, so we gave you the other one.’
‘Yeah, but I didn’t ask for that, and the waiter didn’t tell me there wasn’t any.’
‘Yeah, but you drank it, didn’t you?’ Chia took over to stop me exploding.
‘Okay, I’ll charge you for the other wine,’ he said, huffing. When I handed over the money he gave me a dirty look.
‘Have you got a problem?’ I asked.
‘No, and you?’
‘Well, yeah I do actually,’ I said, explaining that I wasn’t a wine connoisseur and someone should have told me about the different wine.
We left without a giving tip, and a sarcastic buenas noches, muchisimas gracias.
How much was the difference I hear you ask?
50 centimos.
It’s the principal.
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