España: The Land of Picasso, Bull-fighting, Tapas, Flamenco and perfect weather: Part 3

The next day I was once again alone looking for adventure. I decided to get in some distance with the most reliable form of transportation I know: my legs. I walked down small alleys and saw more and more old churches. More than I have ever seen in Europe. I found the river that runs through the city, Gaudal Quivir. It was huge and even though the weather wasn't ideal I walked along it for a bit. I found the Torro del Oro or Tower of Gold and the Plaza del Torros where bull-fights still take place this day. Apparently the way a bull-fight works is that the bull-fighter (a man dressed in fancy black and gold) comes out with a red cloak on and then proceeds to taunt the bull with the cloak. I guess the red infuriates the bull and gets it really worked up. Then the bull-fighter takes spears and impales the bull with them. This takes a while because he continues to throw spears until the bull stops moving. The bull will sometimes run for quite a while with numerous spears in its body. Once the bull is dead two horses come out and the men tie the bull to some rope attached to the horses. As an expression of the great success of the fight the bull is dragged in circles around the ring and the crowd cheers. At the end the only remnants of the bull are circles of blood in the sand. I was told that the meat was traditionally eaten, but I don't know if that is the case today. I refused to see that. I realize it is a very old tradition, but I wasn't going to be cheering about the brutal killing of a bull. After I saw that I walked back toward the heart of the city and found about 3 incredible palaces to explore. While walking in one of the gardens a man on a bicycle road up to me with a rose in his hand. He handed me the rose and asked "Como te llamas?" (What's your name?). I said "Gracias" and walked away without answering. I realized it wasn't a good idea to take the rose a bit later when I looked behind me and the man was looking at me through the trees. I made sure he saw me take the rose and throw it on the ground. I felt bad, but he didn't bother me again. I learned that by taking the rose I was leading the man on. I think it is fascinating how traditions like that are still so frequent. In the Plaza de España I talked with my mom for a quite a while only to discover after the conversation that I was charged ridiculous roaming fees and had only 80 cents left. I was so distraught that I simply cried on the castle stairs watching the lovely tourists in silly row-boats. Even though they were silly I couldn't help but think it would be fun if I had had someone else to enjoy them with. Crying made me feel much better and since I couldn't do anything about my problem at the moment I continued walking. I walked home and had an incredible and well-deserved siesta. After my nap I showered and put on my cute new dress and went to El Rinconcillo for some tapas. While standing by the bar eating Garbanzo beans and sipping a glass of red wine an old man came up to me. At first I was unsure what was going on. He laid a paper napkin with some writing on it next to me on the bar. I asked him "Para mi?" and he nodded and left. I was so curious so I picked up the napkin and read it. Naturally it was in Spanish, but I could understand it pretty well. It was a love note. I have never been so affected by such a small gesture in my life. The man must have been 80 or so. He was shortened by his years, had a sort of hump in his back and every hair on his head was white as fresh snow. Regardless, I was taken. I thought if only he had been my age. Why don't men write love letters anymore? I think people think it is creepy. Yes, maybe it was a little bit, but still... If it is meant in ernest, why not? I gushed. I have never been complimented in such a way. Maybe I needed that reassurance even if it came from someone not so perfect. You tell me. Is it possible to move away from the creepy side of it and take it as a huge compliment?