Casa de Pilatos, Whining, and Cell Phone Booths

A FACE ONLY A MOTHER (OR I) COULD LOVE.

JUST A BIT OF THE EXTERIOR.  VIEW FROM THE PLAZA DEL PILATOS.

While looking through one of our books Sunday morning for places to explore, Jerry came across a small palace (a private family home) that turned out to be about two blocks away from our apartment.  Given the curvy, confusing old streets in Sevilla, that two blocks took us about 25 blocks to find.  When we couldn't find the palace based on its starred location on the map in our book, I checked the listing again to get the street address.  Great help.  The palace, Casa de Pilatos, is at Plaza de Pilatos #1.  Obviously, if we could find Plaza de Pilatos, we would have already found Casa de Pilatos.

VIEW FROM ONE OF THE SIDE ROOMS INTO THE MAIN PATIO.

NOT ENOUGH WORDS IN ENGLISH TO DESCRIBE THE BEAUTY.

I was close to calling it quits, saying, "Well, if we're so close and there are no signs for it, it can't be all that great."  I couldn't have been more wrong.  We persevered.  We've been known to do that.  And we finally found the plaza.  And, as expected, once we found the plaza, we couldn't miss the house.  It was huge!  It turns out there are no signs on the street directing you to it because it's not a city-owned palace.  The palace remains in private hands, is still a private residence of the family of the Dukes of Medinaceli, and a private foundation runs it.

IF THIS WERE MY GARDEN, I'D NAP IN THE SAME SPOT.

We rented the audio tour (in English) and we were off.  Every turn into the courtyard, the gardens, the chapel, and the rooms illicited a gasp.  The place is incredible.  I think I enjoyed it even more than the Alcázar.

BOTTOM HALF OF THE DOOR INTO THE FAMILY CHAPEL.

LOOK CLOSELY.  THE ANGEL IN THE ARCHITECTURE.

It's funny to learn about these properties that have been added to over the years.  The Casa de Pilatos is no exception.  The audio guide made a point of explaining that the house was not as it was originally constructed in the early 1500s (or maybe it was the late 1400s), there were two additions/renovations made... as late as the 1570s!  Lots of things have been added since, but the structure and general appearance of the palace has not changed.  It's magnificent.

THE STAIRS TO/FROM THE UPPER LEVEL.

VIEW OF THE MAIN PATIO FROM UPSTAIRS.

Jerry and I paid extra for the private tour of part of the upper level, which contains family portraits, antiques, stunning rooms, and lots of major art from Italy (which, every time it was mentioned, received appreciative gasps from the large group of Italian tourists visiting the upper rooms with us).

LOOKING OUT TO THE "SMALL" GARDEN.

The Asker and the Whiner

Having wandered the streets for at least a half hour before finally finding the Casa de Pilatos, we were famished when we finished and I had to listen to Jerry whine for five minutes as we walked over to our favorite casual little lunch spot.  On the way, Jerry walked into a phone booth.  Not intentionally.  Fortunately, he wasn't hurt, but he claimed he had walked into the phone booth (as he called it: "a cell phone booth"...?) because he was weak from hunger.  I wasn't very sympathetic (I told him to stop whining), but I did monitor his progress from then on.

The Alcázar and Our First Flamenco

BUT NOT AT THE SAME TIME

OUR FIRST DAY IN SEVILLA OUTSIDE THE ALCAZAR WALLS.

On our first day in town, I took a picture of Jerry outside the walls of the Alcázar.  It turns out we were outside the walls of the Alcázar a lot more often than I realized, and the gardens inside the walls, which included an enormous English Garden, went on forever.

Saturday was a beautiful day in Sevilla.  We had cafe con leche at Nostalgia in the morning (well... afternoon) and headed to the Alcázar.  We had been around the outside of the "building" several times, but had never toured the inside.  Exploring Sevilla for us has been like opening a wrapped package.  An example was the Plaza de España where what we saw on the outside (the streetside) couldn't possibly prepare for us for what was within.  The Alcázar is no different.

ST. MARY OF THE FAIR WINDS... SOME LOCAL KIDS SAY "OF THE GOOD FARTS."

PLASTER MOLDS, HANDMADE TILES, BRILLIANT DETAIL.

 
Walking around some ancient walls, I had thought that was the entire outer boundary of the Alcázar but it turns out that many of the "houses," "buildings," and even what I thought was a church in the neighborhood are all exterior walls of this amazing complex, which was a 10th-century palace built for the governors of the local Moorish state.  It's still a royal palace — the oldest in Europe— but it's now mostly a 14th-century rebuild.  It was built by Moorish workmen for the Christian king, Pedro I.  He was known either as "the Just" or "the Cruel."  But it turns out the clergy and nobles called him "the Cruel" and the common people called him "the Just."  So I might actually have liked this guy.

BEAUTIFUL MOORISH DETAILS DESIGNED FOR A CHRISTIAN KING.

THE GARDENS IN WINTER. THAT'S MERCURY STANDING ON THE FOUNTAIN.

Flamenco... in Spanish Time
We finally got to see some real Flamenco performed Saturday night.  No dancer, but I think that made the music that much more powerful.  The guitar-playing and singing took our breath away.

We had stumbled upon a little neighborhood cafe/bar/restaurant when we went to the Museum of Art.  The name of the place is El Búcaro.  We had a wonderful tapas lunch there before touring the museum and we discovered that they had Flamenco Friday and Saturday nights at 9 p.m.  We decided to head there for dinner and Flamenco Saturday night.

We got to El Búcaro, about 8:15 and then, of course, had to get the details on how it all "worked" so Jerry could relax.  (Jerry likes to know how things "work.")  We were told that Flamenco started around 9:30 or 10 (hmmm... but the sign says 9:00...) and we could have dinner any time before the performance, but not during as complete silence was required.  The back room (salon) was closed for prep.  We sat down for dinner (we were the only ones there), figuring the timing would be perfect.  We could have a relaxing dinner and then head into the salon in plenty of time for the show.

We ordered tapas portions and had an exceptional meal.  The best dish — good enough to order a second round — was espinacas con garbanzos, spinach and garbanzo beans, perfectly seasoned.  But everything was delicious.

We joked about the "schedule."  I guess this was the "Spanish Time" we had been told about, although in all fairness it is the only time we've experienced it in our more than two weeks here.  (Our trains — although rarely facing the right direction, as you know — arrived and departed to the minute.)  Jerry continued to stew through dinner (no pun intended) about how things "worked."

The restaurant got busy as time passed and people were constantly peaking in from the street, obviously to see if the salon was open yet for Flamenco.  This made Jerry more nervous; he worried they would grab all the good seats.  The singer and guitar player came in while we ate and went back into the salon to warm up.  They sounded amazing.

The place was clearly a family operation.  I got the impression it was mom in the kitchen, and two sisters and little brother outside.  On Jerry's behalf, I continually asked our server questions ("Ask 'er!") about how things "worked."  I explained in my best broken Spanish that this was our first ever Flamenco and also that Jerry was a worrier.  She squeezed my shoulder.  I'm sure she meant that as a way of saying, "Mitchell, you're a saint" (although it's possible she was simply letting me know that they had our seating well in hand and that trying to understand my broken Spanish was becoming more work than she had time for).

At the exact moment the doors to the salon were finally opened... at 10:10 (Flamenco at 9? Flamenco at 9:30 or 10:00?); we were personally escorted to a prime table designated with a hand-written slip of paper "Reservado."  There were a few large tables and then just lines of chairs that formed a "U" around a small round table, with unlit candles and a couple of bottles of water, and two chairs for the performers.

We were honored to be treated with such kindness.  And Jerry relaxed... a little.  There was no heat in the salon, but the body heat began to warm things up.  Jerry kept his jacket on and put mine on his lap.  Sitting in his place of honor with his lap blanket, he could have been Pedro the Just (or more appropriately Geraldo the Stressed).

At 10:45, the performers were introduced.  The singer (cante), Alvaro Ramirez, settled into his seat, and the guitar player (toque), Pedro Viscomi, began to strum.  They were both young guys, possibly in their early 30s.  Pedro played and we watched Alvaro get drawn into the music.  His shoulders started to move, his jaw began to slide back and forth, his eyes lost focus, and then he began to sing.  The hair on my arms stood up.  And the more he sang, the more pure and powerful his voice grew.  No exaggeration, the music was so good that, at times, it made me shiver (and, no, I was not cold).  We were transported and, clearly, so was Alvaro Ramirez.

We watched and listened for about 40 minutes and then a break was announced.  Since the restaurant doesn't charge for the performance, "half-time" as Pedro called it, is clearly how they make their living.  Unfortunately, Jerry and I were both exhausted and decided that the 15- or 20-minute break might go for a half hour or more (maybe it's Flamenco time), and we just didn't have the stamina last night.  With huge regrets and much gratitude to the performers, we walked home.  El Búcaro is definitely worth a return visit... and so are Alvaro Ramirez and Pedro Viscomi.

The Plaza de España

We strolled out Thursday morning under gray clouds and dismal skies.  By the time we walked the five minutes to our favorite place for cafe con leche, we actually saw some spots of blue between the clouds and laughed about the blue sky — assuming that that was as much of it as we were going to see.  While we sat inside at the window and had our coffee, we watched the clouds break up and more and more blue sky appear.  Jerry put on his sunglasses and I had to turn my face away from the window.  Too much sunlight!!!

We finished our cafes con leche -- cafe con leches? -- (and our fresh-squeezed orange juices... fresh squeezed oranges juice?) and headed back outside.  The sky got brighter and brighter as we walked.  We actually took off our multi-pocketed jackets and carried them.

Our spirits began to soar.

Our intention was to visit the Plaza de España.  Before reaching the Plaza, we walked through the first section of Maria Luisa Park, Sevilla´s largest park that adjoins the Plaza de España. These gardens were charming and spilled from water garden to fountain.  I had no idea that the gardens were only a very tiny part of the park.  We came out on the street and had to cross to a large austere building with a curved facade.  We walked up the steps into the building and that´s when the magic began.

A NICE-LOOKING BUILDING.

Once I entered and turned up some more steps, I saw I was not really inside a building but simply walking through a shallow curve out into a magnificent plaza. (It is in fact a building, but the center section was open and merely led me out to the plaza.) 

I WASN'T EXPECTING THIS.

The curve is lined with beautiful mosaics of each of the regions of Spain, with a ceramic map of the region on the pavement in front of each mosaic.  The Plaza de España was built as the Spanish Pavillion, part of the Ibero-American Exposition of 1929, a world´s fair that opened in Sevilla in March of that year.

A GLIMPSE OF THE MAGIC TO COME.

Their timing was not unlike mine.  Start a business.  The stock market crashes.

SO THIS IS WHAT ALL THE FUSS IS ABOUT.

Many of the other pavillions are now part of Seville´s university.  Others are embassies and consulates (such as the U.S. Pavillion).  Still others are museums (such as the Museum of Archaeology, which we passed during our meander through Maria Luisa Park).

THE REGIONAL MOSAICS

BARCELONA.

Jerry had the idea that we should rent a two-person pedal cart to take ourselves around Maria Luisa Park.  It turns out Jerry wanted to rent one of the cycles because he was tired of walking.  What he didn´t realize was that most of the ride was uphill (I can´t quite figure out how that worked, but we were only able to coast once and only very briefly at that; the rest felt like a low-grade climb).

A GLORIOUS DAY.  YOU CAN RENT A BOAT AND PADDLE A BIT.

So Jerry had to do some work, using muscles he hadn´t used for a while.  The bench seat was not comfortable (forward facing horns that we each straddled, which put some unpleasant pressure on the nether regions).  There could be only one driver; my steering wheel was just for pretend.  Too bad my pedals weren´t just for pretend as well.  That would have been entertaining.  We both pedaled.  There was a handbreak within Jerry´s reach.  He would use it without warning me of his intention, so I would continue to attempt to pedal a few strokes.  Smart ass.  It was a great leg workout.

DETAIL OF ONE OF THE "CERAMIC" BRIDGES!

The park was magical with statues, sculptures, mosaics, and unusual gardens throughout.  We pedaled for 20 minutes of our half hour and then limped off to lunch.  Well, Jerry limped.  I strutted my stuff.

A SIMPLE END POST AT THE FOOT OF A BRIDGE.

After lunch, Jerry had another great idea.  Ice cream (helado).  Like the pedal cart, it wasn´t something I would have chosen.  But I went along with Jerry because I like to be cooperative.  I´m selfless.  I thought we´d each have a scoop.  Jerry decided on two (chocolate and dulce de leche).  So, again, I went along.  I told you... I´m selfless.  I had pistachio and dulce de leche.  It was all Jerry´s fault.

JUST AFTER JERRY RAN OVER THE WOMAN WHO RENTED US THIS THING. (NOTE: HIS HAND IS NOW ON THE BRAKE.)

The Giralda Through the Ages

Just wanted to share this image that shows the transformation of Sevilla´s Giralda since Moorish times.  A ramp (for the horse and rider) wraps its way around all the way up until you reach the top portion added after 1356.  The ramp made it an easier climb (than 33+ flights of stairs).

The Giralda with Gerald, Ending with a Bit of Bull

I have some photos that I finally downloaded from my iPhone.  There were several shots taken Sunday during our tour of Sevilla's cathedral and our climb of the Giralda, the cathedral's bell tower.  One thing I don't have is a shot of the Giralda itself from the outside.  I'll have to get that the next time we're in the neighborhood and the weather is right.

THE CLOISTER WAS ORIGINALLY THE MOSQUE'S COURT OF THE ORANGE TREES.

The tower's first two-thirds are the minaret begun in 1184 and completed in 1198.  The top was added when it became the cathedral's bell tower.  A spiraling ramp takes you up most of the way.  This was used by the riders on horseback who went up the tower five times a day to give the Muslim call to prayer.  Above that point are stairs taking you up the "modern" bell-tower addition.

BEST WAY TO HANG A CHANDELIER, I THINK.

Back in the cathedral itself, four kings, pallbearers representing the regions of Aragon, Castile, Leon, and Navarre, carry Columbus's tomb. Even in death, Columbus was on the road (at sea) quite a bit.  He was first buried in Spain, then in Santo Domingo and the Dominican Republic, then Cuba, and finally back in Sevilla.

TOMB OF COLUMBUS.  BEAUTIFUL TOMB, BUT I'M NOT A BIG FAN OF THE MAN.

The views from the tower, as we climbed and once we arrived at the top, were spectacular.  Unfortunately, it was so bone-chillingly cold, rainy, windy, and miserable that day that I didn't pause very long for pictures.

THE VIEW NEARING THE TOP OF THE TOWER.

I am happy to report that today was sunny and a lot warmer in Sevilla than the day these pictures were taken (or the last six days for that matter).  So, my next post will include photos taken at the stunning Plaza de España in blue sky (with some white clouds for added effect) and sunshine.

A BIT OF BULL

ELMER & ELSIE... WELL, ELMER & ELMO.  NOT FOR THE KIND OF HEART.

Jerry and I had a great dinner last night at a restaurant with a serious bull-fighting theme.  The food was excellent, but we will definitely not become bullfighting fans (and there's no surprise there).  I got over my foul mood and was my usual charming self.  I'm sure Jerry enjoyed every moment of my brilliant conversation and sparkling personality.

I THOUGHT IT WAS A FAKE.  IT WAS THE REAL THING!

Malaga, The Return Trip: Sometimes, Seats Do Face Forward

Yes!  For our return trip via train from Malaga to Sevilla, I persevered and asked for seats that faced in the direction we would be traveling.  The gruff, this time, ticket agent said he would try but couldn't guarantee it.  So, we expected the same old same old.  We were so sure we had once again been unsuccessful that even after we got on the train and found that our seats did in fact face the apparently correct direction, we were convinced that the train was going to pull out of the station and then reverse direction (which is a possibility since this Malaga station is not a "drive-thru").

Oh, ye of little faith.  We didn't have to change seats.

BEAUTIFUL SCENERY THAT CAN'T BE SEEN IN THIS PICTURE.

The Cousin of the Germ sat down in front of us for the last half hour of the two hour and thirty-eight minute ride, but she was spraying her TB on the guy in front of her.  I don't think we were exposed.

BOSTON CREAMS IN MALAGA.

We were both kind of tired today, so didn't have the energy to do lots of wandering around Malaga.  We did head to another neighborhood (away from the old center) to check things out and we loved what we saw.  My mother will be pleased to know they even have Dunkin Donuts... well, Dunkin Coffee in Malaga.  She thinks their coffee is better than Starbuck's or Peet's, so we gave it a try.  We had a couple of donuts while we were at it: Boston Cream.  I wasn't however sold on the coffee.  Spain's cafe con leche is my new best friend.

MAIN ENTRANCE TO THE PUBLIC MARKET.

On our way back to our hotel we came upon Malaga's public market (Mercado Central de Atarazanas).  Another exciting place and it makes Jerry want to cook.  It just makes me want to look around, take some pictures, and maybe buy some dried fruit.  It's a beautiful building with stunning stained glass inside.

THE EAST WING... OF THE PUBLIC MARKET.

So, with our brief visit to Malaga complete, we're pretty sure it's where we'll end up living.  The weather was not glorious — rain and gray for our visit.  But the air off the Mediterranean smelled fresh and it was definitely much milder than Sevilla.  It's a very easy city to get around.  Great shopping, for those who care.  Beautiful beaches, which are probably insane during "season."  Lots of available housing at very good prices.  There are two train stations.  The RENFE station that we went in and out of is beautiful.  And there are an amazing number of museums, including the Picasso Museum, that will keep us busy and happy for a good long time. 

CONTRADANZA... OUR NEW FAVORITE MUSICA.

We also have our new favorite book store (music store, electronics store) called FNAC (pronounced EFF-KNOCK).  It's French-owned and there's also one in Sevilla.  They even have live performances in their little cafe.  We caught a great performance at FNAC in Sevilla over the weekend by a group called Contradanza.  They are a small Sevillian band that puts a different spin on traditional, folk, and flamenco Andalusian music.  We enjoyed their music so much that we bought their latest CD "Tentenelaire.”  Jerry is going to learn all the lyrics by heart and sound fluent in Spanish... except that Jerry has never learned ANY lyrics by heart to even sound fluent in English.

Jerry is relaxing and reading and I'm about to work on my attitude so that we can go out to dinner tonight and I can be pleasant company instead of being tired, cold, and crabby.  Keep a good thought for Jerry.

Seats Facing Forward: Taking the Train to Malaga

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TRAIN STATION, SEVILLA.  COLD JERRY (TEMP BELOW 50)

Heading out of Sevilla Tuesday morning, we had a warm, friendly, and helpful ticket agent.  I explained to him in Spanish that we needed two seats to Malaga that faced forward… two seats that looked toward the front of the train… two seats that looked in the direction we would travel… two seats that looked straight ahead.

Jerry even acted out getting motion sick, which included an Oscar-deserving pantomime of projectile vomiting.  It was quite a performance.  The agent laughed and laughed, understood each explanation I gave, and — when I told him that Jerry’s pantomime was the extent of his Spanish language skills, the agent said his accent was perfect.

HEADING SOUTH... OLIVES AS FAR AS THE EYE CAN SEE...  JERRY HATES OLIVES.

Hallelujah!  We had seats that faced forward for our two-hour and twenty-eight minute train ride.  (To catch the express train that only took one hour and forty minutes would have meant getting up before 8:30 a.m.  We haven't seen 8:30 a.m. in a while now.)

So, we happily got on the train and found our seats.  But, they appeared to us to be facing the wrong direction.  I asked the woman who sat down directly behind us which way the train would be headed.  Her response was that it would head the opposite direction to what we thought, which meant our seats did in fact face the right direction.  I was confused.  The first stops were the same as the first two stops on our trip to Jerez, and I could have sworn that train went in the other direction.  Oh well.  We relaxed and settled in.

ON THE TRAIN.  A HALF HOUR NORTH OF MALAGA.  BREATHTAKING.

Then the woman behind us started coughing.  And coughing.  And blowing her nose.  And coughing.  And wheezing.  And coughing.

We both curled into balls trying to block the spray of germs with our tall backrests.  For 10 minutes we cringed every time she coughed.  I laughed, groaned, and whispered to Jerry about her cold germs.  He said, “I’m worried about getting TB!”  This was serious.

ABOUT 20 MINUTES NORTH OF MALAGA.

The train took off.  In the opposite direction...  Since it was empty, we got up and changed our seats to ones facing forward.  That also got us away from The Germ.

The Germ laughed about how the train was going in the direction opposite the one she thought it would go. She also changed her seat to face the direction we were headed.  Now she was sitting across the aisle and again behind us.  She continued to cough.  We changed our seats again.

OLD MALAGA.  NORTH-ISH FROM OUR HOTEL TERRACE.

We listened to The Germ hack for the rest of the ride, but we had four rows and an aisle between us.  We think we may have evaded the TB for now.

SOUTH-ISH FROM OUR HOTEL TERRACE.  THE MEDITERRANEAN SEA.

CONCLUSION:

I have no idea how one reserves a seat on a train and ensures it faces the right direction.
      

STREET-WALKING MALAGA.  THE CATHEDRAL AT NIGHT.

Coming soon... 
More about our visit to Malaga.  Our brief exploration.  Our 4-star hotel.  Our amazing dinner at a flamenco restaurant... on a night they don't have flamenco.

Another Domingo [Sunday] Gone

    

SATURDAY'S PROTEST MARCH

Another Sunday in Sevilla.  We spent a few hours at the cathedral this afternoon.  It is overwhelming, magnificent, enormous, freezing cold (whatever the weather outside, apparently that's the weather inside; and weather outside today was raw, cold, damp, and rainy... OK it wasn't rainy inside).  We climbed the stairs... the ramp, really... of the Giralda, the bell tower, which has stood since Moorish times.  The views were spectacular all the way up, but we had to brave the damp, raw winds.  I wasn't prepared.  No hat, no gloves, no hood, no umbrella for the day.  But, it was worth it and it gave us an excuse to stop for coffee a second time.

AT THE BUS STOP.  MURILLO, THE ARTIST, IS AT LEFT.

FOOD-ORDERING DISASTERS... 

AND THEN THERE WERE NONE

I feel like I now need to report every day on our food failures and successes.  We had no failures again today!  Breakfast at home.  Lunch of soup and sandwiches at a little chain restaurant we've come to like.  Both women who work there (at different times of day) treat us like friends and neighbors.  Dinner was intended to be at an Argentinian-style restaurant, La Nieta de Pepa (Pepa's Granddaughter), in the Barrio Santa Cruz, but we arrived to find it closed.  So, we headed two streets over to San Marco, the restaurant we found and loved last Sunday.  "Our" waiter greeted us like old friends and we were immediately glad we went back.  Another amazing meal, capped off by on-the-house licor de hierbas, a traditional Spanish after-dinner drink that supposedly aids digestion.  I truly believe it helped... me, at least.  Jerry touched the glass to his lips and looked like someone had just forced him to eat a walnut (I don't know if you're aware how much Jerry hates walnuts).  I loved it and I loved it more the more I drank (and the servings were way too generous).  I was overwhelmingly stuffed after eating my chocolate tart smothered in chocolate sauce.  After my licor de hierbas, I felt immediately better.  So, I'm sold.  We plan to head back to San Marcos one more time before we leave Sevilla.

PARAGUAS (UMBRELLAS)

I just love that word:  Paraguas.  Literally, "for waters" and it means umbrella.  Unfortunately, the weather has turned.  We lucked out with sunshine and mid-60s for the first week.  But the temps have dropped to high 40s and rain is here in the form of drizzle or showers, it appears, for the next week.  Ah well.  We chose to visit in January so we'd see how we felt when the weather was at its worst. Fortunately, we bought great jackets from ScotteVest for our trip (http://www.scottevest.com).  You should check them out.  Our jackets have pockets everywhere — inside and out, magnetic closures in addition to the zippers and snaps, fold-away hoods.  My hood and sleeves unzip.  They're lightweight, water-resistant (and we've now tested that claim).  Jerry bought the Expedition in khaki and I've got the SeV Revolution in black.  Did we mention we color-schemed our travel wardrobes to make it easier to mix and match? Jerry is in blue, khaki, and gray.  I'm in black and gray (very New York).  We've got to admit, though, we both are finding it kind of boring!

JERRY

ME

Can't wait for our train trip to Malaga some time this week.  Since the express train takes one hour and forty minutes, we've decided to stay overnight rather than try to cram it all into one day.  (Or at least that's the decision for today.)

Oh, an interesting little episode (very little episode) occurred at dinner tonight.  We were given, also on the house, a three-tier silver server containing some cookies — to hold us over I guess between our huge meal and our huge dessert.  We of course consumed all eight cookies.  The last two were small rectangular cookies with one chocolate drop on top off-center.  Jerry and I each took our cookie.  

Jerry ate first from the end containing the chocolate drop.  His reason:  Because the chocolate drop was the best part.  I ate first from the plain end, saving the chocolate drop for last.  My reason: Because the chocolate drop was the best part.