|ACROSS FROM THE CATHEDRAL. SOMEHOW MANAGING TO MAKE BEAUTIFUL MUSIC.|
We arrived at the office around 4:00 in the afternoon. There was no line outside the office. There was no one in the waiting room. There was no one handing out numbered tickets. The guards ignored us when we walked in. I told them what we were there for and they told us to just go into the office (of Things 1, 2, and 3) across the hall. We did so and were met by three different staff people at their desks and only one customer. The woman at the first desk immediately greeted us and told us to just step right over to the other available staffer. He also greeted us pleasantly.
|SINGING THE BLUES. BRILLIANTLY.|
I told him why we were there and handed him the receipt I had been given on our last visit in late August. He looked at my name and immediately began rifling through a box of residency cards. This was too good to be true. And then it appeared that it was (too good to be true). As he flipped through each of the cards in my alphabetical section, my heart began to sink. There were about 30 cards and he had already flipped through all but three. But then it happened. He hesitated at the third card from the end. He checked the card against my receipt and handed me my very own, official-with-my-hideous-photograph, hard plastic, finger-printed, signed, hologram-emblazoned "PERMISTO DE RESIDENCIA." I wanted to hug the guy. He then very quickly found Jerry's card, which was the second one in his section. Jerry and I beamed. I told the man this was a very important day for us. We thanked him profusely and we left.
|GETTING ORGANIZED BEFORE PERSONALLY ESCORTING US FROM PLAZA NUEVA.|
Once out on the terrace, Jerry and I high-fived. We then hugged. And we then kissed — Spanish style (air kisses to the side of each cheek). We stopped for a mini celebration of chocolate cake and mango smoothies and then walked home. To our home. To the address imprinted on our legal Spanish identification cards!
|LEAVING PLAZA NUEVA. LET THE DRUMS ROLL OUT.|
|THE MOST JOYOUS DRUMMING, EXPRESSING EXACTLY HOW WE FELT.|
It seemed all of Sevilla was out to celebrate and serenade us today. On the Avenida de la Constitución, we stopped and listened to a talented hammered-dulcimer player (at least I think the rickety old — and beautiful sounding — instrument was a hammered dulcimer). Next up was an incredible guitar-playing blues singer, beer bottle in hand. After crossing the Plaza Nueva, we came across a large group of marchers in costume. We thought it was a political rally but soon learned they were performers representing the International Festival of Sevilla Perfopoesía — poets and poet/performance artists from all over the world here for an annual festival. We just happened to stumble onto the start of the Perfopoética Parade. Talk about poetic!
|A COLORFUL CELEBRATION TO OFFICIALLY WELCOME US HOME.|