Eating and Speaking in Sevilla

Sevilla is one of the most helpful and forgiving places for speaking beginner Spanish I've ever experienced.  Virtually every person you'll transact business with speaks some English (often a lot of English, as well as other languages), but they gesture as they speak (dos? they ask, holding up two fingers) and seem to be expert interpreters of my intentions rather than my exact expressions.  They will patiently let you make more than one attempt, and only ask you politely in English when necessary, afterwards dropping back into Spanish as if no embarrassing breakdown had occurred at all.  Sometimes they will make sweet, easy-to-interpret jokes with you, as when I asked Do you know where we are? , and a helpful grinning stranger chimed in, Sevilla!   Note that this applies mainly to business people.  My experience with enthusiastic locals has been that they'll grin at you, clearly intending to make a joke, and in the space of 2 seconds mumble what sound like 25 works that may or may not be Spanish, either unaware or unconcerned by the fact that Maria and I have no idea what we're laughing about.

We have encountered exceptions to both these rules, however.  Yesterday at breakfast we were on another search for juevos revueltos for David, and happened across a cafe with a breafast especial that listed juevos fritos (fried eggs).  I said, in my best Spanish:  I would like this breakfast.  It is possible that to have scrambled eggs?  The waitress' brow furrowed, somewhat crossly, and I tried again:  I like scrambled eggs?  A brief pause.  Then, in an exasperated voice, a rapid sequence of words streamed from her mouth, slowing only when she read each word of the menu description, emphasized one. at. a. time. glaring at me over her glasses:  Un.  desayuno.  con.  cafe.  jugo.  de.  naranga.  y.  dos.  juevos.  fritos.  She said the last again:  Juevos.  Fritos.  Then several more angry words, as she took two steps toward the kitchen, ending in an English one, her arms upraised:  Yes?  I said I need more minutes to think at which she forcefully exhaled and walked away (though, to her credit, she seemed less cross when she returned a few minutes later).  It wasn't an unpleasant episode, though; watching her help other tourists helped me appreciate just how patient the business people in Sevilla really are.

Later in the same breakfast, a thin eldery man wearing a pastel blue blouse with a scarf and smart brimmed hat shuffled stiffly but unhurriedly into the restaurant, placing a hand of greeting on those along his path and waving to those further away.  Our same waitress stopped three paces in front of him and a thin smile crept over her lips as they squared off to one another.  Suddenly they both raised their arms in the unmistakable flourish of flamenco dance and then they both laughed, and she helped him sit at the table next to us, as I heard him say in an accented English, beautiful, beautiful.

He asked where we were from, and when we told him, he glanced momentarily ceiling-ward, as if reminiscing.  Ah, Washington, Chicago, New York, San Francisco, beautiful.....beautiful.  I do flamenco in America for many weeks  he said, in the same accented English.  

We switched to Spanish.  Hearing my lingering cough he offered me a delicious grapefruit cough drop, recommended several other restaurants, usually adding beautiful wistfully in English at the end of each sentence.  When we finally saw him off, I stood and shook hands with him.  He turned, took Maria by the hand, and with a quarter turn toward me said with smile forgive me, winked and kissed it.