Yesterday afternoon after buying my tickets for the bullfighting I wondered along the river. It was about 4pm and the road signs said it was hitting 44°C. Since I have arrived the temperature has been around 35-37°C, cool for Seville. Yet, before my departure I always wondered what 44-48°C felt like. It's as if you're walking into an oven. It's not humid, at all. You don't sweat (much). Your body burns. Especially your feet and hands. They tingle and you feel a little dazed, light headed. And then you run into the shade, away from the sun's blades. A little wind welcomes you and you soon cool down. So that's just what I did, I sat on a bench under a canopy of tropical leaves, read Al-Jazeerah and drank my lemony water.
A man, in his 60's with a big straw hat, opened light blue shirt, with skin damaged by the sun in an electronic wheelchair and with no legs kept going forth and back. Probably to cool down. At one point he stopped and came to tell me I was french. I said yes. And we started talking about Seville, la corrida and then he asked if I was curious to what happened to his legs. I said yes. Anyone would be. He came from Latin America and had travelled round Chile, Argentina, Venezuela and so on. And I didn't quite understand thie middle bit and then his legs were blown off in a mine in Mexico. What do you say to that? I replied: Que pena! Seemed to be the right thing and he said he didn't really care, he was happy to be alive and with his electronic wheelchair he could go round. No me importa, me da igual, he said. And he went off.
I've attached I picture of him from behind, as he was leaving. On the top right hand side corner.
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