Let's do the accomadations shuffle again

I left Lagos in the pouring rain, only to reach Seville in the pouring rain. I have taken the same bus as two of my fellow Rising Cockers (god that needs to be the name of a sports team) and we set off to find a place to sleep. One of my compatriots has wisely booked ahead, but I, of course am travelling on faith and the seat of my pants. We arrive to find that there is one bed. One bed, two people. Right. The other bedless fellow is a slightly, okay very, anxious middle aged man who has been worrying about this whole homeless thing for much of the night and day at this point. I offer him the bed, confident that I can scam someplace else to sleep, as the whole thing seems to be making him supremely nervous. He defers and it goes to the coin toss. As head and tails is a little confusing on the euro, I go with "little man side". Sweet. I love the little man. I drop off my bags and, gracious even in victory, offer to walk the other rising cocker (see I can't stop saying it) to his pension on the other side of town. After dropping him off at this sad little pension (thank you, thank you little man) and eating yet another ham and cheese toast, its off for a bit of exploring and grocery store locating. One bottle of wine, a bit of cheese and , yes you guessed it, ham later and I'm off to try and find some evening activites. I am accompinied by a hostel insta-friend and his hostel insta friend and set down for some wine and tapas. Oh, some friendly advice for ya, patatas con aoli is not fries with a bit of mayo, as i had supposed, but rather a giant plate of the gloppiest potato salad ever created. I mean I have a serious mayo fixation, but this is even a bit much, even for me. It is less a salad than a condiment. After our diasatorous culinary experiment we end up in a strange little salsa club filled with teenagers. They may be my little brothers age...but holy shit can they cut a rug. Add in some vodka and fanta, which is always what arrives when you ask for vodka orange and the night seems to be picking up. One unscroupulous taxi driver and an uneccesary round the city tour later and we find our self at this little flamenco club stuffed with locals. The most interesting sight of the evening: a group of very straight laced, and straight I'm assuming, middle aged men dancing flamenco together. No one takes notice, it just seems like an average evening out after work for them all. I'm thinking this would probably not be kosher in much of middle america, but that's just a guess.