*In May of 2008, I was moving about on a taste-test of Europe. This was my experience in Sevilla, Spain.
After an incredibly horrible train ride in.. I was worried that I wasn't going to enjoy Sevilla, Spain at all. I left the train station and was greeted with fairly bland and boring city streets. This was the incredible and beautiful Sevilla people had been boasting about? This was... blah.
I trudged to my hostel, dropped my things on the floor, sat down, and cried my heart out. After having been traipsing around Europe for a full three weeks and a train ride that was supposed to be a fairly simple overnight sleeper turned into a 48 hour disaster - where I lost time, shoes, and a bit of my sanity - I was exhausted, grouchy, and completely and utterly disappointed. I felt ready to give up.
Mustering up all that was left of my remaining reserves, I forced myself up and out. I couldn't afford to waste time, even if the city was a complete letdown.
5 minutes into the tiny, winding, fresh flower covered and cobble stoned streets, I knew I was wrong. It turns out my assessment was very premature. Only minutes away from my hostel was romance incarnate. Every turn led to something even more beautiful. Small cramped, but cozy walkways between buildings opened up into gorgeous courtyards with fountains, beautiful orange trees and flowers, and tiny little cafes and restaurants everywhere.
I didn't get to do too many touristy things, on account of there not being enough time, but I have to say, the Alcázares Reales de Sevilla is the most beautiful place I've laid my eyes on. It is a palace of Sevilla and an incredible specimen at that. Lovely rooms, graceful pillars and Moorish architecture whispers history lessons to the curious mind. Beautiful yes, but in my humble opinion, not nearly as phenomenal as what awaits you on the other side of those old stones: The palace gardens. They're massive, with many different sections and styles. So many flowers and fruits and fountains and birds that your heart aches. I won't even try to do describing this garden justice. I don't think even my camera could. But I was walking through paradise. I think I left a small part of my soul there. I will have to go back to get that some day.
I then went to see the Cathedral. Again, lovely, but I have to admit, once you've seen one massive religious building.... you've kind of seen them all. As I cringe and await the gasps of horror. No, I don't mean to do the structure injustice. It was definitely a wonderfully gorgeous building, in all it's massiveness. But what really got my heart fluttering was when I climbed up the tower, up a winding ramp studded with little alcoves of history and anticipatory glimpses of a view out small barred windows.. up to the top.. where you got to see Sevilla from the sky. Just beautiful.
My coup de gras, though, my absolute favourite thing thus far: the Flamenco. I went both nights I was in the city, and am still completely, utterly, amazed by it. I knew from the start I wanted to experience this tradition of southern Spain and upon questioning my hostel receptionist I was told I had two options for enjoying the Andalucian entertainment. There was a proper show you could see for €30, or you could go for free at a local bar. I chose to go to the bar, and have absolutely no regrets. Like I said, I went twice, and would have gone more had there been any way I could.
Again, I feel like I can do no justice by trying to put this into words; but I will try.
The place was packed, people squeezing tightly onto the benches and seats, trying to find anywhere to sit. The air was smokey and filled with the cacophony of laughter and conversation. It was hot and sweaty, with everyone laughing and jostling and cramming close to get drinks at the bar. Those drinks were cheap and plentiful, and the people joyous and friendly.
Then the performers stepped out onto this small stage. A man raised his arms and shouted authoritatively over the crowd, hushing us into silence... Anticipation.
Good grief. The pulse, the song, the passion. The voice of the singers and the grace and power of the woman. This dance, the rhythm.... I am meant for it. I think my jaw hit the floor and stayed there. Another piece of my soul flung out onto the stage. The first night the small performance space contained only three people. A guitarist, a singer/clapper, and a dancer. Her movements were fierce and passionate with feet slamming onto the wooden floor with captivating control. The singer's voice was strong and confident, his clapping a rhythmic pulse that seemed to make your very heart beat in time. And the guitarists music lulled you blissfully into this complete experience. Those three - just them, alone on stage - I thought were phenomenal. Then the second night gifted me with a flautist as well. Again. I was awestruck. His lilting music complimented the performance perfectly. The musicality of the whole situation, the complete ease and talent of these artists, it left me in dumbfounded awe.
That night the singer even tried to pull me up on stage and get me to sing with them! No, before I get your hopes up too high, I didn't. A cold I was suffering through had my voice sounding like a dead wet dog. But, admittedly, I thoroughly enjoyed the attention. Afterwards - because the second night I smartly sat myself right beside the stage - I was even able to snap a few photo's with the group. (What? I AM a tourist!). The vibe in the bar was electric. I have never been happier.
On my last night in that magical city, I walked down beside the river. Clouds from a light refreshing rain were clearing and I watched a peaceful and beautiful sunset. I wandered the winding streets one last time, sat at a small restaurant and relaxed as I ate some Spanish paella, (a rice dish to delight the senses). Then feeling fully contented I went back to my room to rest up for my early train ride to Barcelona.
Ah, Sevilla. This is where my soul is. No, you definitely did not disappoint.