Sevilla is a light-washed Spanish city with narrow alleys of rugged cobblestone. Ochre colored houses with white columns lean in from both sides when you step onto the alley. A Hyundai I20 lumbers down. We climb on to the minuscule sidewalk and press our bodies against the building to let the car pass. Trim houses stand in neat rows, small windows covered with leaf and vine latticed iron grills.
Sevilla Plazas
Sevilla is a dreamy city. It As we cross the Guadalquivir river and enter the labyrinth of the older Barrio Santa Cruz district, I hear a heart-fluttering sigh escaping me. I see a picture come alive. A sweet Spain – – trim houses in pink, white and yellow, rows of short trees dappled with small oranges, a minaret like bell tower in the distance.
Roadside Flamenco
Our lovely AirBNb is in the middle of a meandering alley. We walk to the center of town towards the Cathedral and the Giralda Bell Tower. Children play around an old water fountain in marble and sandstone, water gushing out from the mouth of gargoyles with curly hair – into scalloped pink basins. In a plaza close by, an impromptu street flamenco breaks out. The music starts. Four young women hold their erect stance and then begin moving their arms in arches of proud and open expressions. They hold their carriage and stamp their feet while the castanets click between their fingers. The evening sunlight emits an electric energy as the arms of the girls rise and fall in contours of grace and boldness.
We walk past families and tourists and more orange trees. Mazes of circuitous lanes and small plazas with more white and yellow houses with exquisite iron work on doors, windows and balconies lead us to the grand Plaza de la Virgen de Los Reyes. Somewhere along the quarter, we pass rectangular neighborhoods and houses with enchanted gardens and courtyards, filled with vibrant flowers and foliage, ringed with colored columns and glazed tiles of striking blue and green. At the end of one of the streets, Calle Agua, close to a wall that still holds two 12th century Moorish water pipes, I find a house that takes my breath away. A verandah and a Palm tree speaking to each other.
Close to the Cathedral and the Giralda tower, we sit by a fountain. We talk to a couple from Granada. They say Sevilla is a lovely place to come with family and enjoy. We walk past lively bodegas spilling with people, chatter and laughter. I duck into a small shop and look into the face of an older woman. A regal and noble face. her platinum hair is tied in a neat bun with a golden net over it. She smiles and her eyes are a shade of aquamarine blue. I enquire about the Sevilla fans and she smiles. We talk about America and the English language. I buy a couple of fans.
We do the shopping paseo. We walk the busy Zara dotted shopping streets of Calle Teutan,Calle Siereps, and Calle Cuna. I duck into stores gleaming with porcelain dolls, Flamenco shawls and antique watches. I buy a small pin made in Toledo. A moth with black and gold wings. We stop at the venerable pastry shop – Confiteria La Campana, standing there since 1885. We eat pastries with glistening chocolate tops, oozing creamy white fillings, dotted with pieces of cherry and apricot. The sugar surges through my body and turns into pure pleasure that only traveling can offer.
I walk some more and buy picture postcards of bullfighting and Flamenco dancers from a kiosk. The roads end at Plaza Nueva. A broad yellow city hall stands in the middle. I pose in front of an ancient wooden door for a photo.
In the evening, we go to the local neighborhood tapas bars. People drink under blooming orange trees outside. Busy and relaxed waiters walk by holding round trays with a dazzling assortment of tapas. We order from the menus. Little plates of wonder arrive – fish layered with potatoes and cheese -drizzled with olive oil, small green bell peppers stuffed with minced meat, fried potato steaks that smell of pepper and lime, little plates of saffron infused paella. We gobble the food down and drink crisp while wine – just a dollar a glass.
The evenings smell of oranges and cheese – people and wine. We walk back to our apartment, past enormous legs of fabled Spanish Jamón hanging in the shop windows, we stop by the local grocery stores and pick up oatmeal and milk, apples and bananas. The checker sitting on a stool is a young woman with enormous and beautiful black eyes. She giggles when I outstretch my palm full of local coins and picks up the change I need to give.
When we leave Sevilla – at dawn, after a couple of days, a gray light has started peaking. I sit in the cab and think – I would love to be back here.
My footprint – October, 2016