In our blood we carry it…

07/09/2015

I once read that Seville is the type of city where we would still find Spanish girls skipping hand-in-hand down the street. And somehow I always had some fascination with the Spanish. Which meant that Seville was always one of the cities I wanted to see. It was easy to decide to take a short detour from Portugal into Spain.

We took the bus from Faro to Seville. It was simply the easiest way to get there. And finding our little holiday apartment on one of the narrow shopping streets was quite effortless. So with eager anticipation we set off to explore. Niel had the plans all worked out. All I had to do was follow, and whilst I followed for a slightly longer distance than necessary, we soon found a bus-stop for the Hop-on-Hop-off buses.

Seville is really a beautiful city. Probably why it inspired such beautiful operas like Carmen and the Barber of Seville. And seeing that it was so hot, we decided that sitting quietly on the bus would be less tiring in the afternoon heat. This, followed by a cold beer and some tapas, made for a good initial impression of Seville.

The audio guide on the bus claims that Flamenco is not a style of dance, but more a feeling. A feeling of deep-seated passion. You can never understand Flamenco. You experience and feel it. There are plenty of Flamenco shows that you can go to. I wanted to rather see an impromptu display of the dance in some random bar. So we headed off to the Triana district, where we understood some of these bars to be. And they were. All along the river front, a long wall that also serves as seating for the bars across the road had people dotted around, enjoying the warm weather. Most of the bars were closed, though, and we assumed that it was because of it being Monday. So we stopped at one of the little restaurants for supper, only  to hear that the flamenco bars only open at midnight.

The audio guide was correct. Flamenco is a feeling. Lo Nuestro was virtually empty when it opened at midnight, and the “show” was really two musicians, one on a guitar, and one on a cajón. The bar had no tables, clearly not compromising on space for dancing. A rather distinct looking Spanish man with a very fancy mustache arrived with his wife, daughter and the daughter’s boyfriend. Not really the dancing type either. I made peace with the fact that I would not be experiencing that flamenco on a Monday night then. But here’s the thing. The minute the music starts, the Spanish instinctively start clapping those beautiful rhythms that they do so well. And without warning, someone would jump up and dance. The Spanish just cannot keep their hands still. And they cannot sit still. It’s in their blood.

We eventually decided to rather act our age and go home to get some rest. Besides, it was quite a walk, and I planned the walk to include a slight detour.

It is remarkable what you see in Seville at around 2am on a Monday night, or Tuesday morning rather.

• A couple chatting away at a bar, with a baby sleeping peacefully (I hope) in a pram.
• Signs that tell you that it is still 23 degrees.
• People walking their dogs (the dogs must be wondering why, as much as we did!)
• People washing the streets with a hose
• Young girls walking (presumably home) alone
• Security company guys having ice-cream at an ice-cream shop that was still open
• Mc Donalds delivery
• Some (very) young girls, who bothered to stop and ask us whether we needed assistance, probably because of me studying the map so intently
• Two oldish South Africans falling in love with this beautiful city
• And the Metropol Parasol – a rather large wooden structure resembling mushrooms.

Earlier, we debated whether it would be fun to have a holiday in a single place in Europe. I can see that Seville would be a place that I could do this.

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