Sevilla - Andalucia's Finest

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Saturday - November 22, 2008

After spending the night out with Josh, Rob, Tasha, Duncan, and their friends Richard and Patrick, we made it back to their flat around four in the morning. I packed my bag, took a shower and got ready to head out for the train station at 5. After saying goodbye, with quite a heartfelt one from Rob, everyone bid me good luck and went off to bed. As five rolled around I stepped out into the drizzle of the early morning and walked out into the orange-glow of the street lamps. It was a cold and hurried walk of about thirty minutes to get there. Luckily, I made it there without any problems and without getting lost. Unfortunately, this put me there an hour before the train left. I sat out on the platform and waited, keeping my eyes open with sheer willpower. Eventually, the train arrived and I boarded, passing out within minutes.

I slept fitfully, awaking from time to time to gaze at the scenery. At one point I awoke to take in one of the most spectacular and particularly beautiful sunsets I had ever seen. It rose in a flurry of pinks, reds and oranges over a Spanish valley. It foretold of a gorgeous day to come and the beginning of a new journey.

I awoke around 10 as the train pulled into Puerta de Atocha in Madrid. I was back where I started on Monday, this time heading South toward Sevilla, away from the frigid north and into the warmth of the Mediterranean. I had to wait until 12 before the train left. Oddly enough, I found a lot more Americans on this trip than the one up north. I would later come to discover that Sevilla was much more a cosmopolitan city than Pamplona.

As the train moved down toward the southern coast, the land started to grow a bit more flat and a bit drier. More farmland and life came into view. We passed through Cordoba, which holds a landmark that I’ve come to desperately want to see. A magnificent mosque (Mezquita de Cordoba) stood here in the capital city of the Muslim ruled Spain (the Caliphate of Cordoba), which held much of the Iberian peninsula from the 900’s to the 1000’s. When Christian Spaniards conquered it during the Reconquista, it was so magnificent that instead of tearing it down they built their cathedral around it. The mosque still exists in a portion of the Cathedral that now envelopes it. I learned about it many years ago in high school and I’ve been wanting to see it ever since. Hopefully I’ll be able to take a weekend to do so sometime in these upcoming four weeks.

By 2:30 we had reached Sevilla after a two and a half hour trip from Madrid. It had been quite the journey and I was exhausted from lack of sleep. I stepped off the train into 60 to 70 degree weather. Compared to Pamplona it was scorching, especially carrying my pack and wearing my leather jacket. Eventually I had to take off my jacket and carry it. Before this, however, I had to get my bearing.

Unlike America, Spanish cities do not have street signs on every corner. Usually you have to tell what street you’re on by looking for a plaque-style sign on the side of a building or letters anchored into the walls at street corners, but they are spaced unevenly every so often. Therefore, getting lost can be a very easy task to accomplish. It does not help that around the Sevilla Santa Justa train station the roads are a bit confusing as well. So, after wandering for about ten minutes, I decided to try my luck by asking for directions. I approached a man walking on the street. “Perdon, donde esta la Giralda?” I asked (la Giralda is the very large, ornate tower of the Sevilla Cathedral. You can climb it and practically see the whole city - I plan to do so.). Unlike Pamplona, where many people tend to be somewhat reserved, he was very kind and understanding. He knew immediately that I was an English speaker and told me how to reach it in English, as best he could. I thanked him profusely and trudged on. I came to another dilemma soon after. I reached a portion of the city where the old walls are now formed into a road. I approached another, older man carrying a guitar. I asked him the same question. In very good English he explained how I could reach the Cathedral. I was elated and very grateful at how helpful the people had been thus far.

Eventually, I came to an area where the roads narrowed and the amount of cafes proliferated. I was searching for a hostel by the name of the Seville Backpackers Inn. Eventually, after a jaunt through the winding roads I stumbled upon it. Walking inside, I was told that, unfortunately, there was no room. My heart sank. What was I going to do? With a slight panic rising, I asked if there were any other hostels in the area. He nodded and called them for me, checking their vacancy. My spirits were again lifted when vacancies were found. After indicating where the hostel was on my map, I was off.

Sevilla is a city divided by a river, the Guadalquiver. Most of the town resides on the northern side of the river, with the remainder on the southern bank. To get to where I was going, I had to cross to the south side and an area called Trianna. En route, I came upon the Sevilla Cathedral. It is a huge and very Gothic style cathedral that sticks up obstinately gray into the bright blue sky that characterizes this city. Needless to say, it was breathtaking. The Giralda, the large tower it sports, was also quite amazing. I vowed to come back and see it again, but first I had business to take care of. Unfortunately, I was side-tracked by a gypsy woman attempting to give me a sprig of some kind, a palm-reading and a blessing. I was quite wary the entire time, but she caught me unawares before I could successfully escape. Of course, when all was said and done she asked for money. I offered to give her a few coins, but she literally demanded paper money, rudely taking back the sprig when I told her I had none. I laughed for a good five minutes. So much for selfless hospitality.

I crossed the Guadalquiver, beautiful in the bright, afternoon sun, with people milling about near the cathedral and along the bridge. Making it to Trianna, I turned onto a road that ran along the river. As I walked, I noticed the very subtle Muslim influences on the architecture and building designs. Some windows had very ornately styled window gratings, and tiles decorated with vibrant blue colors. Due to the fact that Muslims are forbidden to have any representation/images of Muhammad, they tend to be iconoclastic and loath about putting such things in their art. Therefore, it tends to consist of very ornate linear designs - much like the art of Celtic knots (for lack of a better comparison), though of course very different. The streets were quiet and peaceful, and my footsteps echoed on the pavement, as I passed old buildings and people walking their dogs. I noticed quickly how much more laid back life is than in the north.

I eventually reached the hostel in about five to ten minutes, modestly named Trianna Backpackers. I was pleasantly surprised by how nice of a place it was, being my first hostel stay and all. It had a very nice décor, a homey kitchen, and provided clean sheets free of charge, for only fifteen euros. Putting my stuff into an underbed locker in a room on the third floor, I heard conversation coming somewhere down the hall. When I searched out the voices, I was surprised to find myself on a rooftop terrace, with red, ochre tiles, couches, and four hammocks dangling in a small alcove. Under a blue sky and after a day of travel and walking across the city, it was simply heaven.

I found myself with some others, and being outgoing (I can be surprisingly so when I’m alone in a city without anyone to call a friend) I introduced myself. I met a girl named Karen and we began to chat about where we were from and where we had been. It turns out she is a Canadian and had been traveling for five to six weeks throughout Europe, from Norway, the Netherlands, through Germany and France, and finally down to Seville to meet up with a friend of hers from back home. As we were chatting, her friend Kevin arrived. It turns out that he’s here studying at the Universidad de Sevilla as a study abroad student for the Fall semester. He had backpacked around two years previous before college. Topics led to other topics and we hung around for a few hours. I had planned to go about town for a while, but instead enjoyed great company under a beautiful sky on a relaxing terrace near the heart of the city. Who could ask for more?

Night began to fall around 6, and we decided to go grab a bite to eat. We tried a restaurant around the block that turned out to be closed. Weighing our options, we met up with Kevin’s two roommates from Michigan and headed out to a kabob restaurant not far on the north side of the river. I got to talking with Isaac, one of the roommates, and told him I lived in Miami. He asked if I went to the University of South Florida, as he had gone there. I told him I went to New College, which is in Sarasota close by. Interestingly enough, I found out that he lives in Grand Rapids, Michigan, after which I explained that I had family in that area. His grandmother or parents, I can’t remember which, live in North Muskeegon. I’m always surprised by how small the world seems.

We reached the restaurant and set about getting our orders. Kevin and his roommates were heading out to a Sevilla vs. Valencia football game. I had planned to go find my flat for the CELTA course in the city so I knew how to get there on Sunday, so I asked Karen if she wanted to come along and explore the city. It was a bit of a walk, but a nice one with good weather and good conversation running the gamut of topics. Needless to say, it was a fun night and definitely made me feel more confident about my ability to make friends on the road and take everything in stride.

On our way back to the hostel we ran into a Spanish band playing music outside a small cafeteria in the street. They were amazingly good, strumming guitars and mandolins to the beat of a tambourine, dressed in traditional black and red outfits, and singing altogether in harmony. They sang songs that I couldn’t comprehend, but what I could feel were full of emotion and heart. Karen and I stayed for their three songs. During the last, there was a woman in the middle of the half-circle they had formed who was walking up and kissing each band member on their cheeks. She gave the tambourine man an excited and cheerful hug. He looked bashful, and put down his tambourine to dance with her. They waltzed together for a few minutes until the song ended. It was amusing and very sweet at the same time. I walked away feeling warm and joyful, happy to catch such a spontaneous treat of human interaction and music.

After walking the Calle Betis, a district of pubs, bars and cafes along the Guadalquiver’s south bank overlooking the river, we made it back to the hostel. I bought a beer and lounged on the terrace hammocks checking e-mails and chatting before heading off to bed.

One hell of a day.

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Comments

[Marla]

Wish I was there!
Hi, baby boy! I wish I was there with you! Sounds so exciting! Dad and Delaney say "HI" too and Delaney really wishes she was there!