Take me to Church

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For the second time this trip, which means the second time in probably years, we wake up after 12:00. No hangover! But we will be needing coffee and all the other things the rest of the city stopped needing hours ago. We douse our bodies and shave our tongues and filter into the throbbing midday streets. Breakfast today suffers from our lack of Español because we think the waiter is bringing as a familiar ovo-vegan-friendly potato and egg thing but what we get is a mash of egg and various humiliations of pork. Since we expect meat will be a dietary necessity in Morocco, we decide to dip our carne-stuffed feet into fleshy food waters. We don’t find ourselves enjoying it and our stomachs double take up at us instantly to see what demon has hijacked our mouths. We pray to tortured Jesus that we will be able to adapt mentally and physically to the approaching herd of Moroccan lamb. The prayers are real; we fucking love lamb.

Having cannibalized as much of a close genetic relative as we can, we head to the Cathedral. We didn’t report this, but we did drop into our first two Cathedrals yesterday. They were fairly uneventful, save all the saving. Again, Jesus gets seriously beaten up. We would like to add that if Jesus suffered for our sins, we have a LOT more sinning to do to justify this torture! Anyway, we’re much too deep into a European trip to not be churched out, but we’re totally not. Museumed out, maybe, but we’ve got plenty of church left in us. The religious paintings at the Prado have whetted our appetites for painters like Murillo, who has work in the Cathedral. There’s also a bell tower to climb, which speaks to our hunched little hearts.

The Cathedral is the third largest Cathedral in Europe – behind St. Peter’s Basilica (and grill?) in the Vatican and… another really big one somewhere – but the largest Gothic cathedral!

We enter and, yeah, big cathedral alright. It also houses the largest altarpiece in the world, which stands about four stories high and is comprised of a grid of hundreds of individual min-dioramas telling the story of Jesus. Did you know he made Eagle Scout? Figures, right? At the top, lo and behold, he’s back on a cross. The Catholics ad campaign should be called, “Yeah, but Jesus…” and should win the Clio every year because their coverage and messaging are unsurpassed. It’s the travel agency for the ultimate guilt trip. Brilliant, really.

We don’t purchase the audio tour because we’re still not finished forgetting everything about the Alhambra, but our guidebook provides us with plenty to forget. This place is as huge as promised, but, oddly, only seats maybe a couple of hundred people! Notre Dame seats a thousand or something? Weird.

Instead of stairs, the tower is reached via 34 short ramps, spiraling up. The design was very clever; whoever had business at the top could ride up on a horse! As it happens, we walk up in front of a horse’s ass, who continues to try and amuse his millennial friends with a loud pig’s snort noise long after what little novelty this bit of “wit” holds has passed. The top brings to mind the Statue of Liberty crown; too many people, not enough viewpoints. However, there were windows incrementally along the way up and we were in the last group, so we enjoy a private stroll down, grabbing our pictures unhurried and virtually alone at the landings, sacrificing only a few feet of altitude.

We excommunicate ourselves back into the square and, of course, we’re hungry. It’s approaching 19:00 (you’ve had enough lessons, you should know the Euro-time like a pro by now) and wouldn’t you know it, travel karma is about to drop in. Julie glances into a window and sees a smallish audience being seated. We investigate and see that it is one of the professional flamenco shows recommended by various sources. They have a couple of seats left… until we buy them. The audience is three rows horseshoed around a center stage. The four chairs on the stage will be variously occupied by the performers. After one impressive song by a skilled, if stoic, flamenco guitarist and another when he is joined by a kind of touretty flamenco vocalist (clarification: by touretty we don’t mean that he unexpectedly shouts ASSWHORE in the middle of a song, he just has a kind of spasmy facial thing that accompanies literally every note). They are both top notch.

Then the dancers come out together. He is affable and bearded and she is intense as all get out. They do a couple of songs that, while excellent, only hint at the skills yet to be displayed. So, now it’s time for the fireworks. The woman, fully attired in colorful flamencowear, solos for a couple of songs, accompanied by Stoi and Toury. There is something about her performance that chokes us up to near tears. We have no idea why or how this is happening, but we’re emotionally wrought! It’s not the steps themselves, but the expressions on her face that fluctuate between pain, desire, rapture and lost contemplations, perhaps of having maybe left the iron on. Seriously, THIS is a very important aspect of flamenco; emotion. It is drama danced out. She finishes to a round of enthusiastic applause from an audience that until now were little more than wallpaper.

We enjoy a musical interlude as strummy stums and singy winces convulsively, then the male half moves for the hollow wooden stage. Okay, this is some shit. This guys hammers, taps, clips and clogs as if his legs were being repeatedly tazed by policia. It’s a magic trick that proves the feet are quicker than the eye. Three songs later he is soaked but not at all out of breath.

All join for the finale where we are finally allowed to take pictures, but they move too damn fast to get a good one off. Seeing this show was muy necessito to complete a cultural visit to Spain. And, indeed, Sevilla itself. We had been to Barcelona and other cities on a previous trip, but Sevilla is somehow more Spanish. Maybe it’s the bullring or the flamenco or the buildings themselves, but we definitely feel that this is ground zero for Spanish Spain.

Back to cousin #1’s trustworthy tapas before heading back to sleep. We have added an additional day to the Saville visit, but the place is so booked up, we’ll have to switch hotels tomorrow morning.

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Photos

baby jesus on soccer field
Along the cathedral are booths of nativity figurines and displays. This one seemed out of place.

weiner dog
They knew they were drawing something offensive, right?

Comments

[Carol]

Nice to see it again
Hey you two, we have some similar pics and experience w.r.t. the cathedral. We also enjoyed the views (and captured some) from the walk up more than at the top. Pretty damn impressive altar, no? Great get on the flamenco again. Good for you! And we couldn't agree more about Seville being actually Spain. xo