Part VI: Seville

The bullet train was unbelievably efficient. It took only 45 minutes to get to Seville from Cordoba, the scenery was splendid, and there were attendants walking up and down the aisles with trash bags to ensure the cars remained spotless. Upon arriving, we found space at a charming hostel called "Buenos Suenos" (Sweet Dreams), with a rooftop terrace hung with white linens -- a prime spot for watching the activity in the street below. I had the impression, not quite accurately I suppose, that everything in Seville was yellow and white. It was much busier than Cordoba, but not swarming in tourists as one might fear.

The grand cathedral in the main square was already closed for the day, so we spent some time walking on the adjacent Ave. de la Constitucion, an old but wide street in tip-top shape, sporting a Starbucks, a Fnac, and a cable car. Then we made the first of two visits to the Alcazar, located off the same plaza as the cathedral. From the gate, we couldn't discern the massive size of the grounds -- the entrance was a simple red wall emblazoned with the Castilian lion emblem, from which extendd typical stone castle walls. First erected in the 12th century during the reign of the Almohad dynasty, it was rebuilt by Pedro I in the 14th century; although Pedro was a Christian king, he liked the Islamic style and designed the palace accordingly. It remains the official residence of the Spanish king in Seville to this day. We passed through a series of impressive courtyards adorned with fountains and bountiful vines. Off the courtyards were various chambers, some stuccoed in the Islamic style, others elegantly wallpapered in the European style -- such as one, covered in crimson and gold, where Christopher Columbus supposedly "planned" the discovery of America with Ferdinand and Isabella. To get to the main courtyard, I walked through a winding tiled passageway. At the other end was the heart of the castle complex, a narrow, still pool stretching from one side to the other and flanked by sunken orange trees. It wasn't large, but serene, surrounded by columns supporting perhaps twenty scalloped arches, exquisite stucco work, and an upper arcade that looked much more like Renaissance Italy than 12th century Morocco. The architectural styles blend seamlessly, with each Romanesque arch playing off the neighboring Islamic one. At this point my camera died, so the rest of what I saw is in my mind alone. No furniture is left, but each room off the main courtyard has a ceiling more unusual than the next -- stars and flowers painted in purples, reds, and greens, somehow meshing perfectly with the blue and green tiled walls. The Court of the Dolls was one of my favorite rooms, a small square space with slightly disturbing doll faces carved into the base of the arches. The entry to another room was made quite impressive by two enormous wall peacocks.



But more impressive than that were the real peacocks in the gardens outside. The gardens were literally endless. Each had a name, like "Garden of the Maidens" and a different character -- wispy cypresses or tight beds of roses. One could wander for hours (and the next day, we did) and never find an exit. My favorite garden featured an overgrown pond with an oozing rock, a face carved into it, emerging from its depths: Mount Parnassus. The first crowd of peacocks were strutting around a grassy shaded area, completely undeterred by the occasional human in close proximity. As the gardens closed for the evening and I wandered out, I passed a pergola covered in grape vines. A pair of peacocks, a cobalt blue male and a brownish female, were preening themselves beneath it.

As we sat outside the Alcazar, a pervasive teenager girl hustled me into taking a twig for good luck from some saint (she claimed), then read my palms... in Spanish. For a price of course. We then crisscrossed the ritzy shopping district in search of last-minute tickets for Sara Baras, one of the most famous flamenco stars in Spain - to no avail. In the end we ended up at a rickety table at Alvaro Peregil, a phenomenal tapas restaurant on the street leading to the cathedral (and in view of it). We tried salmorejo there, a type of gazpacho for which Andalucia (and this restaurant) are famous.

Later on, trying again but failing to find flamenco, we wound up at the University of Seville, following a bubbly crowd inside to a large open area with a stage and hundreds of chairs. The stars were bright, the weather balmy, and the attendees eager... but we had no clue what was going on, since the sign had been in Spanish. We sat for quite some time, guessing that maybe it was a boxing match or something. Eventually we determined that it was a comedy show (in Spanish) and gave up.


The next day, we had orange juice and toast at a sidewalk cafe outside our hostel and headed over to the great Cathedral of Seville. Like most sites in Spain (much more than in the U.S. -- in fact, many things were free), the Cathedral had a great student discount. Completed in the 16th century to demonstrate Seville's wealth after the Reconquista, it is the largest Gothic cathedral in the world (with some Renaissance elements) and the third largest cathedral of any era. There were perhaps eighty small chapels, dripping in gold and enormous paintings, around the sides, a large sacristy, and all sorts of surprises that meant it took several hours to even give a cursory look to everything. One whole side had been taken over by a group of miners on a hunger strike, their cots and suitcases laid out all over the floor for the long haul. Some of the highlights included one of the two organs, stretching nearly floor to ceiling in the center of the church: it was so frilly as to appear almost to have been carved from lace, rather than dark wood. I've seen many churches, but the altarpiece in the Capilla Mayor in the center of the cathedral was staggering - the masterpiece of a single craftsman and the largest altarpiece in the whole world. Towering above human height, it oozes with gold and 45 carefully carved scenes from the life of Christ. Another highlight, which I stumbled upon unknowingly at first, was the tomb of Christopher Columbus, a sculpted casket held by four pallbearers. His remains traveled the world for centuries before finally arriving back in Seville. It also struck us that there was a subtle but clear Islamic influence in the church, recognizable in its overlapping arches. It turned out that the cathedral was indeed built over a mosque, and the minaret was converted into a tower (the Giralda). The top of the tower provided views of every corner of Seville, including La Maestranza, the bullfighting arena. Back inside, the official royal chapel was closed for private worship. But we did rest for a bit in the orange tree courtyard, another remnant of the cathedral's Islamic predecessor.




We ate lunch at El Serranito, which served... serranito. A Sevillian specialty, serranito is a cut of pork tenderloin inside a long sandwich bun with a slice of serrano ham (like prosciutto) on top. The meal was only 3 euros and the restaurant, near La Maestranza, had mounted bulls' heads and pictures of toreros all over the walls. Naturally our next stop was La Maestranza itself, in the Arenal district. There were no bullfights that night (sort of a relief), but we went on a tour of the arena. Everything was white with the classic yellow ochre trim of Seville, a perfect match with the impeccably groomed yellow sand inside the arena, and crimson-colored gates. The seating is almost entirely open-air, and at the top are dozens of round arches. Our red-skirted guide explained that the modest gate at one corner was the entrance point for the torero, while the more elaborate marble-columned exit was used only to carry him out in glory when he nailed a special prize (certain combinations of ears and tail). That hadn't happened yet this year. Inside the museum area, we looked at the chic outfits worn by star fighters, the red and white pom-pommed saddles worn by the mules brought out to prepare the bull, and alternative games used to train horsemen when bullfighting (originally done on horseback exclusively) was still just a technique for training the military. Also, I learned that bulls are colorblind and the pink, blue, and red capes used are simply a tradition. Finally, we visited the chapel of the bullfighters where they go to pray just before the fight.



We took a nice stroll along the shady Rio Guadalquivir to the Torre del Oro, built in the Almohad era and so named for the golden yellow tiling on its little dome. Then I visited the Hospital de la Caridad, a serene and little-visited site (I was alone there) and now a home for the elderly. It was built in the 17th century as a home for the destitute by Don Miguel Manara and the Brothers of Charity. They adopted as part of their mission the burying of those executed and those found dead floating in the nearby river. There was a leafy yellow-painted courtyard that led into the fairly small but wildly elaborate chapel. It was covered in paintings by the famous Spanish painter Murillo, mostly depicting Biblical scenes that demonstrate the importance of charity. The pulpit was held up by a remarkable amphibious gargoyle, and the back of the chapel was flanked by two moving paintings by Valdes Leal on the transience of life.



We returned to the Alcazar gardens where we frolicked with baby peacocks this time and wandered through the roses. As we emerged, a wedding was just letting out of the great cathedral, and rose petals had been sprinkled onto the square. We ate diner nearby and then began another fruitless odyssey for flamenco, during which we had the pleasure of exploring many of the back cobbled streets of Seville.