Andalusia 101

Seville is now a memory, many memories actually, some of which I'm going to recount here and now as well as my 62 year old memory will allow. Our pace has changed dramatically since parting company with four of our company. With them it was a more relaxed way of being with lots of downtime and I recall saying that the less I did, the less I wanted to do. Now my excuse is we're on the go all day every day and there's little time tell you about it. We only have two and a half days in Cordoba and as this was once the largest city in Europe, its history is rich with the intermingling of Moors, Romans, Visigoths (did you know they were Christian? Go figger), Jews and Gypsies. Each had a profound impact on today's culture; food, dance, language and religion have all flowed from the forceful rivers of the dominating powers and my 60 hours here aren't near enough to absorb it. But we're trying and I've had some of my most emotionally exciting moments as we dip our toes in Andalusia. But first Seville.

Like Cordoba, it was the birthplace of the Renaissance and is home to the largest Gothic Cathedral in the world (twice as big as Notre Dame) but it wasn't the history that drew us out of our new digs shortly after arriving, it was hunger. They're known for their tapas and we wanted to know them so away we went but it was Sunday night. Restaurants throughout the city are bursting at 10pm and, as we saw pedalling home last night, still ovrflowing past midnight. But it was Sunday and our place was well off the tourist path so food wasn't everywhere. We trudged the cobblestones, despondent with unsatiated tummies and cuiriousity when we saw a light behind an open door in the near distance. "Could be a restaurant", I thought and ventured in, squeezed past a few people in the narrow hallway and saw a woman standing behind a counter. A closed door on my right had a sign that I decipheredd as saying "Don't open unless there is applause". I approached the lady and asked "Tiene comida?(Do you have food)". "No" but then added "Tengo solo empanadas". "That's food", I thought and said "Dos y dos cervezas". She handed me the beer and I handed them to Deb and as I turned back to get the food I heard the applause. I turned around again to look for Deb but she'd also heard the applause and had entered the room. I slipped in and found her in command of two seats in a small hall where impromptu performers took turns on stage. The first guy sang and played guitar. I couldn't understand the words and he was okay but nothing I hadn't seen before. The second guy spoke into the mike briefly to explain what he was about to do then stepped away and acted out a soliloquy with all the passion and arm waving the role required. Unintelligible but impressive. The next one up pulled a piece of paper from her pocket and recited some of her poetry. As did the next one, and the next. Not being able to understand any of it didn't detract from the moment, it was an intimate look at how Sevillians see themselves; passionate and lovers of the arts.

Which we got to see again the following evening but in different form; Flamenco. Deb had booked us some seats to see what was purported to be some of the best Flamenco in the world in a small venue that seated maybe 30 people. We spent the day seeing the usual sights: the cathedral ( got a picture of Christopher Columbus' tomb), Encarnacion and more but then decided the city was too big with too much to see so we got the 'Coles Notes' version by buying tickets for one of those hop on hop off buses. The tix were good for 24 hours so we used it to get around to the sights but also to get back and forth to our apartment which was outside the more popular areas. We hopped off at our apartment towards the end of the day to put on clean clothes and make ourselves more presentable as the show was VIP (and came with a glass of wine).

Siri has become my new best friend and her British accent guided us to the door of the Flamenco Museo and throughout the narrow twisting alleys of Seville. She got us there on time and we settled into a brick vault for the performance. I wasn't sure what to expect. I'd seen a little on tv in passing in the past and knew there was some foot stomping and castanets but that was about it. But what you don't get on tv is the intensity, the brush of her dress as she storms by or the spray of the guy's sweat as he twirls. It began with a guy and a guitar. The lights were dim with a soft spot on him and his hands. His fingers flew over the strings to bring out the sweet sounds of classical guitar and set the mood for what came next, the singers. One male, one female to create the soundtrack for the dancers. They sang with a ferocity we'd first experienced with Fado and while I again couldn't understand the words, at the point where she leaned over in her chair, eyes closed, fist on her heart, mouth slack, it felt as if she was sprinkling her tears on her child's grave.

It stopped. The lights dimmed slightly and a man in high waisted pants and a woman in a floor-brushing gown and severe hair style slipped in. The music began softly then abruptly ended with a stomp of their feet. And it began. An hour of changing dancers, changing costumes, changing tempos and moods. It's made me rethink my decision to take up tap dancing, well maybe not but I couldn't stop myself from falling in love with the art. It mixed the rhythms of tap with the power of clomping with the beauty and story of dance. I applauded and cheered and told the people coming in for the next show they were in for the time of their lives (their blank stares said they didn't speak English).

Wonderful. And yet that wasn't the most magical moment. That was last night but our Blabla car to Granada is picking us up at a point I've got to find. I believe we've got 4 nights there so will find some time to tell about last night, the night before and our last night in Seville.