Sevilla

First impressions are always interesting. When I first traveled to Sevilla, in southern Spain, I expected to find sunny skies and flowerpots on the balconies and terrace-filled streets with tables and chairs and waiters serving gazpacho.

I didn't expect to see the bikes. Bicycles everywhere! While walking down the street, it took a few dirty looks for me to realize that I was walking in their lane. We noticed that many of the bicycles were identical, painted in the same color and donning the same style of basket in front. Each bike wore the same large red fender, each with a white circle and the word “Sevici” inscribed in the middle.

We saw racks with at least a dozen of these bicycles latched onto them. Little by little we pieced together the puzzle, learning that these were bicycles made available to the public, by the city, to encourage public transportation.  “Bike stations” were scattered throughout the city where a person could retrieve a bike from one location and drop it off at another on the other side of town. I kind of liked the idea.

But it wasn't just the cycling that caught my attention. The people in Sevilla were very active. Runners jogged along the sidewalks, school girls on roller blades moved on the paseo, and kayakers streamed along the Guadalquivir River. There were all the pedestrians also, but that is a common occurrence in every Spanish city.

That was my first impression. Of course, there is much more to the capital of Andalusia than just bikers, runners, and kayakers. Seville, or Sevilla as it is known in Spanish, is arguably the most beautiful city in all of Spain. At one time, it was probably the most important city in Spain, also. After the discovery of the New World, every ship with goods from the Americas had to first stop at the river-port in Sevilla.

Giralda Tower

A mandatory destination while in Sevilla is the cathedral. This massive structure is the largest Gothic cathedral in the world. It was built on the site of a former mosque. From the exterior, the most impressive feature is the bell tower. The Giralda, as it is known locally, was originally a minaret of the mosque, and built to closely resemble the minaret of the Koutoubia Mosque in Marrakesh, Morocco. A man would travel up the 343 foot tower five times a day to call the Muslims of Moorish Sevilla to prayer. After the Reconquest, the minaret was converted to a bell tower.

A trip to the top is certainly an adventure. The passageway was choked with people when we went, the right-side traveling up, and the left-side traveling down. There are no stairs leading to the top, but rather a series of ramps. We were told that it was built wide enough that a horse could ride to the top.

Along the way are many peep holes, or windows to view outside. These points allow peeks into the courtyard of the cathedral, as well as views of the roof, and close-up glances of gargoyles.

The very top allows an excellent view below the bell, and also vistas of the city. We could see the bullring, the Alcazar, and some rooftop swimming pools. Far below us, a semi-circle of horse and carriages parked along-side the cathedral. We waited for the top-of-the-hour to hear the bell ring close-up. To my disappointment, it only rang once, even though it was twelve-noon. Perhaps that is in consideration of all the tourists.

A view from the Giralda tower of the cathedral.  The "Patio of Oranges" is visible in the foreground.

This view from the Giralda Tower includes the Alcazar (top left), Archive of the Indies (top right), and the Plaza del Triunfo (center).   The dome, with the blue and white cupola, is above the Royal Chapel of the cathedral.

The main sacristy of the cathedral.

Back down in the cathedral, we walked around the massive interior, admiring the detail and art of the building. The main sacristy contains a gallery of paintings, including some from Francisco de Zurbarán, an artist from Extremadura who was commissioned by the church to create several paintings for the cathedral.

I was also impressed with the main altarpiece, so ornate in gilded decoration that it is difficult to make sense of what it represents. The altarpiece depicts stories from the birth of Christ to his resurrection. One of the first thoughts that crossed my mind was whether any of this gold was brought over from the New World. That is unlikely since the piece was completed in 1480, well before the first voyage of Columbus.

Is this really the tomb of Christopher Columbus?

Speaking of Columbus, he is buried here, or at least that is the belief. In the transept, a statue of four pallbearers, each representing a medieval region that would become Spain, are carrying a sarcophagus containing the bones of Columbus.

The Italian navigator's body took quite a journey after his death in Valladolid in 1506. Three years later it was moved to a convent in Sevilla. In 1537, his remains were transported across the Atlantic to lay to rest in the cathedral at Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic. In 1795, Spain ceded Hispanola, which included Santo Domingo, to France. Therefore, the remains of Columbus were moved to Havana, Cuba. A century later, it was decided to move the bones back to Spain, and that is where they rest now, in the cathedral of Sevilla.

There is a controversy. In 1877, workers in the cathedral at Santo Domingo found a heavy box of bones with the name of Christopher Columbus on the box. It is now speculated that transporters in 1795 may have intentionally, or accidentally, moved the wrong bones. Modern experts in Spain claim that the DNA of the bones in Sevilla are a close match to his brother's. In any case, two countries claim to hold the remains of Christopher Columbus, and since I was at cathedral in Sevilla, I choose to believe the claim of Spain.

A typical café  in the neighborhood of Santa Cruz.

Sevilla is a city full of atmosphere. Whether it is a flamenco dancer twisting and singing next to a café, or a lone guitarist strumming a tune from Segovia, there is always sound in this Andalusian town. Then come the clapping of horses hooves, consistent prancing combined with subtle jangling of bells and the neigh of a horse. These are the horse-drawn carriages that are all over the city.

Torre del Oro

Gypsies hover around the cathedral and other tourist destinations. At one time, theft was a major problem in Sevilla, and I believe that the Gypsies were a contributing factor. Times are better now, and tourism is safer. But they are still there, trying to capitalize on the weak. We found a group of Gypsy ladies near the cathedral trying to sell “aromatic plants” to unlucky pedestrians. We adamantly refused, having learned our lesson years ago. Later, we watched one of the ladies walk to the building next door, the Archive of the Indies, and gather some more “aromatic plants” from the shrubs near the fountain that the gardener had just trimmed. That was what they were selling!

Spanning across the Guadalquivir River is the Bridge of San Telmo. It stretches from near the Tower of Gold, or Torre del Oro, to the Triana District. The bridge provides great views of the tower and of the boaters on the river. It is also a location where peddlers set up their wares.

One of these peddlers caught our eye. He was a midget and he sold jewelry. Not just any jewelry, but hand-made rings, pendants, and earrings, using not much more than needle-nosed pliers and jewelers wire. He would twist the wire in elegant curls around a stone and form it into whatever the customer wanted. My wife, Jenelle, had seen a shop like this in Granada, but we were unable to buy anything there.

We talked to the midget on our first day in the city, and when we saw him again on the second day, he remembered who we were and was very friendly with us. For 20 € we bought a set of earrings, a pendant with an amber-colored stone set in the center, and a turquoise ring that the midget made personally for Jenelle. Then he threw in another set of earrings, just because we were friendly. What a nice guy!

One of my favorite places in all of Sevilla is the Museo de Bellas Artes. This art museum, housed in a former convent, provides a peaceful escape from the chaos of the city, as well as a look at some of Spain's best art. Some consider this museum the best collection of Spanish art after the Prado in Madrid.

That is saying a lot. Spain has produced some of the greatest painters of all time including El Greco, Goya, Picasso, Dalí, Miró and Velázquez. This museum focuses on many of the Baroque artists and highlights the works of two local painters: Bartolomé Murillo and Francisco de Zurbarán.

Many of the compositions focus on the birth, life, and death of Jesus Christ. It is common for the same scene to be depicted by several artists, each offering the artist's unique interpretation. For example, both Peter Van Lint and Murillo have a picture representing the “worshiping of the shepherds.” Both have common players: the shepherd holding his sheep, a proud mother looking at her baby, a chicken, baby angels hovering in the air, and of course, the baby Jesus. Murillo's tends to be more simplistic, while Van Lint's gives more detail, consisting of more onlookers, including a boy with his dog.

I found it interesting that many of the paintings included a human skull placed somewhere in the composition. This style of art comes from a type of symbolic work called vanitas, or vanity. Used in the 16^th and 17^th centuries, symbols such as rotten fruit represent decay, and bubbles exhibit the brevity of life. In the case of the skull, this represents the certainty of death.

One such depiction in this museum is the painting of “The Temptation of Saint Jerome,” by Juan de Valdés Leal. Saint Jerome is seen on his knees, using all his will-power to reject the temptation of the courtesans behind him who are luxuriously dressed. In front of Jerome is a copy of the bible and a crucifix. Next to the bible is a skull.

My favorite work in the Museo de Bellas Artes is a painting by Maestro de las Medias, an anonymous painter from the 16^th century. Piedad, or piety in English, is a portrayal of Mary Magdalene holding the deceased Christ in her arms. His lips are gray, and body limp. Cracks throughout the canvas offer testament to the age of the painting. The most dramatic detail, however, are the eyes of Mary. They are piercing, loving, and beautiful, all at the same time.

The Temptation of Saint Jerome by Juan de Valdés Leal.

Piedad by Maestro de las Medias.

Cristo Crucificado by Francisco de Zurbarán.

After our visit to the art museum, we strolled back toward the Guadalquivir River. The sun was inching closer to the horizon, casting longer shadows on walls and sidewalks. We passed the bullring, unique in its white-washed color and golden trim. A statue of Pepe Luis Vázquez stands outside. The interior of the ring was closed, so we just perused the outside.

Along the the banks of the river, the local youth were out in high numbers. Many roller-bladed on a bike-path, many of them still in school uniforms. Some relaxed at the bank's edge, dangling their feet over the river. On the water, kayakers were well at work, streaming along the surface.

Around the Torre del Oro, we found many school kids walking around with instruments in their hands. Some carried trumpets and others drums. Random bursts of the horn, or tinkering of the drums could be heard. We couldn't figure out what it was all about. Suddenly, one instrument began to play, and soon they were all playing together. It sounded like an old Spanish folk song, but I was not familiar with it. The music sounded a little discordant, but it was obvious that now they were all playing together. We sat back and listened, enjoying a moment of serendipity.

These teenage boys paint graffiti on a wall on the Triana side of the Guadalquivir River. 

During our previous stroll past the river, Jenelle had noticed paddle boats being rented for 10 € an hour. She suggested this to me, and I will admit, I was a little hesitant at first. I don't know why. Perhaps it is because I don't have a lot of spontaneity in my bloodstream. She nudged me until I finally gave in, and I am glad I did. Our paddle boat excursion on the Guadalquivir River was one of the highlights of our entire trip.

There wasn't a big rush of adrenalin associated with it, nor was there a history lesson to be learned. For one hour, Jenelle and I sat side-by-side and paddled the boat with our feet. I controlled a rudder that steered us. The only thing to be cautious of were the cruise boats and kayakers. But the river was wide, with plenty of room for all of us. The water on the river was very placid. (I'm not even sure if this is truly a river anymore. I think that the true Guadalquivir was diverted years ago, and where we were now was only a canal.)

We paddled toward the bridge of Isabel II. Clusters of people lounged around on the quay near the bridge. We passed beneath the bridge and the steel circular designs on the arch. Above the bridge, tiny-looking people walked across, completely oblivious to us, and going on their way.

After passing beneath the bridge, we made a large, u-shaped swoop in the water and returned in the direction we came from. Now we paddled closer to the Triana side of the river. We watched a group of boys spray graffiti on a cement wall. Vines and leafy shrubs hung down over the stone wall in some places. Above the wall, at street-level, a restaurant had its doors open for the evening. Now, its lights were coming on and customers sat outside on the patio, looking over the river.

We paddled all the way to the bridge of San Telmo before we turned around again, and returned to the place where we began. We carefully inched to the side and docked the boat.

As the sun disappeared deeper and deeper below the horizon, the lights of Sevilla began to emerge. We walked back onto the bridge and found the city magically lit up. The Torre del Oro illuminated splendidly and the Giralda Tower peeked just above the trees. The cruise boats appeared to be docked for the evening. Reflections of street lights shimmied in the river. An ambitious kayaker slithered by beneath the bridge.

Ornate decoration at the Plaza de España.

Next, we walked to the nearby Plaza de España. We didn't have a lot of time, as it was night already, but we couldn't leave Sevilla without visiting one of its major icons. This massive plaza was completed in 1928 for the Ibero-American Exposition World's Fair. It is a semi-circle of ornate buildings, tiles, a canal, bridges, and a large fountain. Attention to detail is given for every last space in the plaza.

Although it was night, the plaza was lit up well when we arrived. There weren't many people, so we roamed freely throughout. This was just another example of the many troves of treasure in Sevilla.

A statue of El Cid on his horse on the Avenida El Cid.  A tower at the Plaza de España is visible in the background.

After our visit to Plaza de España, we walked to another plaza, this one smaller and less conspicuous. Along the route, I marveled at the atmosphere that came alive at night. Horse-drawn carriages still clapped down the street, and the monuments of long-ago Spanish heroes now lit up. We soon arrived at the Plaza de Santa Cruz. On the the west-side of a small square of orange trees stood the Tablao Flamenco Los Gallos, a modest three-storied building with iron-railing balconies. This is where we would watch our Flamenco show. I don't think that a trip to Sevilla would be complete without experiencing good, authentic Flamenco.

We bought our tickets earlier in the day near the cathedral for 30 € a piece. This included the two-hour show and a drink. The show began at 10 pm. This is considered early in the evening by Spanish standards.

The auditorium was small, the stage smaller. There were a total of twelve performers during the evening, but usually only four on the stage at one time: two singers, one guitarist, and one dancer. The stage was lit by a red or white light, with two chairs, wooden beams on the ceiling, and a cast-iron stove for decoration. “Los Gallos” was painted on the wall, along with a picture of two roosters, as if about to engage in a cock fight.

The first dancer was much younger than I anticipated. She wore a polka dot dress with a long train that she always kept lifted as she danced and stamped on the stage. She used a fan, opening it, fluttering it, and waving it with her hands. Everything was done gracefully, and with emotion. When they sang, usually it was with their eyes closed, and almost a cry on their face.

Even when the men danced, they did so sumptuously. They grasped their coat sides, just as the women did their dresses, and waved them seductively back and forth. The men were so good at clicking their fingers that I had to look closely to be sure they were not using castanets. One man was dressed all in black with a bandanna around his neck.

Behind the dancer was the guitarist, his fingers going at incredible speeds. On both sides of him were the singers, one a fat gypsy with a low voice, and the other an awkward slim guy with glasses, singing at a high pitch. At the end of each song, the fat guy would say, “Olé!”

Each performance lasted about fifteen minutes. Between performances they would take a little break, then scramble up the performers and play again.

After two hours, I was completely awe-struck. Like many other things in life, Flamenco is something that has to be witnessed in person to gain the full experience.

It was well past midnight when we returned to our hotel. As we were headed in for the night, others were just beginning, walking in the opposite direction to join their friends. From the third-story balcony of our hotel, I looked down on the street and saw a large group of evening-goers sitting down at a long, rectangular table. They were eating an evening meal. Such late meals are typical here in Spain.

As for us, we were wiped. We had to catch a morning train to Madrid. It was time to close the doors, close the eyes, and try to get a little sleep. It would be a little more difficult to close the mind: the stomping, the clicking, and the castanets would play long into the night.