Seville is one of those places that, as a student of Spanish and formerly avid reader of Garcia Lorca, really makes you feel like you are in Spain. Throughout the day you are surrounded by the clatter of horse hooves on the cobble-stoned roads, and brilliant flowers pour out of planters as they hang from the balconies of narrow streets where houses are so close together, you would hardly have to make an effort to hold hands with your neighbor through the windows. And at night, as you stroll through the historic streets you can hear the darkly fascinating sounds of flamenco vocalists and guitarists echoing in every third establishment.
Plaza de España
Our integration into this seemingly new world began Saturday morning with a visit to Plaza de España (Spain Square)– at this point in my Spanish discovery, the best plaza in this country. And that is saying something, because there are plazas everywhere in this country. Of course, This particular plaza should have drawn my attention sooner - it was used in Star Wars Episode I and Episode II as part of the planet Naboo, and it also showed its face in The Dictator. It was built in 1928 for the Ibero-American Exposition of 1929.
Upon our arrival that misty morning, we were sadly reminded of the relentlessly distasteful attempts by hawkers to get you to throw away your money on gimmicky, mass-produced souvenirs that were not even made in Seville. An old man approached us, and I, a fool, thought perhaps he had a question I would be able to answer. I don’t really know why I would think that: my Spanish is basic, and I had only that hour begun to learn the layout of the city. But I cannot refuse at least an attempt if someone needs it. Then I saw it – the small twig in his hand – and knew all too well we had been targeted. I put my hand up to halt him, said “no, gracias” and hoped that would be enough. Unfortunately people like this do not take no for an answer, and his response was to take my hand – quite firmly – and push the plant into my palm. I repeated no several times, but he would not be deterred. Before I knew it, he had Jonny in his grasp, and I think he was trying to tell us our fortune. I told him I speak hardly any Spanish (a desperate attempt to get him to give up this charade) but “Qué lastima” he continued on. From what he knew, we are going to have two children, a boy and a girl. I think Jonny has the heart of a horse, there was something about our hearts, and best of all, I think Jonny will also be a model someday. After forcing our fortunes upon us, he pulled out souvenir “palmas,” the handclappers used in flamenco. Again I said no and tried to pull away, but he put them in my hand insisting “es un regalito.” Now, I have heard this before from men the likes of him, and while I learned in school that “regalito” means little gift, I learned in Spain that it is not at all a gift as we understand it. It really means, “high pressure sale where I put something you don’t want in your hands and then demand you pay for it.” True to form, he began asking for money. I said no, no again, and thereafter sought the help of Jonny – who maybe this guy would listen to. Finally, he gave up, sighed gruffly, and took the palmas back. Most amusingly, he also took the twig he was using to tell our future out of my hand as well and marched off looking for his next victim. It was a good warm up to the people in the plaza itself selling twigs of Rosemary – or at least attempting to – to passersby, and by the end of our visit here I seemed to adopt the effective, brow-furrowing scowl every time one tried to pin us down again. The look of disgust was, of course, all for show, as it would be impossible to maintain any negativity when surrounded by the glowing details of the plaza.
Plaza de España is a giant, round oval, with an equally large orange-brick building lining half of the perimeter, marked at each end with two impressively tall towers. Hinting at Andalucía’s Arabic history, the details of the building were phenomenal. Brilliant stone of green and blue lined the edges and corners of the exterior, and the rust-red floor was lined with bright blue patterns that could make one dizzy. We explored every inch of the building, constantly impressed by its pristine and warm details.
At foot of the building, the bend of its wings, tiled alcoves with maps of the regions, and paintings of the area’s history were found, and we passed what had to be at least an hour examining each one and trying to decide which was our favorite. There were also four maps of Spain designating the traditional industries of the regions.
Along the vicinity of this narrow stretch of building his a thick pathway of matching brick, leading to a series of small, colorful bridges (representing the four kingdoms of Spain) that pass over a waterway/mote into the center where white and black stones had been arranged and cemented into abstract designs. Row-boats were available for rent to relax with an alternative view of the plaza, and a relatively plain, but large fountain - the “Vicente Traver Fountain” sat at the very center of it all. I hear it is beautiful in the summer when the fountains are actually running.
Parque Santa Maria
Plaza de España was just one piece of the Iber-American Exposition, which really consisted of the whole of “Parque Santa Maria,” a place I can liken to Jurassic paradise. And so our inspired wanderlust naturally carried us there. A majority of it had formerly been the gardens of the Palace of San Telmo, but they were donated to the city for use as a public park in 1893. They were rearranged in 1911 into the way they look today, and they were ultimately incorporated into the construction for the Ibero-American Exposition of 1929, beginning in 1914.
We spent the remainder of our morning getting lost on the paths, eyeing the tempting orange trees and marveling with wonderment as to how palm trees can get so freakishly tall, lulled into a daze by the constant giggles of doves in the trees. Again paying homage to the region’s Arabic influence, the buildings and the layout of the place was adorned in detailed, colorful tile work and manicured square gardens. A variety of terraces were scattered throughout the giant retreat, as were marble white statues and small fountains. Every unassuming path seemed to provide us with a new surprise, and, of course, tons of oranges.Various buildings occupied the far east end of the park with a strip of courtyard between them (Plaza De America). Once mansions, the buildings are now museums holding archaeological wonders. We found a small enclave of a circular stone bench surrounded by pine trees and sat to rest for a moment in this courtyard. We quickly noticed that the benches were covered in tiles that depicted several images from Don Quixote – hundreds of them, all showing a different image.
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| Another magical wonderland in Parque Santa Maria - the Little Island of Birds, complete with elegant swans, fluttering white doves, racing ducks, and storybook bridges. |
My relentless headache was begging for relief from the harsh lighting, and so, we decided to take random peak into the nearest park museum. We went with the prettier of the two – the Museum of Arts and Traditions in Seville, located in the Mudéjar Pavilion. This was maybe the “low point” of our adventures. However, it could have been worse: what we thought was the whole of the museum originally was a courtyard square with two rooms on either side of it. One room showed the layout of a VERY traditional Catholic home, nauseatingly encumbered with statuettes of Jesus and the Holy family, behind a thick square glass. The other showed, well, doilies.
We were about to leave, amused by our own foolish ignorance when, near the entrance we found a small, unassuming threshold to pass through, and voila! We were in an actual museum. The arts section was closed off, but the traditions portion kept us entertained. As one walked down the hallways, videos from the 90s cycled through on small cathode-ray tube TVs while reproductions of what shops may have looked like in the olden days gave you a peek into traditional Seville lives. There was a tannery, a blacksmith, a bakery, an olive press, a “palmas” workshop, and on and on. It was not the best of museums, but it is free to European residents and only €1.50 for outsiders. Worth it I suppose, if you have the free time. It is highly likely that the Provisional Archaeological Museum is worth more of your time on the inside than this one.
After finishing our jaunt through the Museum, we continued our careless stroll through the park admiring the exotic and domestic trees, and encountering the friendliest of “Sevillanos” who wanted to tell us everything they know about the beauty – in Spanish.
Metropol Parasol de la Encarnacón (Las Setas)
After a delicious lunch (menú!) at a random bar (across from the hopelessly packed bar TripAdviser recommended), we set out to find the controversial yet intriguing modern structure that initially consumed Jonny’s interest in this city: The Metropol Parasol de la Encarnación – The Setas (Mushrooms) of Seville.
Spanning approximately 490 feet in length, 230 feet in width, and 85 feet in height, the Setas – six mushroom-shaped parasols were made entirely out of wood, with construction beginning in 2005, completed in 2011. Several complications plagued efforts to complete the structure. For one, in the midst of development, 14 million Euros needed to be expended, and construction plans were halted upon the discovery of Roman and Andalusian-era ruins. In the area. Once the ruins were recovered, a new interest was spurred in continuing the development of the Setas. However, in 2007, an engineering firm admitted to the city that the structure was technically unfeasible – several structural assumptions were untested, and violated the limitations of the planned material – Birch tree imported from Finland. Various plans to remedy these difficulties were suggested and failed, until glue, of all things was finally settled on as appropriate reinforcement in 2009 (I for one am glad I did not know this before riding the elevator to its top!). These many delays turned what was estimated to be a € 50 million project into an approximately € 100 million, never-ending, burden.
Many find the Setas to be an unfortunate eyesore, only adding insult to injury. From the photographs I had glimpsed at, I did not see the point of a visit, but Jonny was more excited than a kid in a candy store, so to patronize his glee, I decided to be excited as well. Then I realized, you can take an elevator to the top! A view from 85 feet off the ground in Seville is not something to miss, and our timing could not have been better – the sun was setting on this gorgeous city.
Torre de Oro
I realized as the night was coming to a close, there was one more place we should see for the day – El Torre del Oro (The Gold Tower) – a dodecagonal (12 sided) military watchtower built along the Guadalquivir River between 1220 and 1221 during the Almohad dynasty to control access to the Moorish city. It had, at best, a short-lived result. The Christians conquered the area by 1248. It then served first as a chapel dedicated to Saint Isidore of Seville, and then as a prison during the middle ages. In more recent times it served as a maritime museum, after Seville resisted forces wishing to tear it down completely. The name – Torre del Oro – is based off of the tower’s golden shine projected onto the river because of the materials it was made out of: a mortar, lime, and pressed hay mixture. It has changed dramatically throughout its life, seeming to lose its finer details with each renovation - whether it be a conqueror of another faith or political revolutionists rejecting the artistic facade, or an earthquake threatening to destroy its very existence. After scaling the Setas, passing the Cathedral, and strolling through Plaza de España, this was probably the least impressive sight for my eyes to soak up. Of course we were visiting at night, and it seems like it would be a nice place to relax during the day, strolling through the marina and getting a good look at the river this imposing tower sought to keep enemies out of.
The next morning, my headache, and the clouds had cleared, and it looked like it was about to be the most beautiful day – perfect for seeing two very popular tourist destinations in Seville: the “Reales Alcázares de Sevilla” and the Cathedral. We ate a delicious Sevillano breakfast of thick toasts with different spreads while watching carriages clop through the streets, downed an invigorating “café con leche” and jaunted off on our final day of exploring, sad that the evening would likely arrive too quickly, whisking us back to our Madrileño reality.
Reales Alcázares de Sevilla
Reales Alcázares de Sevilla. The word Alcázar is an adaptation of a Hispano-Arabic word meaning either “Royal House” or “Room of the Prince.” They are seen in the majority of major cities in spain, and several small towns besides, in a diverse display of styles. The Alcázar of Seville was originally a Moorish fort, turned royal Palace. It is regarded as one of the most beautiful palaces in Spain, one of the best displays of mudéjar architecture on the Iberian Peninsula, and the oldest royal palace still used in Europe. Throughout the history of its use, it has been remodeled, added onto by each succeeding power, which is ever apparent as one wanders from room to room, seeing a mosaic of Arabic, Mudéjar, Renaissance, Baroque, and 19th Century influences. It holds a predominating Mudéjar feel overall.
Our visit here confirmed what I was already certain of after my visit years ago to Granada: Mudéjar is the most beautiful style of architecture I have ever seen. No room is ever the same, and with the use of geometric carvings, they cover every inch of wall space in an enchantingly mesmerizing design. They are commonly filled with a mix of vibrant colors – often blues and pinks. But my favorite ones are those that maintain the natural, ivory tone of plaster throughout.
Rooms full of the arches that Arabian culture perfected and expounded upon, glowing with the yellowish white hue and seemingly dripping in elaborate engravings, fill me with an indescribable feeling – excitement, wonder, yearning. I search in vain for the words that could cement such an abstract sense, and when I stand before its beauty, I feel as though I am back in Manzanares, hiking through the granite mountains.
Every time we entered a room, I would think to myself, this has to be the best one yet. But each room would be so inundated in labor-some design, that no matter how hard I tried to memorize the look of one, it was instantly lost when I turned my eyes to another. I would pass through an archway, taking in its marbling, its plaster work, its colors, reflect on the antiquity of it all, and be launched into another unremarkable room.
I take it back, there is one room in particular I hope to never erase from my mind. Excepting the breathtaking solid-ivory colored rooms, this one takes the cake. The ceiling caught my attention first – a golden dome giving the room the creative name: “the room of the half orange.” From there, small balconies peaked out at the very top of the walls, supported by statues of dragons. Every inch of wall space was filled with three dimensional creations, including sea shells. The walls descended down to human-level, each of the four in the square room with its own uniquely ornate archways and pillars. It all made me quite dizzy.
And then came the rooms of the Catholic Kings. These were in total not nearly as remarkable, and so we did not linger nearly as long here. Ironic as they were constructed on top of the Arabic and Mudéjar architecture to symbolize the Catholic’s domination over the Moors. There was one room that gave us pause – a room whose walls had been blanketed in the largest tapestries we had ever seen. They had to be at least 30 feet in length and 18 feet in height. Not only was their size impressive, but the artwork was astounding. I have no idea how they did it. Sadly, I stopped to read the little sign, and these were not the originals, which had been destroyed in an earthquake. Mere reproductions made in the 1800s. Oh well. We move on.
I could go on and on about the rooms, the layout of each one, the fountains, and what happened where, but it is a lot, and you really should see it for yourself. And when you are done eyeing in wonderment these insane rooms, you can relax in the warm, citrus gardens of the palace. Interesting side note, some of the interior rooms, and the amazing wall within the garden featured here show up in Kingdom of Heaven as the Palace of the King of Jerusalem, starring Orlando Bloom.
Seville Cathedral
After yet another amazing meal, we had one final stop to make in this heavenly city - The famed Cathedral of St. Mary of the See, more commonly referred to as the Seville Cathedral. Now, something I find truly amusing about this country is that everyone has their favorite Cathedral, and it is always “the best one in the country, if not Europe!” I almost instinctively roll my eyes at this remark now. For one, after what I have seen so far - the famed Cathedrals of Toledo, Notre Dam Salamanca, Segovia, Granada, and Valencia, and the Basilicas of the Vatican and Escorial - how does one even define the best? They are all so unique, so astounding in their own rights, and each one is worth a visit - even the ones people don’t give such high regard to. That being said, there are some impressive features specific to Seville’s Cathedral that you would be remiss to ignore on your Sevillan getaway. This Roman Catholic Cathedral is regarded as the largest gothic Cathedral, and the third largest church in the world. In 1987, it joined the Alcázar in becoming a registered UNESCO World Heritage Sight.
The city decided to build the church in 1401, following its economic ascent as a major trading center after the Reconquista of 1248. Their goal was to have the grandest, largest, most outrageous church. The story goes that the members of the Cathedral Chapter remarked upon the decision, “let us build a church so beautiful and so grand that those who see it finished will think we are mad.” Construction took over 100 years of labor by architects, artists, stained glass artisans, masons, carvers, craftsmen, and others. Only 5 years after construction was finished, the dome collapsed. An earthquake led to the dome’s demise yet again in 1888 and it took until after 1903 to see it finished. And yet, no one seems to be as upset about all of this as they were for the complications surrounding the cursed Seta construction.
We waited in a long but steadily moving line to see the Cathedral, giving us time to carefully appreciate the detailed beauty of the entrance way. Stone in an off-white hue formed an elaborately detailed archway, and a monstrously large statue guarded its entrance. The interior, with 80 chapels lining the perimeter of the spacious, 138-feet high nave (the main, rectangular section of a Gothic church, opposite the typically rounded section), dark stain glass, and gilded decór were definitely worth seeing. The size of the room and the arched pillars supporting it all were what I found to be truly impressive - intimidating and magical. After a passing glance at the monumental tomb dedicated to Christopher Columbus and rumored to hold his bones, we were in for our last major exertion before a painful 6 hour ride back to Madrid had to happen - climbing to the top of La Giralda.
La Giralda is the bell tower of the Cathedral and one of the most well-known symbols of the city. This 340-feet tall icon was completed in 1198, under Moorish rule in the area, and at that time, it was a minaret (a tower of a mosque with a balcony whereby a muezzin calls Muslims to prayer). During the Renaissance era, and following slight damage to the top of the tower following an earthquake, the city decided to renovate and incorporate it into the Cathedral. For this reason, we can now see moorish influence in the majority of its design, topped with Renaissance influence, Catholic Crosses, and tolling bells.
We were staying pretty close to the Cathedral, and we were able to hear the clamour announcing each hour, echoing through the streets. Now we were about to get an upclose and personal look at the music-makers themselves - and a wonderful view of the most beautiful parts of the city. After mentally bracing ourselves for the hike, we started up the winding, path approximately 300 feet up. I was surprised to find the climb was not stairs but rather an incline - and over 30 left turns. little balconies jutted out along the way, and we stopped at nearly every single one to get a peak of what was to come, and to encourage us to keep moving. Indeed, the trek was otherwise uneventful, with a tan, brick incline that seemed to suggest it would never end. Just when I thought I could take no more, we had arrived. We caught our breaths, and proceeded to take in everything around us. Above us, everywhere we looked, giant bells hung, connected to gear systems, ready to spin in tune when the time was right. Along each of the four sides, three arched windows opened up onto the city, and we clamoured through like minded tourists to get a view from each one. The people looked like ants as they sat sipping their after-lunch coffees on the pristinely paved roads, and oranges revealed themselves brightly beneath the branches of their dark green trees. Every ornate detail of the giant cathedral’s structure showed just below us, and I never wanted to leave.
Seville is inspiringly romantic, mysteriously dark, warmly accommodating, and everything that I ever imagined this country to feel like. I never understood the point of coming to what I assumed was an overrated city, but when the time came to depart, I had to force my unwilling limbs to carry me towards the bus station, feeling like I did the first time I had to leave Disney World. My heart broke with each step to say goodbye with the citrus-littered streets and the clip-clopping carriages. It had been so cleansing and I wanted to hang onto every second I could, and I hoped the feelings would endure within me for years to come. Really, I hoped for riches so I could buy a winter home there, or luck, to drag me back to this paradise.
It may be a long time before I am lucky enough to feel the welcoming sun of Seville shining down on me again. I will have to abandon my want to interminably indulge in more of what this city has to offer so I can stretch forward onto new horizons and keep the wanderlust spirit alive. However, while I may have to leave this all behind, “NO8DO” - Seville has not abandoned me.
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