Adventures of a Wandering Thirtysomething

When I was in high school, my two years of Spanish was basically a joke. I remember very little actual language learning, but I do remember watching a lot of videos and movies. American education at its best. But even at 17 years old, I specifically remember seeing a video set in Sevilla and knowing I wanted to go.

So, when our quick flight from Lisbon touched down and our cab wound its way into the old town, that little picture in my mind from nearly 15 years ago suddenly came to life. I was instantly smitten.

 

The colorful buildings. The lively squares. The massive churches. The tiny, pedestrian-only streets lined with tapas bars and flamenco garb. The energy and beauty. Every amazing image or daydream I’ve ever had of Spain comes from this town.

We wasted no time exploring, mouths agape and camera at the ready for every corner we turned and square we entered. First line of order was to check out some of the churches, including the massive Cathedral of Sevilla, which is the largest in Spain and the third largest in Europe behind St. Peter’s Basilica and St. Paul’s Cathedral. With an aim to make people think the designers were madmen for creating something so monstrous, it is a behemoth of stone, carvings and gold with rooms and chambers galore.

On our first trip to Europe, I found these types of churches a bit revolting as they are the exact opposite of what Jesus preaches. Over the years perhaps I’ve lightened up or just become numb to it because I looked around this church in awe. But even for all the amazing alter and choir room details, one of the coolest features was Christopher Columbus’s tomb. For many other tourists it’s probably just another tomb, but where we’re from he’s kind of a big deal. The other cool feature was the Giralda Bell Tower, which was formerly a minaret of the Moorish church that stood on the site. The views were fine, but the coolest part was the brick ramp that took us up to the top, designed so a donkey could be ridden to the top for the five-per-day calls to prayer of the Islam faith.

Day two kicked off with a visit to the Royal Alcazar, a 10^th century Moorish palace that was taken over by the royals and still remains the royal palace today. Somehow we lucked out and managed to completely beat the tourist crush, so we had the place almost entirely to ourselves. It was incredible. Stunning room after stunning room of colorful tile work, open air patios, and lush gardens where fragrant jasmine lined the paths. I could have wandered around for hours just taking it all in.

 

Alas, we had to move on to the massive Spanish Park. Upon entering Spanish Square, it was an instant flashback to that old high school video. The red brick baking in the hot sun. The majestic building serving as a palace-like backdrop to the circular, cobblestone square. The flowing fountain where tourists snapped photos and enjoyed its cooling mist. The clip-clop of the horses as they paraded their carriages by. No picture can adequately capture its magnitude or its beauty. You just have to be there. After loitering about in the square for as long as we could, we tore ourselves away to explore the rest of the park, lingering among the various gardens and sitting a spell to enjoy their tranquility.

Thoroughly exhausted from all our walking and site-seeing, on our third day we decided to take a vacation from the vacation and enjoy a morning at the spa. Unlike a typical spa in the States, this spa was a modern version of a Moorish bath house where we donned our swimsuits and spent two hours moving amongst therapeutic pools including jetted pools, saltwater pools, hot and cold pools, and a hammam steam room, plus enjoyed a massage. It was one of the most fun and unique spa experiences I’ve ever had. And, since we kept seeing the remnants of these baths in the ruins and castles we were touring, we suddenly could relate to this ancient practice.

 

For the grand finale in Sevilla, we attended a flamenco show. Always skeptical of organized performances, this one was among the best you could see in town and it did not disappoint. The night prior, we had popped into a flamenco bar just to see what the most traditional experience looked like so we had a reference point. Although the bar experience offered better instrumentals and vocals, the fiery footwork of the show dancers, along with the colorful, embellished dresses of the female lead were a sight to behold. It was impossible not to smile and get into the whooping and clapping right along with them as their energy and passion radiated through the room.

As we said goodbye to Sevilla in the morning, I left with both sadness and satisfaction. Sadness that we couldn’t linger longer, wandering the streets and savoring a picturesque square just one more time.   Satisfaction that what my 17-year-old self had interpreted as amazing was, in fact, true even 15 years later and will now be named among my most favorite places in the world.