Sevillianos V The Tourists

Monday morning, 10am or thereabouts and the city is awake and the heat of the day is creeping in. The bars along the backstreets are full with the ten o clock coffee drinkers, which is everyone it seems having their break, coffee in one hand and their tostada with jamon or tomato paste in the other and a cigarette jammed between the spare fingers for whatever it takes to kick off your day again. I´m on the way to the fruit shop for the fruit ...well what else and daily observe this occurrence. It´s a ritual for the Sevillianos and  up on the main streets, the obedient lines of tourists follow the umbrella, cap, shoe, stick or whatever is being held aloft by the guide and gaze skyward in awe, pointing and snapping in unison at the ancient buildings and anything vaguely interesting they can point their minute digital lenses at. Mostly Americans, Japanese or Germans with a smattering of Brits, those that probably don´t find much solace in the coastal ghettos of karaoke bars.

Sevilla attracts a different kind of tourist. Let me try and explain and not offend anyones sensibilities again (I got a lot of flack over the bullfighting story). Firstly there are the Americans.. package tours, off the big bus, whisked around the various monuments, given a potted history lesson, taken to the relative safety and familiarity of McDonalds and Starbucks for feeding and then back on the bus... whole show takes about an hour, hardly time to grasp they are actually in a foreign country. The Japanese, an enigma on the tourist trail. They stick with the umbrella/flag carrier gripped with fear that they might get lost or left behind and as  99% of Spaniards don´t speak or are afraid to speak English, this would spell disaster. Now the difference here is that they only see the city through the lenses of their tiny digital cameras which seem to be permanently glued to their heads. The difference here is that they do actually stop at the local bars and restaurants, don´t actually eat or drink, smile constantly and take photos of what´s put in front of them and retrieve some spring rolls or left over sushi from their back packs once they escape the confines of the taverna. As for the rest, wandering aimlessly through the city, eyes down on maps gripped intensely in sweaty hands as they negotiate the narrow cobbled streets trying to find their way into the cathedral or the Alcazar, giving up and finding themselves instead in the smokey taverna recently vacated by the Japanese and eyes move from maps to the ´local´menu accompanied with roughly translated English bearing no resemblance to what will end up on your plate. But lets face it, your paying 2 Euros for tapas, so there´s room for experimentation. Some will try and some will head for the bright airy menu of McDonalds... where would we be.

Then, there are the Spaniards, the local Sevillianos. If the word around Europe and the rest of the world is one of doom and gloom or as a friend, who warned me not to leave Australia because the roof was falling in on Europe said, I have yet to see evidence here in Andalucia. In three months I´ve discovered the Spanish to be generally an optimistic lot. Exceptionally friendly, helpful to a fault and no complaining about the woes of the world. They are very social and indeed meet their friends and colleagues for morning coffee or tapas before siesta time on a daily basis. Friendship is very important especially the social aspect of the tavernas and cafes. They get very crowded, loud and jovial, have their coffees etc and back to work.
The heat has decended and seems to be getting hotter every day. Between 1 and 4 the streets are almost deserted, apart from the tourist busses constantly churning out the various tourist groups who race for the shady parts of the street. We have many months ahead of summer... ole!

One final thing... our stuff finally arrived from the ship, delivered almost damage free, but the best thing is we have our stuff around us again ...another ole!

Plaza Del Toro ...or death in the afternoon

After 8 weeks in Sevilla, it was finally time to visit Plaza Del Toro, Sevilla´s bullring. James Michener in his book Íberia´ wrote that Sevilla had one of the finest bullrings in Spain. I have to agree that it is majestic and very beautiful, but I haven´t actually seen any others. I have never been to a bullfight and also, I have never had for a moment, any reservations about going.

The way I see it is, this is very much part of Spanish culture and has been for a very long time. It´s also very much part of the life of Sevilla and it´s not for me to judge or condone. Many friends asked me before I came to Sevilla if I would attend a bullfight. I said I absolutely would. Some were horrified of course and that´s fine. Let me indulge myself here for a moment. I have a creative mind, that´s what I do. I have to look at the whole picture and not just the slaughter of a defenseless animal.

It´s Sunday afternoon, warm and dry as Sevilla tends to be. A quick stop at a taverna for some wine and a rundown from Sean (seasoned attendee and local artist) of what to expect. ¨Did you bring a cigar?¨he asked me. Important to smoke a havana cigar, part of the culture. You could of course go the whole way and get a panama hat and a crumpled old linen suit ala Graeme Greene, but the cigar would suffice. We joined the crowd around one of the many gates that lead into Plaza Del Toro. You could feel the anticipation. This is mostly about the expectations of the crowd as to the skill of the matador and the bravery of the bull. Let me compare this to the Roman Coliseum for a moment. The crowd are ruthless, they are here for a show of bravery and skill not only on the part of the matador, but also on the bull. Mistakes and showmanship are not applauded, but punished and heckled. Inside, the arena is quite magnificent. Ancient architecture and hard concrete seats. The crowd waits patiently in the afternoon sun. The sand of the arena is a bright golden colour, smooth and flat awaiting the entrance of the bull.

This is how it works. There are five fights in all, or five bulls. The bulls weigh between 450kgs and 550kgs. They spend five years in the pastures grazing on the finest grass and are raised specifically for their 20 minutes in the bullring. First the five or six bullfighters come out, they are not the main matador who will fight the bull, but their task seems to be to get the bull angry, as if he isn´t already. They spread themselves around the ring and wait beside their protective barriers for the bull to enter the arena. Suddenly, the band kicks in with a deafening crashendo and the bull comes running into the arena. Big, black and angry and heads for the first man in pink tights her sees. They take turns with the bull for ten minutes or so to the enjoyment of the crowd until the band starts up again. (You can skip the next bit if you are a bit squeamish) Two picadores on horseback enter the arena with long pointed lances and march around the ring. The bull sees another animal and races towards it. The horses are armoured as you can see from the photos and safe from the bull, but the bull isn´t safe from the lance as the picadore pierces its back. This is to weaken the bull and prepare it for the fight. The picadores leave the arena and the matador enters with short feathered pointed sticks. I know, poor description but thats what they look like. Two at a time he stabs the bull in the spine as it charges him till he has six spikes in the bulls back. Then he gets his red cape and the fight begins.

As I mentioned earlier, showmanship to a degree is expected but not encouraged. The matadores look resplendant in their outfits and certainly are befitting of the splendour. They tease and play the bull for about ten minutes or until the crowd gets bored and then it´s time for the kill. He takes his sword, raises it in the air and to the approval of the crowd, awaits the bulls next charge and as he passes, drives the sword right to its hilt into the bull. Death comes quickly, the crowd will either applaud or boo the matador and the hooves of the butchers horses are heard entering the arena and the bull is dragged out, sliced up and sold in the butcher shops around the city the next day.

And so this continued for four more bulls with varying degrees of bravado, one matador tossed, many boo´d and the crowd leave the arena somewhat unhappy with the event. Some agreed the bulls were a bit slow, others blamed the matador. I´m not really sure how I felt about the whole thing. I´ve still to make my mind up. It was exciting, shocking and a spectacle all at once. I´m going again this coming Sunday when the new up and coming apprentices try their hand. Apparently the bulls have a better chance. I will let you know how it goes.

Patrick

Post Feria and Roses

So, when you leave things too long the news seems so old and dusty. a lot of things seemed to have happened since we last spoke. Let me begin near the beginning. Feria came and went. We did get geared up lovely and did go. It was interesting, loud, crowded and very cultural and traditional with most of the laaadies in traditional Flamenco costumes and even the boys looked very handsome. Lots of horses, lots of splendour and colour. It´s very loud and as I mentioned in the previous blog, all the casettas have their own music so everyone is competing, all in the best possible taste!
Oh I almost forgot to mention, I´m typing this at home which means of course yes, we got internet and a phone finally. It took a lot of persistance, patience, calm and candlelight vigils. But anyway, it´s done. We beat the manaña and never gave up hope.

In the midlst of all this we decided we needed a holiday, you know, away from the daily grind and sunny warmth of the city and headed up north, way up north, right to the top, half an hour from the French border to a town called Roses on the Costa Brava side. Very pretty, picturesque, built onto a series of hills all overlooking the ocean with stunning views. Roses is famous for having the ElBulli restaurant also in the hills. 5 times worlds best restaurant and chef Ferran Adria was awarded chef of the decade this year. No, we didn´t go, it has a three year waiting list and you can only book during the last week in Feb or something absurd like that. But he also has a hotel just outside Sevilla, so we might just go there...
Roses also is in the middle of the Dali triangle. What is that you ask...? Well three towns, Figueres where his museum is, Pubol where his castle is and Portlligat where his house is. All in all far more exciting than a restaurant!

So, Salvadore Dali was born in Spain in 1904 and died in 1989. A long flamboyant illustrious and prolific career of art, sculpture, jewelry, film and controversy. He was also a piece of art himself with a great sense of humour. The visit to his house and museum were fabulous to say the least. You know, you´ve seen his work in books, magazines, films etc and when you actually get to see the real thing, it´s stunning. The amount of work he turned out with his students is immense and mind blowing. Much of it very surreal and so much of it stunning and perfectly brilliant. He´s not to everyones taste, but even if you only had a passing interest in art you would find his technique close to perfection. There are some photos from the museum and house over on the right in the album thing.

The thing about Roses is that it´s close to the foot of the Pyrannees and tends to be a bit damp. It rained non stop for the four days we were there and it was also quite cold. But, we had a fantastic time thanks to the amazing warm hospitality of Dirk and Marja. Thank you...

So life in Sevilla continues. Now that we are ´connected´so to speak, we can start getting things underway faster and start the plans. We are busy looking at places and also have some projects in the pipeline which we will talk about as they develop. We are getting better and better at being city people and Sevilla is really becoming home. It will always have it´s moments that make you want to scream. We are still waiting on our furniture to arrive from the UK where they arrived four weeks ago. Having your own stuff around you will no doubt add to the feeling of belonging.

Thats it for this week. Now that we have internet here, I can get to it more often.
Talk soon.
P&M

OH, almost forgot, last night I went to my first Bullfight... more soon.