The Fun of the Fair

Dressed up for fiesta
see all photos »

There is to be a fiesta in all of Spain.

I learn of this when I arrive in Seville in the early morning. The hostel worker tells me it starts today and lasts until Sunday. To celebrate the signing of the constitution in 1978, today is a national holiday, but all by themselves most of the Spanish take the other two days off to link it up with the weekend. It's called puente, or bridge. Now this could cause problems in terms of accomodation - but, you'll note, having wisened up and learnt from past mistakes, I have my places all booked so don't you worry bout a thing baby, it's all done and dusted. Except - no, wait. I've only booked for two nights, so Friday night I ain't covered. And yes, I check , everything is solid for Friday, not a spot in the whole city. No sweat, I gotta beat it on Friday is all.

Dressed up for fiesta
see all photos »

Now my hostel, I really am fond of. There is a beautiful courtyard in the middle, filled with lots of flowers and greenery. There are perpetually old men seated there in the sun, and in the afternoon the children run around making bucketloads of noise, after which the old man or men will usually tell them to pipe down. Otherwise they will chase them around or start clapping flamenco rhythms. "Camba!!", one of them yells. I have no idea what this means.

In the afternoon the festivities start and people pur out into the streets. There are crowds spilling out of bars and onto the road. The cafe and bar terraces are full to the brim. The whole family comes out together, the grandparents hold the hands of their grandchildren and buy them candy or toys from the stalls lining the streets. The children of Seville are the most beautiful, wonderful little angels I have seen. They are dressed so well and have such great spirits for play they make me want to be a child again. Their parents are mostly badly dressed and badly mannered so I have no idea where they inherit this from. I take as many pictures as I can with children in them, because besides being wonderfully beautiful they are great subjects for photos.

The family off to the fair
see all photos »

I stroll around, digging things generally, taking in the atmosphere. I buy a piece of fairy floss from a stall. While making it the young kid using the machine covers the girl next to me in pink floss. She is upset and hurls abuse at the poor kid behind the stall. Soon enough the festivities end, surpisingly early at 11:00pm, and its off to bed everyone goes.

The next day after breakfast I find the kids of the families that live in the rest of the hostel playing football in the courtyard. I stand and watch them and yell random comments in Spanish. One of the boys takes a bad fall and scrapes his knee. They other boys laugh as he starts to cry and runs off outside. I go out and sit with him and try to cheer him up. I ask him if the pretty girl next door is his girlfriend. He looks embarrassed and mumbles that he likes her but she doesn't him. We share my bag of pistachios, which are suprisingly good here. We talk of football and school. His name is Rodrigo and he's seven, he says. Before long he's smiling again. We play some penalty shoot outs before his mother calls him in and I go off to see the Cathedral.

The Giralda
see all photos »

The Cathedral is a monstrosity of a building, now tagged as the largest Gothic church in the world. It occupies the former position of the Moorish mosque, and in fact what used to be the minaret of that mosque was coverted into a bell tower by the Catholics, now called the Giralda. The Cathedral and the Giralda rise up over the city like concrete monsters, casting their titanic shadows over the neighbouring buildings. Whilst it was being built, a member of the chapter was recorded to have said "we shall have a church of such a kind that those who see it built will think we were mad." And yes, that's what I thought as I stared up at it. Inside, the central nave beggars belief. It rises a staggering forty-two metres and looks big enough to fit a few ordinary churches inside. The main chapel is dominated by a vast piece of work depicting forty-five scenes from the life of Christ. In another part I find the tomb of Christopher Columbus. After this I climb the stairs up to the top of the Giralda along with scores of others. The views of the city below are great.

Inside the Cathedral
see all photos »

I somhow find myself sitting down to eat dinner at 12:30am. The restuarant is full. You'll note that most Spanish eat lunch around 2 to 3 and dinner is extremely late, usually from 9 to 11. Owing to the fiesta everybody pushes these times back by about two hours. At about 2 am, I happen across a churreria called Calenteria not far from my hostel. Here the most brilliantly delicious churros are made. These are long tubes of a doughnut-like pastry. They are served with a cup of thick, hot chocolate syrup and become churros con chocolate. They are morning food and particularly good after an all-nighter. In Madrid I used to see the party-goers stumble out of the clubs at dawn for a breakfast of it. I get to talking with the owner behind the counter, Javier. He tells me the place has been running for 150 years, started all those years ago by his great-great grandparents. It's still in the family. He serves me up a dish, and they are so good I end up having two more servings. On the radio there is late-night French jazz playing and I stand there listening. We don't say much. After a while the show changes to American blues from the 30's. I sit outside for a while and people think I work at the store. I ask him how the churros are made. At first he is reluctant to tell me. Then he relents and shows me, but swears me to secrecy. I read some Federico Garcia Lorca and one of the customers in the store starts reciting some by heart. I go outside again. The street looks as if the Running of the Bulls just took place, with chairs, rubbish, and glasses scattered everywhere. Funnily enough, a man dressed as a matador is making a cape from the Italian flag taken down from the restuarant a few blocks down. I act as the bull and pretend to gore him. His girlfriend stands by and laughs. Then its 3am and it's time for sleep, dreams and the dark.

Children, inside the Cathedral
see all photos »

My last day in Seville opens up on Friday morning. I visit the Moorish Alcazar which is magnificent. The patterns, colours and architecture all so gorgeous to the eye. A fountain and gardens full of orange trees. Unfortunately again the beauty is destroyed bu the additions made by Carlos V after the Reconquest, the same bright spark who commissioned the work that ruined the Mezquita.

And in the evening, as I have no place to stay, I have to hit the road. The city of Granada which I  want to see is also booked solid. So on the map I see the town of Jerez de la Frontera less than 100km south of Seville. This is the town where sherry originated. It sounds mighty fine to me, so I ring and get a place. And then before long, I'm on the bus, heading deeper south into the land of Andalucia.