Doors Opened Late

While in Seville, I’d planned to take a day trip to Córdoba—to visit the Mezquita, a stunning monument from Spain’s Islamic past, and to do some shopping. I postponed the visit after a tragic train accident in Córdoba province on January 18 claimed more than forty lives. After that, I kept delaying the trip, until it drifted into the final week of my sabbatical—the rainiest one—and then, improbably, into the very last day.

In the end, I didn’t go to Córdoba. I forfeited my train fare and my Mezquita ticket. I told myself it was because of the chance of rain, but honestly, I wanted one last, relatively unhurried day in Seville. I’d been to Córdoba before, after all.

I wrote earlier about the strange rhythm of my monthlong stay in Seville. I arrived with a tourist’s urgency—rushing to see favorite landmarks and a few new ones, eating the best local food, trying to make every moment count. After roughly two weeks, I finally gave myself permission to be lazy: to enjoy my time off, watch movies I’d never made time for, read two Toni Morrison novels (Jazz and Sula), with just enough brief sightseeing—and long walks—peppered into my days.

On the short walk from my apartment in the labyrinthine Santa Cruz neighborhood to my favorite coffee shop, I passed a church: Santa María la Blanca. Until that final day, I’d never walked by when its large wooden doors were open to visitors. This time, they were. I stepped inside and marveled at the carved ceiling of the nave and the elegant arches framing it. Then I noticed the pews beginning to fill. A priest and his attendants entered to begin Mass. So much for visiting hours.

I’ve also mentioned that Seville’s treasures often lie behind the humblest of facades. I encountered one more on my last day in the city: Casa de Salinas, just a three-minute walk from my apartment. I passed it countless times without knowing what was inside. It felt brighter and more lived-in than some of the other casa palacios I’d seen. The walls were orange: Donald’s favorite color. They made me think of him, and how traveling really isn’t quite the same without him.