One month in Seville

Tag: cordoba

  • Doors Opened Late

    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.

    Church of Santa María la Blanca
    Multiple textures as Casa de Salinas
    View into the courtyard of Casa de Salinas
    Dining room at Casa de Salinas
    View into the patio of Casa de Salinas
    Tiled stairway at Casa de Salinas
  • Andalusian Horses and Afternoon Sherry in Jerez

    Andalusian Horses and Afternoon Sherry in Jerez

    This being my fourth trip to southern Spain, I’ve seen much of the region—Seville, Córdoba, Granada (still a favorite), and Ronda. This week, though, I added a new stop to the list: Jerez de la Frontera, the birthplace of sherry, just over an hour from Seville by train.

    I spent the morning wandering Jerez and visiting the cathedral—more on that in a later post—but it wasn’t sherry that ultimately brought me there. I came to visit the Royal Andalusian School of Equestrian Art, one of the most prestigious classical riding academies in the world. The grounds are immaculately maintained, and a museum highlights the importance of horses in military, cultural, and ceremonial life. Babieca, the horse belonging to El Cid—the famed Castilian knight of medieval Spain—was said to have carried his dead master into battle, terrifying his enemies even after his death.

    The main attraction, though, is the weekly performance on offer: Cómo bailan los caballos andaluces (“How the Andalusian Horses Dance”), a ninety-minute spectacle of precision riding. The riders were dressed impeccably in traditional, tailored Andalusian attire. As a devotee of New York City Ballet and the choreography of George Balanchine, I’ve seen ballerinas dance to the “Walpurgisnacht” music from Gounod’s Faust—but watching two horses move to the same music was something entirely new. The way the horses and their riders wove across the wide space, forming a variety of shapes, also reminded me of Paul Taylor’s Esplanade. (My dance-loving friends are about to murder me for this blasphemy.)

    After leaving the grounds, I meant to stop briefly for lunch nearby before heading back to the train station and returning to Seville. A wine shop along the way slowed me down. Why not pick up a bottle of sherry for me and Donald—and one for my parents—before lunch? I try not to drink during the day, but La Casa del Jerez generously insisted that I sample four (maybe five?) sherries before making my final purchases.

    Lunch at Restaurante Albalá, opened by Michelin-starred chef Israel Ramos, was fantastic. After a few samples of sherry across the street, my Spanish was flowing well. “Are you from here?” the waiter asked as I ordered, flattering me. The red shrimp salad with sherry vinegar and fino foam was one of the best dishes I’ve ever had in Spain.

    Horse training at the Royal Andalusian School of Equestrian Art
    The arena
    The grounds
    Impulse purchase
    Red shrimp salad with sherry vinegar and fino foam