The Rain in Spain

Rain in Sevilla may just bring about the Apocalypse.

Being from Chicago, I’ve adapted to severe cold and extreme heat, rain, tornadoes, and everything in between. But now that I’ve moved to a city that sees five times more sunny days than rainy ones and reaches 115 degrees in June, I forget that rain and snow must seem like the world is coming to an end for a normal Sevillano.

I watched the rain spill over Triana from Jaime and Maria’s seventh story piso this afternoon. Uff, como cae, Maria remarked as her mother told me the hour was up and I collected my 14 euros. I wasn’t far from home, but the rain was falling so hard that I couldn’t see more than a few blocks over my neighborhood.

The whole length of their street, Avenida de Republica Argentina, is covered by soportales, or porticos. It’s one of those big, grand boulevards that I usually like walking down, but the businessmen and quiet buzz of traffic was non-existent. I looked for a taxi, willing to pay to be dropped off in front of my house. Every taxi that passed had its lights off. The two buses that went by were so full, that no one was getting on or off.

I had to walk. I dug my umbrella out of my bag and propped it open, heading down Esperanza de Triana. The streets, being as old as they are, have seen a lot of wear and tear, and although Sevilla is flat, my flats soon became waterslides. I jumped from puddle to puddle, barely avoiding water more than a few inches deep. Old women, obviously oblivious to the fact that I was in a hurry, constantly stepped in my path as they dragged their carrito to the supermarket.

After dodging a few spindles of umbrellas, I arrived to Calle San Jacinto, the main artery thru Triana. Cars welcomed me by their usually beeping, not because I’m famous, but because the street construction coupled with the rain and EVERYONE hopping in their cars makes it impossible to pass thru the city in an effective manner. The bus I tried to take had probably moved three blocks, I thought to myself. The normally crowded street was a ghost-town, with Trianeros scrambling to ge underneath awnings or into any cafe that sells coffee. I had no choice but to go on towards home, stepping through the rivers of water on the streets and wishing I would have put on my rainboots before going to class.

I can’t complain much. In the last month, it’s only rained three days and it’s still in the 80s. For October, we call this Veranillo de Membrillo. I call it paradise, rain and all.

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About Cat Gaa

As a beef-loving Chicago girl living amongst pigs, bullfighters, and a whole lotta canis, Cat Gaa writes about expat life in Seville, Spain. When not cavorting with adorable Spanish grandpas or struggling with Spanish prepositions, she wrangles babies at an English language academy and freelances with other publications, like Rough Guides and The Spain Scoop.

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