Seville Bucketlist: One Year Update

February 28, 2012 by · 11 Comments

On this weekend, one year ago, my friend Canilaydee and I were enjoying a rare Friday off of work. It was Día del Profesorado, which is pretty much a mental health day for teachers in Andalucía that also coincides with Andalusia Day. We came on the same plane over from Spain, so our days in Seville are in the same ballpark. Thus, over caramel macchiatos at Starbucks (the shame!), we decided to make a bucketlist.

One year later, I’m still trying to cross several things off the list. There’s a few I’ve had the chance to do, and other that will have to wait until all of this business of jobs, grad school and freelancing gets a bit more settled. In the past year I’ve:

  • Eat breakfast at the sumptuous Hotel Alfonso XIII (closed for renovations till March 2012)

My friend Lauren of Spanish Sabores and Recetas Americanas got married to her boyfriend Alejandro last June, so we wanted to do something special for her. The first weekend of May we had Monday off, so Kelly, Claudia and I booked her a table at brunch at Seville’s breathtaking Hotel Alfonso XIII. Acting as a bit of a shower, a bit of Sunday morning mayhem, we guzzled champagne and bite-sized breakfast tapas. Sadly, the weather didn’t cooperate and we couldn’t use the pool, but it was a great deal for endless food and drinks in one of Seville’s most beautiful buildings.

If you go: The hotel is closed until next month for renovations, and rooms are quite costly. As an alternative, you could have a coffee in the outdoor patio, a drink in the martini garden (where Cameron Diaz was spotted while filming Knight and Day) , or indulge in the Sunday brunch in the San Fernando restaurant. Prices weren’t available for the new temporada, but it cost us each about 39€, and they allowed us to bring our own cake.

  • Explore Hospital de la Caridad, noted for its collection of sevillano painters like Murillo and Velázquez

On a lazy Saturday morning just before Christmas, I entered the dark halls of the Hospital de la Caridad, a temple just off the banks of the Guadalquivir. The security guard sleepily took my five euro bill and held his arm up towards the heavy wooden door. Inside sat an arcaded patio, empty except for a docent that dozed in the morning sun that creep just behind the adjacent Giralda.

While the convent isn’t much to see, the chapel houses works by the Santa Caridad’s founder, religious painter Miguel Mañanra. The space is covered in scene from Christ’s life and the floor engraved with the names of the original members of la hermandad. While a little too opulent for my taste, the chapel and museum contain works of art that rival the collection in the nearby Fine Arts Museum.

If you go: Try and go on a Sunday for free access; otherwise, the entrance to a simple museum and inner grounds will run you 5€. I personally didn’t think it was worth it. The museum is located just behind the Teatro de la Maestranza just off the river, and can be reached by buses C3, C4, C5, 40 and 41, or just a short walk from the main sights of Avenida de la Constitución. Hours are Monday – Friday 9:30 – 13:30 and 15:30 – 19:30, and Sundays and festivals from 9:00 – 12:30.  

  • Visit museums like Archivo de las Indias, Palacio Lebrija and Artes y Costumbres

One great thing about being a teacher is the ability to be “invited” along to places. When I go on excursions with my students, we get to visit Roman ruins, horse shows and museums for free, so my visit a few weeks ago to the Museo Encuentado in the Museo de Artes y Costumbres Populares was  a real treat.

Two men dressed on period garb stood on the steps leading up to the neo-mudejar building that flanks one side of the Plaza de América, inside María Luisa Park. Using a hollowed-out gourd, they called the kids to attention before breaking us off into groups. Domingo explained the cultural heritage evident in Seville’s long history through the objects in the museum, and I was fascinated at how the museum could come to life for my young learners.

The museum has two floors dedicated to cultural heritage in Seville – artifacts, furniture, azulejos – and provides many dioramas of talleres that are especially pertinent to the area – the gold molding for semana santa floats, wine making, matanzas (if you want to know, click here), etc. I’ve yet to visit the other two, but all in good time…

If you go: The museum is located in the María Luisa Park that is walkable from the historic center, or you could alternately take buses 1, 6, 30, 31, 34, 37 or 38. The entrance cost is low – free for EU members and 1,50€ for all others, and the museum is open Tuesday from 2pm – 8:30pm, Wednesdays to saturday from 9am – 8:30pm and Sundays from 9am – 2:30pm.

  • See the Virgen de la Macarena in her Basilica

In Seville, one could ask if you were sevillista or bético, referencing the two Hispalense soccer teams. In a way, you could also ask if you were more for the Virgen de la Esperanza de Triana or the Virgen de la Esperanza de la Macarena.

When I have friends come to visit and we take a walk around my old barrio of Triana, I always pop into the small chapel on Calle Pureza where my preference, la Trianera, lives, to explain the cultural significance of Holy Week. Still, after four years and four Semana Santas passed, I still hadn’t been to the Basilica de la Macarena.

That was, until December 18th. And quite by accident. And on the worst day of the year to see her. The story is just way too funny and too much of a guiri moment, so click here if you want to read it.

If you go: Macarena’s oppulent home is located in the northern end of the historic center, just off of C/ Bequer. Alternately, you could takes buses C1, C2, C3, C4, C5, 2, 13 or 14 to the entrance of the church, which is free to enter. Standard hours apply, and expect to meet a lot of faithful on feast days and during Semana Santa.

  • Explore the Cementerio San Fernando, resting place of bullfighters and famous sevillanos

Just today, I crossed off another item (in addition to seeing the inside of the parliament palace). Kike lent me his car to cross town to the cemetery, where I was met with a hearse and a long funeral procession. Upon entering the brick and iron gates of San Fernando,  a guard who merely pointed to a sign prohibiting cameras. I tucked Camarón back into my bag and surrendered him to the guard, pleading that he keep it in the office.

I’ve always liked cemeteries for their solace and tranquility. Seville’s massive complex is located in the northern end of the city, and the Alamillo bridge is visible over the mausoleums and walls of graves. The plot is breathtaking – walls of white hold the mortal remains of Seville’s most celebrated bullfighters – like Juan Belmonte and Paquirri – and hijos predilctos, as well as flamenco singers and businessmen, like Osborne.

I was enraptured by the bright blue sky and ability to think clearly for once. The small details left on the graves, from fascists arrows to a plastic statue of a Disney princess to plastic flags and flowers, made life’s pleasures become a reality for me. Even in death, I could imagine what a neighbor treasures in life. In the hour I spent walking through decrepid old family mausoleums and placards that had been shattered and left abandoned, I saw shrines both great and humble. Loved ones of the departed cleaned and swept the gravesites, just like in the opening scene of the Manchego women in Volver. Much more than witnessing a cultural element in flamenco or bullfighting, I was witness to the utmost respect that Andalusians use when caring for the deceased. Well worth the loss of sleep for a bit of perspective.

If you go: San Fernando cemetery is open to the public every day from 8 – 5:30am. Keep in mind that it is a sacred place for Spaniards, so loud noises and photos are strictly prohibited. You can reach the cemetery by public TUSSAM bus #10 from Ponce de León in the center. The stop is located directly across from the entrance.

Other ideas for my Seville or Spain bucketlist? This year I’m traveling to Zaragosa and Murcia, two places I’ve never visited – so only Logroño will be left to conocer! What tops your travel bucketlist for this year? Leave me ideas in the comments after viewing my original blogpost here.

Filed Under: andalú, Andalucia, coming home, Hey Macarena!, holidays, Holy Week, kids, la vida loca, living abroad, misc, religion, Seville, Spain, tourism · Tagged: ,

Mother of God.

December 20, 2011 by · 20 Comments

I have a lot of “Ooooh Guiri” moments. You know, when I do something SO American, I wonder how I’ve survived four years living outside of the Grand Old Republic. Something along the lines of saying swear words when there are other unknown English speakers around, like drinking in churches at a small town fair (wait, that wasn’t me), like telling a bouncer we didn’t want to go to his bar because it smelled like onions (wait, that wasn’t me either).

En fin, my “Oooh Guiri” moments are like dumb blonde moments.

Today was no exception. Faced with no grading to do, a clean house and a good night’s sleep behind me (grandma!), I chose to  being all Christmas-y. My first stop was to Plaza Nueva and the city’s Nativity Scene.

Housed in the salmon-pink palace that dominates the square, the city’s official belén tells the story of the annunciation, birth of Christ and the adoration of the Magi. Using fancy lighting, adobe-looking villages, figurines and constructing the entire town of Bethlehem, the most important moments of young Christ’s life are immortalized. With the diorama comes the line that wraps around the building up towards Plaza del Salvador.

Christa and I had little to do, so we marched towards the camel-ridden zoco in Encarnación before continuing onto an artisan market in a tucked-away plaza in Macarena. I badly needed cash, so my next stop had to be the Ronda Histórica, a busy road that rings the center of the city. The stream of people in front of the home of Sevilla’s most important virgin (oh, and this song) made me scratch my head, so I took out my money, got in line and stood on tip toe to see how much longer I’d have to wait to see baby Jesus again.

Within ten minutes, I had entered the iron gates in the small patio directly in front of the basilica. As one of Seville’s oldest depictions of the Virgin Mother, she’s the patroness of bullfighters and highly revered in Seville. Her procession on Maudy Thursday draws revelers during the wee hours of the morning as she is paraded from her temple along the Ronda to the Cathedral and back. I stated in my bucketlist that I’d like to see her in her basilica, but I happened to choose her feast day to do it. #Ooohguiri

On the right side of the wide, wooden doors, we queued in a perfectly straight line, while others from the hermandad, the term used to describe the religious brotherhoods, passed through the left side. Nuns filled the courtyard, passing cans of Lemon Fanta to several small children in line. I noticed the Virgin was not above the altar in an exalted place as she usually is in other churches. Brothers shouted, “Senores, colaboren con nosotros en la Loteria de Navidad! Decimos a 25 euros!” The Virgen’s distraught face graced the flimsy strips of paper I’d liken to a 50-50 lottery.

I entered the basilica, shivering as I stepped out of the sun, and made the sign of the cross as my Catholic grandmother taught me. As my confirmation saint is Lucia, I spotted her easily and made a mental recollection to find a donation box as I normally do. Girls with piercings and boys in track suits passed by, tears in their eyes. As I passed the small chapels and got closer to the front, I realized the Virgin was on the ground and people were passing in front of her. I had inadvertently come on December 18th, the Feast Day of Su Santísima Virgen de la Esperanza de la Macarena, and was in line to perform the Besamanos, or hand kissing, of the Virgin.

Moral dilemma: Do I kiss the hand of a wooden and cloth statue who I am sworn to dislike because I much prefer the Virgen de la Esperanza de Triana? Or do I look like an asshole and get out of line?

I chose to stay in, already preparing a speech to give Cait over the phone (I’m pretty sure she has an estampilla of La Macarena in her wallet). As we crept closer, her crown of stars and five red roses, a gift from the bullfighter Joey the Little Chicken Joselito el Gallo, came into view and people began weeping. Green gown flowing behind her up the steps to the altar, she stood just a bit taller than I do, but without real legs, I doubt that was her real height.

When it was my turn, toes touching the plush red carpet, I took my place between two altar boys with hair gelled to perfection. The señora in front of me’s lip quivered as she knelt down, kissed one of the only actual parts of the Virgen (most venerated images only have the face, neck, arms and hands, while the rest if a cloth dummy), finishing by making a sign of the cross and having her husband snap a picture.

I looked her dead in the face. She somehow seemed to have a softer expression than the one I’d seen emblazoned on reliefs, azulejos, keychains and tattoos. Her hand was outstretched, and I could see where people had been kissing her for the last 80 years – the plaster had worn right through to the wood. After the señora took her photo, the altarboy wiped down the hand with a damp cloth, and it was my turn.

I left quickly, nearly calling Cait before I’d even crossed the threshold. I didn’t know how to make sense of the whole thing, especially because I consider this whole Semana Santa thing to be a violation of that commandment that says you shouldn’t worship idols, but I couldn’t stop laughing at my Guiri Moment.

Her response to my giggles? “Oh, Jesus Christ. I mean Mother of Jesus Christ.”

Filed Under: America, culture shock, guiri atope, Hey Macarena!, Holy Week, living abroad, OOPS, religion, Seville, typical Spanish · Tagged: , ,

I like cemeteries.

November 2, 2011 by · 13 Comments

I felt very unfestive this year at Halloween.

In years past, we’ve celebrated pumpkin decorating parties,

had enormous Halloween fetes,

and thrown big celebrations at school.

The Novio usually has a training course during this week, so I was excited to finally show him why my love of cemeteries and ghost stories is normal.

This was as festive as we got:

During my sophomore year of college, Lisa, Beth and I were studying for our Age of the Dinosaurs (if you don’t believe this is actually a class at the University of Iowa, you can find the course description here) on a blustery Halloween Eve night. Bored of cladograms and sauropods, we hatched a plan to visit the Iowa-famous Black Angel, a reputedly haunted statue in the Oakland Cemetery of Iowa City. equipped with flashlights and warm clothing, we took a water bottle full of liquid courage (Hawkeye Vodka, clearly) and set off.

Legend has it that the monstrously large statue was erected by a woman who had once lived in Iowa City to preside over the remains of her dead son and husband, but over a few years’ time, the statue turned black and the wing bent inward. Locals claim the statue has always been connected to the paranormal, and like Scout Finch and the Radley house, we dared one another to touch it to test its claim that virgins were safe. In the windy, damp night, the statue seemed twice as large and even more sinister. In the daylight, however, the whole place just seemed idyllic.

Cemeteries have always fascinated me, whether or not it’s the Halloween season. During my travels, I make it a point to see the way people are laid to rest, how their living relatives honor them. Maybe it’s just because of the Spanish celebration of Día de Todos los Santos, a more pious version of Day of the Dead, which was celebrated just yesterday.

Reputedly, 30% of flowers are sold in the days leading up to the one reserved for families to honor their deceased by offering flower ofrendas and cleaning up the gravesite. I was dying (whoa, wrote that without thinking and am going to leave it) to go and see if the Manchego All Saint’s Day from the movie Volver was spot-on.

In the end, that stupid DELE exam won out, so I’ll just leave you with some shots from hauntingly gorgeous cemeteries from around Europe.

Prayer candles in Bukovina, Romania

A forlorn cemetery in Maramures, Romania

The Merry Cemetery of Sapanta, right on the border. I love the jovial depictions of life and death of over 800 people.

In Spain, the 75% who choose not to be cremated are usually given lockers at the local cemetery. This one is in Olvera, Cadiz

The creepy, even in broad daylight, cemetery in Comillas, Santander, is reputed to be haunted.

Like Iowa City, Comillas has its own Angel. Summer 2010.

Along the road to redemption in Cashel, Ireland.

A peaceful Christmas morning with unbelievable light in Limerick, Ireland. I may or may not have looked for Frank McCourt’s dead brothers.

Do you like cemeteries? Seville’s San Fernando Cemetery is home to celebrated bullfighters and flamenco dancers, and it’s a peaceful garden. Free to enter, though photos are not allowed.

 

Filed Under: culture shock, goodbyes, holidays, Holy Week, Ireland, Portugal, Romania, Spain, travel photography · Tagged: , ,

How to make Torrijas for Holy Week

April 8, 2011 by · 4 Comments

Mariquilla, my boss’s daughter, came flouncing into my office. “Miss Cat, IIIIIIII need the, um, capirote.”

Huh?

I asked her what it was, or to describe it, thinking it could be one of the two things in the preschool workroom. A powder blue nazareno robe or a pointed nazareno hat. She indicated the hat and it hit me: We’re already in Holy Week. Seven short days from now, I’ll be wheeling a Virgin Mary throughout the streets of the neighborhood I work in with the kids dressed in mantillas, robes and those KKK image-invoking hats. And in eight, I’ll be heading to Romania for what my friend Bryan has called the fight of vampires versus gypsies.

While visions of marshmallow peeps and drugstore jelly beans dance in my head, I set out to prove to my boyfriend that I’m not a “blue-eyed Homer Simpson” as he recently dubbed me, so I made Spain’s answer to a chocolate bunny: torrijas. Made like French Toast, this honey- and cinnamon-sweetened bread is only eaten in the week leading up to Easter.

Ingredients:
One french bread bar (better if from the day before), cut into thick slices
1 cup milk
2 medium-sized eggs
one stick of cinnamon
2 tablespoons flour
sugar

In a shallow bowl, pour the milk and add a few shakes of cinnamon, depending on taste. Beat the two eggs in a second shallow bowl and slowly add flour. Dip thick-cut slices of bread into the milk so that they’re saturated, but not dripping, in milk, then pass them to the bowl of eggs, turning over to ensure there’s egg enough to fry.

Heat a good amount of olive oil on the stove top. After it bubbles, it will start to smoke; this means it’s hot and perfect for frying. Place the bread in the oil, being careful not to burn it (usually twice on each side is perfect). When finished, cover in sugar or honey.

Yeah, or just make french toast and call it Typical Spanish (Thanks to Susana, the boss of torrijas, for helping me with the recipe and photo from Que.es)

Filed Under: Andalucia, expat life, gastronomy, holidays, Holy Week, recipes · Tagged: , ,

Futbol versus Faith

February 3, 2011 by · Leave a Comment

I’m home on a Thursday watching TV with the nov and his little brother. Kike is predictable: if it’s between 12 and 15h, the news is on. After, it’s Se lo que Hicistéis (a personal favorite of mine), then the animal documentaries while he naps.

We never watch TV at night together – we’re always either out drinking beers or I choose to watch American shows on the Internet. But now, we’re watching the news AGAIN and the sports section just came on. The Liga BBVA, who hosts the best soccer league in the world presumably, had a hard time deciding where to hold the Copa del Rey final to determine the league winner. Since the two most popular teams in Spain, Real Madrid and FC Barcelona, are scheduled to pit it out, the game can’t be held in their respective stadiums. These meccas, Bernabeu and Camp Nou, are also the largest in Spain.

So, where to do it? Sevilla’s Olympic Stadium, built for the 92 World Expo, was tapped.

The city of Sevilla’s reaction? Oh, no, you can’t do that here. Not on Jueves Santo.

The game is slated for April 20th, the day that all the famous processions take place during Holy Week, so clearly that is out of the question. Zaragoza, a large city between the two, will allow 35,000 lucky fans to see the game live.

Dude, Sevilla, you’re getting predictable.

Filed Under: futbol, Holy Week, Liga BBVA ·

Toros a Tope

April 4, 2010 by · 1 Comment
After spending a week traveling through central Europe and a few hours elbowing through crowds to see Holy Week processions, I needed to escape. Too many somber, Lenten beer-less (ok, not really) days of penitence and adoration.I needed to go see a bull being released.So, I´ve been a bad Catholic and haven´t given up anything for Lent for years, so Easter to me, with its lack of chocolate bunnies, easter egg dye and boiled ham feel like just another Sunday to me. I begged Kike to take me to Arcos de la Fontera, a beautiful town perched on twin peaks, to see my friend CeCe and the famous Toro de Aleluya.

While the bull-friendly nation of Spain has found itself in the middle of controversy for its festivals involving the beasts, I, for one, love its adherence to tradition. The town of Denia has a summer fair where the daring can swim in the Mediterranean, and San Fermines, or the Running of the Bulls in Hemingway’s Pamplona, is one of the most well-known spectacles in Spain. I had to settle for something a little smaller.

CeCe greeted Kike and I with a mimosa, to which he turned up his nose and I gladly took. We found a spot behind red iron gates holding back spectators from the Paseo, the main street between the old and new towns. People wore matching t-shirts and hung off of balconies, signs – anything they could to get a good view of the encierro path.


Mimosas turned to beer and rebujito, and after two hours in the sun, the bull was finally released. He was FLOOOOOOOOJO. Although the gate was a mere 50 meters down the road, the pistol sounded and everyone screamed…and we waited. A band taunted the bull, and young chulos ran up and down, attempting to get the bull, enticed by movement, to move. He stood there, flapping his tail and looking uninterested.

I wiggled my way up the front, hopeful I´d get a few pictures. Instead, I got a bunch of people running and a few kicks in the face from the teenagers perched on the gates over my head. I decided I was over it, so we kept drinking our beer and eating homemade bocadillos.

The bull continued up and down the street, kids screaming and flapping noise-makers adorned with ribbons the colors of Andalucía. during the hour-long descanso, we wandered down into one of the main plazas of the new part of town, which was ringed with vendors, beer tents and snack carts. We took a few shots (served by one of Cece’s coworkers), took pictures with all her high schoolers and enjoyed the sunshine. The whole place had been converted to an outdoor disco full of skanky looking girls and chulos in white-rimmed sun glasses.

Aline, Kate, me, CeCe, Isabel and Amanda at the encierro

Ah Spain and your never-ending parties and canis. Thankfully, Feria is two short weeks away. ¡Olé!
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Filed Under: Andalucia, Holy Week, toros · Tagged: ,
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