“A city isn’t so unlike a person. They both have
the marks to show they have many stories to tell. They see many faces. They
tear things down and make new again.”
Rasmenia Massoud
On our most recent visit to the South of Spain, we were lucky enough to spend time in 3 of
it’s charismatic, endlessly fascinating cities. I find these cities so full of
character that they have a personality, and you connect with it when you’re within.
By way of
introduction, and an insight into my thoughts on these personalities, I want to dig a little into a past life as a sports coach. Through 16
years or so of my spare time I coached athletes aged from 6-adult (alongside
remarkably talented colleagues I should add) and I was often asked to complete
a brief written assessment of an athlete. For our cities, they might go something like this:
Sevilla:
S is an
elite-level athlete with skills and assets much admired from within the group and
without. S has a long and proven track record of strong performances, and
continues to have wide-ranging influence.
Despite
this, S rarely demonstrates a willingness to develop and make positive change.
This may hinder S in the longer term, and threaten their place in the
leadership group. S has conceded to some changes when pressed to do so, but
these changes have not been appropriate and have not ultimately helped S or the
group.
Cádiz:
C is something
of an outsider, and usually operates on the periphery. In many respects C demonstrates
significant differences to the core of the group. As C has developed, these
differences have become attractive assets that have proved to be real
contributions to the group.
C must
maintain this contribution, and not allow isolation to be a continuing challenge.
Málaga:
M is blessed
with more modest, understated assets than some in the group, and is a more
compact performer. M has turned this into a real positive, and has demonstrated an ongoing
and almost insatiable need for development. Relatively recently, these efforts
have transformed M into an effective and popular part of the group.
M should
be wary of “change for change’s sake” (See S).
Valencia:*
Alongside
a few high-performing colleagues, V is deservedly part of the leadership group.
A long history of overcoming adversity and significant challenges has elevated
V to this position. Strong personal pride and belief is turned outwards and
used for the benefit of the group. V has a long history of relevant and
successful progress, with impressive developmental effect.
V must be
aware of dilution, and should be sure to select which outside influences are
positive.
After
a flight to Málaga and a quick lunch, our train to Sevilla made its way out of
Estación Maria Zambrano. The three colours of the country west of Málaga slide
past… olive and red ochre, the gentler blue of the Andalucía sky in October… cloudless
today. The carriage is quiet, the mascarilla** challenges made and resolved by
the renfe staff (other than 2 English women who appeared to be allowed to go
unmasked for no good reason known to us) and most of us relaxed into the
journey, masked and happy, anticipating the destination.
The
more irregular and varied land before Cordoba gave way to that odd, seemingly
derelict area on the edge of the city. Then the apartment blocks and concrete
took over. These may not be architecturally attractive areas, but they are
nonetheless living and breathing parts of a city with real beauty at its heart.
Maybe next time we get off here.
The
train pulls in the opposite direction out of Cordoba, peels to the south
towards Sevilla. Estación Santa Justa welcomes us with hot sunshine, and a taxi
driver who appeared to know where we were going before I’d finished
mispronouncing the address.
The
Resitur is an apartment building in the Triana neighbourhood of Sevilla, and our
Airbnb was within. Our little studio apartment in this large block was clean
enough, just about big enough, and perfectly located for this little adventure
of ours.
Triana
deserves further introduction, and I’ll paraphrase to some degree from a
previous blog post. Triana was the original gitano
neighborhood, separated from Sevilla
until relatively recently (geographically and culturally?) and was a town apart
in many ways. There seem to be a few uncomfortable grey areas around how los
gitanos were “encouraged” to relocate, but Triana has retained plenty of the
culture. More of this later, but you can see, hear and smell that culture
should you dare to go 2, or 3, or 4, or 5 streets back into Triana and get a
little immersed.
The Calle Betis riverfront, where Triana gazes
across the Rio Grande*** at Paseo de Cristobal Colon, Plaza de Toros and the Torre
del Oro is pleasant at any time of day. In the evening, the sun starts to sink
behind Triana and throws amazing light on the Andalucian white and amber of
those wonderfully conceived buildings****. The rowers and pleasure cruisers
make their way up and down, and Sevillanos and visitors alike sit on the muelle,
legs dangling over the water… simply because it’s a lovely place to be in the
sunset.
Some of those bars and restaurants on that Calle
Betis riverfront have become disappointing, and a little turistic. There is a
delightful thing known as sitting together over a drink. One can talk, argue,
laugh, people-watch, or just sit in silence if that is what’s comfortable. When
you’re told that you can’t do this at a riverfront pavement café, because they
only serve drinks with food after 8pm, this is beyond frustrating. I’m
absolutely sure the very amiable young camarero didn’t relish telling us this,
but it made our decision for us.
We crossed the elegant Puente de Triana and sought out drinks
and dinner on the Sevilla side. After dinner, the early morning flight began to take its
toll, and we headed back to Triana for much-needed sleep.
This visit to Sevilla became centered around 4
particular parts of town:
Triana:
We had deliberately booked our accommodation in
Triana after a brief taste of it in a previous visit. The Calle Betis waterfront
has been mentioned already (and there are some worthy venues along there) but
it’s essential to dig deeper.
The small area of Triana bordered by Calle Betis,
Calle San Jacinto, Calle Pagés del Corro and the wide Avenida de República
Argentina begs to be explored. It’s reminiscent of El Cabañal in Valencia… much
of it is a maze of small, old residential streets, some houses decorated with
remarkable ceramics inside and out. Small bars and restaurants are sometimes revealed
only as you pass. Tiny shops and venues for flamenco shows. The unmistakable
sounds of flamenco heard during the day from flamenco schools scattered around
the area. Indeed, you start to notice many places to learn. A painting school.
A yoga school. A ceramics school. More than any shiny new apartment block or
chain eatery, these are the places that make the area what it is.
Emerging eventually into the busy Calle Pagés del
Corro and making our way towards our apartment building, you realise how much
Triana has to offer, and how much we have yet to see.
El Arenal:
For no tangible reason, we tended to be drawn back
to the area around Puerta del Arenal when on the Sevilla side of the river.
Calle García de Vinuesa meets Calle Arfe meets Calle Adriano meets Calle
Antonia Diaz in a noisy clutter of bars, restaurants, hotels, cars and horse-drawn
carriages full of tourists looking at their phones. Visitors get lost,
scooters, cycles, motorbikes and waiters have better things to worry about, and there is so much life
here that you could sit and watch for hours, immersed.
I suppose this part of the city kept us coming back
because everything you need is within reach. It’s not too far away from the
river and Triana, and the Cathedral and Santa Cruz sit there waiting in the
other direction... more barrios beyond.
Parque de Maria Luisa and Jardines del Prado de San
Sebastían:
Beyond the Universidad de Sevilla lie these 2 city
parks. Parque Maria Luisa is a magnificent city park with the Plaza de América
and its formal gardens at the southern end, acres and acres of shady walks with
quirky corners, elegant memorials and tree-lined avenues… an oasis from the
city’s clamour.
We were early one day for our intended destination
in the Prado de San Sebastían, and we walked almost the full area of Parque Maria Luisa, determined
as we were to discover the Sevilla beyond the obvious (and previously visited) attractions
such as the Cathedral and the Alcázar. However delicious the park was in the
sweet sunshine that followed a cloudy start to the day, the irresistible Plaza
de España draws you back. Like the much more modest Plaza de América, Plaza de
España was built in 1928 for the Ibero-American Exposition of 1929. In a way
that may not seem immediately obvious, it brings to mind the futuristic City of
Arts & Sciences in Valencia. What they have in common is that there are millions
of photographs of both places in existence across the world, but seeing more
and taking more photographs is irresistible. The Plaza de España is nothing
short of astonishing, and we just keep going back.
We visited twice to see performances from
dance schools and to eat in Greece, Mexico and Argentina, and to enjoy an
unmissable drink in a very lively Cuba.
Can someone make this happen everywhere please?
Santa Cruz:
I’ll never stand to look up at La Giralda without
it moving me. The cathedral is obviously the tourist epicenter, surrounded by
thousands of people and their phones, horses and carriages waiting to trot
punters away on a paseo, turistic bars and restaurants leading away up Calle
Mateos Gago… but it’s not realistic to think that you’ll visit Sevilla and not
go to see that Cathedral up close.
This naturally takes you into the Juderia
(hopefully via a chaotic caña and tapa at Bodega Las Columnas) and the narrow
streets pull you in. At quiet times, it can be peaceful and full of charm. At
busy times, the combination of packed tables outside small bars in narrow
streets and thousands of shuffling visitors can grind everything to a halt.
Before the Dia de la Hispanidad on the 12th
October, we punctuated our little Sevilla adventure with a trip to Cádiz on the
train. Once clear of the residential area of Dos Hermanas, the agricultural
land is largely already-harvested arable, as flat and wide as you can
imagine. The eye could just make out hills on the very far horizon across the
acres. Around Lebrija, gentle hills rolled, but the earth was the same dark
chocolate where ploughed.
After Jerez de la Frontera, the track ran through eerie
estuary marshland, seeming dark grey and a little hostile under heavy skies,
despite the sight of flamingoes in the salt flats. Skeletons of long-abandoned
boats poked from the mud, and I couldn’t resist childhood reminiscences of C.
S. Lewis’ Narnia. Extracted salt was piled up in places, the water in the
cloudy pools a coral pink.
After Puerto de Santa Maria, this gave way to a
narrow beach backed by dunes that ran alongside the track and a busy road. We
were soon on a causeway and into Cádiz.
Cádiz is the end of the line, and immediately feels
like it as you emerge from the darkness of this station. Having laboured under
the false impression that Cádiz had only one central railway station, it now
seemed that we had a long walk up to the old town, but no matter. The 30-minute
walk alongside Playa de la Victoria was enjoyable with the sun breaking through
sultry clouds, but the word that irresistibly came to mind was “un-Mediterranean”…
we were strolling gently along next to the North Atlantic here, and difference
was there to see and taste.
Reaching unmistakably “old-town” architecture after
a while, we dropped into the square in front of the Cathedral, the default
refuge of the first-time visitor. The Cathedral is imposing, but far from an
architectural classic. The cafés in front of the Cathedral were as uninspiring as expected,
but we wanted the reward of a cold beer and the first part of lunch after our
long walk.
The busker who had mercifully just finished insisted that I give him money
despite only being in my seat for 45 seconds. The second busker was a lady who
tried gamely to juggle the selection of her amplified music and her “performance”
of what may have been an attempt at flamenco. Unremarkable food came and went,
and we headed for Mercado Central, knowing deep down that this is where we
should have gone in the first place.
Mercado Central de Abastos is Spain’s oldest
covered market. We will habitually visit the central market in every Spanish
town or city (and even barrio) that we go to, so we’ve seen some great ones.
Mercado Central de Valencia stands out, of course. The sights, sounds and
smells of the Cádiz offering were remarkable. Every market in Spain has
excellent seafood, but this was another level. All the usual suspects were there,
but of the very highest quality. Here were huge fish of all kinds. There was
shark, heads displayed alongside steaks. Swordfish displayed likewise. Enormous
tuna laid on chopping blocks, matching the size of the stallholder trying to
sell it.
The market has 2 outer areas. The one within the
market walls is a cloister of stalls selling foods cooked to eat right there… the
freshest fish that it’s possible to get. Packed with people literally eating
fried fish out of paper, as if it were Whitby in some parallel universe. Some
enjoyed pulpo, sepia, almejas.
Against the market’s walls on the other side were
tables served by the restaurants that surrounded the market, and we chose one of
these. A couple of better-than-average buskers set themselves up close to us.
Several local characters passed by and engaged with them, one with a resemblance to
Santa that was hard to ignore stopped close by for his afternoon sherry.
For the second part of lunch, we enjoyed excellent salad with the best tuna Cádiz
has to offer (for 5€, just FYI) amazing skewers of grilled prawns, and soft,
moist dogfish.
There was a little rain, and a distant rumble of
thunder. We were under cover, and finished our meal as the storm arrived, a
crash of thunder directly overhead getting everyone’s attention. I went inside
and waited for the single, tiny, windowless bathroom behind an elderly gent who
was waiting for his wife to finish in there. He straightened a couple of the
bullfighting pictures on the wall. As we chuckled over this, another guy joined
us in the little queue, along with a disabled teenager and his carer.
The rain came down heavily. All the lights went
out. The teenager started singing “Cumpleaños Feliz”. His carer switched on the
light on her phone to help him go to the toilet. After I’d employed that
method myself, I went back to the bar, and we had the chance to get coffee
while the locals tucked into another beer. Some hopeful souls continued their
meals outside, the umbrellas intended to provide shade proving less effective
against rain, and they soon dived into the bar themselves.
As the rain slowed, we left the locals getting ever
more noisy and comfortable in the bar, and splashed away from the market
towards the sea again, wanting to make the coastal circuit around the north end
of the city peninsula. We passed a colony of feral cats, shelters and food
apparently provided by a local charity. There’s a small beach at the start of a
short causeway leading to the Castillo de San Sebastian, there’s an extraordinary
beach pavilion that currently houses the headquarters of the Underwater
Archaeology Centre.
Before the next fortification, Castillo de Santa
Catalina with it’s fishing harbor alongside, there was evidence of decay in
buildings new and old. A large building behind the beach pavilion was beautiful
in a neglected kind of a way. More modern buildings showed similar signs of
neglect, but then a startling juxtaposition appeared in the form of a shiny new
apartment complex next to pretty gardens, opposite University buildings.
We walked on, following the coast toward the port
area, and ducked back into the old town for a drink before our return journey.
Our taxi arrived at the station in 5 quick minutes, and it’s here you realize
that your train does not leave from the same station that it arrived at. There
appears to be more than 1 station in Cádiz (actually 3 I think). It also left
from platform 6, despite every screen in the station saying platform 1. We were
kind of lucky to get on it, to be fair. Nobody said it was going to be simple.
The train back to Sevilla followed a slightly
different route, dropping travellers at Jerez airport this time. A passenger
behind me rustled and fidgeted and started crunching crisps. Inexplicably, he
moved seats to sit in front of me, and I was able to observe that the packet of
crisps that he was crunching and chewing his way through was around the size of
Wales. The crunching and the chewing continued unabated for what seemed like
hours, until he did that ghastly “pour the last of the crisps down my throat”
thing.
No matter, there would be no more crunching.
Until he reached back into his carrier bag, and
produced a large tube of Pringles. I have fairly serious issues with Pringles.
He will never know how close he was to being executed just at that moment, as
he began to crunch again. Mercifully, he couldn’t manage more than about a
quarter of the tube. A young Spanish girl got on the train and sat next to him,
and he put them away and chose to behave.
You’ll be delighted to know that I’ve put all of
this behind me now.
Cádiz is a hugely charismatic place with amazing
seafood, and we want to go back… perhaps stay a while and enjoy the beaches and
more grilled prawns.
Back in Sevilla, one realizes how important some things
are to the city. Food is one, flamenco another.
It’s very easy to find good food in Sevilla. The
usual gastronomical nasties are there, of course. Use the big brand fast foods if you must, it’s not a crime. But it’s likely
that 2 minutes away is a small place with great anchoas, then another with
great ensaladilla, then another with buñuelos de bacalao that you’d cross the
city for. In just a couple of visits, we’ve got ourselves a few favourite
venues already, and we try to do the tapeo thing… one or two tapas here, one or
two at the next place, and so on.
With the smallest dose of education (and that’s
really all we have) you can try to pair drinks with food to make it all work a
little better. Manzanilla might work nicely with charcutería, or even with that
amazing duck pate in La Antigua Abaceria in Triana*****. A cold beer might work
well with shrimp. Your carillada de cerdo might like a drop of red to cosy up
to.
There are high-end restaurants in Sevilla, of
course. They might be there for your special occasion, your function perhaps
(and it’s blindingly obvious that Los Sevillanos love a function) but day-to-day
eating can be done very well, at a modest cost. One might find a degree of inflexibility
on occasions (Nooo... that can’t be served in a tapa portion for reasons best known to the waiter)
but please press on. There is amazing food here if you just let yourself get
into it.
Shun the tourist habit of grabbing a table outside.
Go and stand at the bar. Near to where the camameros pick up the orders and
interact with the guys behind the bar, the guys that slice the jamon and dish
out the habas. We enjoyed another lunch (part two) in Café Bar Las Teresas in
Santa Cruz. Our cañas were crashed down on the bar in front of us. Boquerones were
crashed down equally firmly, the cost so far chalked on the bar top. Camareros
crashed plates and glasses down. Plates of jamon iberico were crashed down in
front of locals sharing their lunch. They in turn crashed their glasses down as
one reached the end of another story.
You’ll see a theme developing here. Los Sevillanos
appear unable to put anything down. It has to be very firmly landed with a noisy
flourish. It doesn’t make for gentile lunch, but it’s all part of the
experience, standing among the hams hanging from the ceiling, planning what to
have next, enjoying the clamour.
As we enjoyed a little grilled entrecote de buey, tiny
young woman walked into the bar and shouted “A MENU IN ENGLISH PLEASE!” at the
top of her voice. The clamour ceased for a second, everyone laughed, and she
succeded in getting her menu. She now had the waiter’s attention for her visit. We silently admired her endeavor, and that of any young woman travelling
alone and prepared to be strident enough to get what they want and enjoy it.
And so to flamenco...
Over our 2 visits to Sevila to date, what we have been surprised at is how strong the flamenco tradition is. Sevillanos of all ages are
engaged in it. One might expect the younger generation to shun traditions such
as this, but this doesn’t seem to be the case. A couple of young waiters might
practice palmas in a break from their work. Lots of young people seem to listen
to flamenco music habitually, and the prevalence of flamenco shows away from
tourist areas, and flamenco schools tell us that this art form is in a healthy
state.
Other than the general background of flamenco that
you’ll experience in many parts of the city, we had a few more direct
experiences of flamenco on this visit, that come under their own sub-headings,
going from bad to good:
Appalling:
The lady in the cathedral square in Cádiz gets 1
out of 10 for getting out there and trying. Although I was trying to tune her
out, I think she did announce at one point that flamenco was what she was
doing, but it was in name only.
Endearing:
A small group performing outside the Banco de
España appeared (to our untrained eyes and ears) to be performing realtively
accomplished, happy, graceful, tuneful and endearing flamenco for a little
cash. It’s so hard to know how good flamenco is when you’re as inexperienced as
we are, so I guess you have to go with your feelings.
Emotional:We saw 2 separate flamenco performances in the Paza
de España. One was a single female dancer, male singer and guitarist. It felt
like a performance of moderate intensity (it was relatively early in the day) but
the rhythms beaten out by the dancer’s feet on her wooden board were stirring.
Her skill, and the obvious pleasure she took from the dance, were a privilege
to watch.
The second performance was special. The centre of
the great pavilion of the Plaza de España was busy, and the performers were
taking a break when we arrived. The group soon came to life. The male singer’s
performance became intense and impressive, and one, two and quickly three
female dancers were performing in mesmeric semi-coordination (to be perfectly
coordinated would unbearably un-Spanish) in the shadows under the astonishing
edifice, the diffused intensity of the light in the plaza playing a perfect
role as their backdrop.
As with our previous visit, we felt that we’d seen
authentic flamenco here. No need for a staged tablao for us. I could make that
walk past the University, over the busy city roads and into that park every
day.
Sevilla is a special place. I desperately want it
to react well to the inevitable change that will be forced upon it, as it will
be forced upon all great cities. I want Sevilla to add flexibility to its list
of great qualities, yet I want it to
resist change for change’s sake. Having visited Las Setas de Sevilla, looked
across the river at Teatro de la Maestranza, and looked north up the river at
the Eurostars Torre Sevilla and the Torre Triana, I can only ask why someone
decided they were a good idea?
And so back to Málaga.
The train from Sevilla followed the same southerly
direction as it had a few days previously, on that Cádiz trip. After a time, it
wheeled away to the east, and the land returned to that olive, ochre and blue
that announced your approach to the Málaga region once again. The train entered
more and more tunnels, and in between, you could see the magnificent
mountains and gorges approaching El Chorro. This where the precarious Caminito
del Rey attracts that variety of hiker/walker that has a little of the
thrill-seeker in them… attracted to the precarious walkways and rope bridges of
the caminito. A few passengers with enormous backpacks climbed on, and we
pressed on to Málaga, through valleys a little more gentle, and attractive
villages adjoining deserted olive processing factories.
Back in Málaga. It feels like a comfortable old
pair of shoes now, particularly in the benign Autumn weather. The young man who
welcomed us into our small hotel close to Mercado de Atarazanas couldn’t have
been more friendly, and after exchanging some rather random Spanglish, we
dropped bags and pushed out into the city for food.
A favourite café in Plaza de la Marina, a very late
lunch, and early evening was soon upon us. The Alcazaba did what it always does
in the evening sunlight, and held its own against the “bigger and better”
sights of España. Our meandering circuit was Plaza de la Merced, down a little
way to Calle Beatas… a favourite oasis now from the packed streets only metres
away. We ate on that street that evening, finally finding a table at a café
often tried for. The albondigas en salsa de almendras were up there with the
best. The owner flushed with pride when I shared this news with him… and this
will make us go back.
The whole area of Pergolas de la Victoria, El
Palmeral de las Sorpresas, and Muelle Uno are still getting better. Muelle
Uno’s apparent efforts to attract the superyacht market appear to be succeeding,
and it seems smart, but not in a Puerto Banus kind of a way. Walking the length of Muelle Uno to the
lighthouse and crossing the road, we take the beachside Paseo de Matías Prats,
past the ever-present guys playing dominoes, past the beach bars, along Playa la Malagueta,
then cutting back towards Centre Pompidou Málaga.
We arrived late (even for a Spanish lunch) and as we waited at the bar, the
waiter suggested that we’d need to cross our fingers for a table in the dappled
sunshine next to the Cathedral gardens. The kitchen was ready to close.
But we glared from the doorway at a couple
dithering over their coffee, and this seemed to do the trick. The waiter had
clearly had enough for the day, and mumbled to us “like a good waiter, I must
clean this table once again” but it was gentle sarcasm, and he served us amiably.
I wanted to order pork shoulder to go with ensalsda and really good chicken croquetas,
but he insisted that the rabo de toro was a better choice. He was correct of
course, and the half-consumed salad was relegated to the far corner of the
table, accepting its defeat.
Another box ticked. We shopped a little, wandered
again. Plaza de la Constitución, Calle Compañía and back into Plaza Enrique
Garcia-Herreria, close to our hotel… always a place that seems to have so much
potential. I hope it gets the development it deserves.
The re-opened KGB was a revelation that evening.
Down a tiny side street close to the Cathedral, you have a new, shiny,
stainless steel, bright bar with the “old tapas bar” system. Find your little
piece of real estate if you can, then shout up what you want. They start a
cuenta in your name, and you go from there. The food is amazing, the customers are of all ages, and feel of the place is good. Málaga once again, regenerating.
We had plenty of time on our last day before we
needed to get to the airport, and Málaga still has plenty to give. Breakfast
under cover as rain blew over from Morocco. A stroll down to Muelle Uno once
again. A cold caña on Playa Malagueta as the sun pushed its way out in the
middle of the day. Sunday lunch at one of the good choices on Muelle Uno.Train back to the airport.
Those 3 cities though. So much to give, so much
character, so much personality, so much soul.
I long for Valencia as life’s ups and downs pass
by. Tenants in the apartment are unpredictable amd inconsistent in their plans
and pressures, but I’ve made point of blocking out 2 weeks in March 2023 for
us.
And that means Fallas everyone. It will happen.
*
We didn’t visit Valencias on this trip, as the changing plans of tenants
continue to prevent this. We’re preparing ourselves for Fallas 2023.
** Masks were still mandatory on all public transport in Spain at the
time of our visit. There is general compliance with this, and little complaint.
Those who seem so vehemently opposed to this in the UK may have issues with
this, but we don’t.
*** The Rio Guadalquivir is the only major navigable river in Spain. Los
Sevillanos are known to refer to it as the Rio Grande, in recognition of the
part it has played in the history of Spain and the "new world".
**** Apart from Teatro de la Maestranza. A monstrosity.
***** I’m a little scared to say this, but that paté might be a rival to the
one that La Senia in Valencia serve up. You know, the one that makes you think
it must be made of something illegal or unworldly, as it tastes unfeasibly
good.
