Sunday, May 8, 2011

Surreal in Sevilla


Sevilla… in a word… clusterf*#k. After feeling like I was getting the hang of plaza hopping in Madrid, I had no idea what we were in for. Sevilla is by far, the most confusing city I have ever been in. Alleys wind, dead end, fork, twist, narrow and interweave all the while possessing even less street signs than Madrid. It is really unlike anything I could have imagined. Actually finding your way home drunk here would be a true impossibility. (Note to directionally challenged Jacki: This place would lead to your demise. Don’t come here.) The necessity of keeping a GPS locator on you at all times is the understatement of the century. The one thing I will say is making it home without a map here is even more gratifying than figuring out the trains. Cough cough, we did it last night. I hear ego boosting!



On the agenda for our last night in Sevilla was the Feria de Abril. I’ll get to that in a minute, but first I have to tell you about something magical that happened to me last night. After sitting down to a large odoriferous plate of paella (it was paella night at the hostel) amongst our roommates, Anthony a solo-traveler from Portland, Oregon .and our three, pushing 60 Asian grandmothers (yes, this happened and we all slept in bunk beds together), I needed a little something to quench my thirst. One glass of sangria down, I decided I was in the mood for something a little different. I made my way inside to the vending machine and that’s when it all happened. Imagine, standing in front of what you assume to be a typical refreshment wielding machine. Your eyes start at the top. (Do I want a Coke?) Maybe they scan down a bit more. (Fanta, perhaps?) A little more yet. (Water. I should go with water. That’s the healthier thing to do.) And then it happens, just as you’ve made your selection, your eyes scan down one more rung on the descending ladder to greatness and you immediately realize you’ve sold yourself short. When what to my wandering eyes should appear but a cerveza, the Spanish word for beer! (Hopefully, you understood that that last sentence needed to be read to the tune of The Night Before Christmas. As it’s early in this new blog yet I feel a slight responsibility to guide you through my random mind. Later on, no such assistance will be
provided….just fyi.) That’s right…BEER IN A VENDING MACHINE. Could there be a greater sight in all this world? I dare you to prove me wrong. Triple dog, even. Obviously, I inserted my ONE euro, pressed the button next to the hand-written CERVEZA button (Clearly, the hostel staff took some liberties on what this machine was intended to vend…and I am forever grateful to them for that.) and waited for one of the best beers I’ve ever consumed to roll its way out of that beloved machine. Some would argue it was the brand. I would say it was the glorious sound of it clanking its way down to my hand. At any rate, Salud!

Sidenote: Something really positive has happened here in Spain. Not only do I have a newly discovered potential career as a flamenco dancer, BUT I’ve also decided that cerveza-vending vending machine lobbyist may be yet another way to go. We could get these things, in schools, DMVs, the mall around Christmas time, and other stress inducing places. Think how much more easy-going everyone would be. I’m expecting my Nobel Peace Prize in the mail any day now.


Lo siento! Perdon my digression. Back to the Feria de Abril, otherwise known as the April Fair…in May…yeah, I don’t know either.
Train tickets, hostel rooms, and other such necessary elements of travel were sky high this week and I quickly found out why. The much anticipated Feria de Abril was in town. We heard from other travelers that this is one of the most anticipated weeks of the year. How can it be that good you ask? Well, this fair is like the Indiana State Fair on crack. Actually, that’s not true. The Indiana State Fair is on its own breed of crack. Well, if I’m being regionally accurate, it’s on its own breed of crystal meth. The Feria de Abril is absolutely unreal. Imagine the rides, the games, the food stands you’re used to only replace the hillbillies with flamenco-dress-clad women and suited up men. Little boys dressed as matadors and women in these creations as far as the eye could see. Replace the elephant ears with churros and names of rides like the Mad Mouse with Super Rato con Queso Vacacion. Then add a thousand tents full of sangria-consuming, flamenco-crazed, dressed to the nines, Spaniards and you’ve got yourself a visual masterpiece of in-tents excitement! (Get it…in tents/intense. You see where I’m going here.)
While it seemed as if all of Sevilla must be in attendance for this 7 day, 24 hour straight bash, it was actually rather an exclusive event. All of the tents were rented by clubs, families, or organizations, so you had to be invited in. Too bad I didn’t rope in that flamenco dancing potential husband of mine when I had the chance. Then I would have had a real in! All and all, it was a seriously extraordinary event to be witnessed. Though not possessing the size or notoriety of Madrid, Sevilla has a soul one should be lucky enough to experience.



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