I left dreary Málaga on Tuesday, April 6 for rainy and windy Sevilla. I had already bought my ticket before I saw the news reports broadcasting the 80-90 km/hr winds and the equally heavy (however equal it would need to be to equal that) rains coming down on Sevilla. Normally, this would just suck. But when you have planned a trip to a city for a particular couple of days specifically because of a festival, namely the Feria de Abril (also known as the Feria de Sevilla) and it turns out to be precipitating all kinds of things, ``ferious´´ it is not. It sucks and blows, all at the same time. (You may now take a moment to ponder the logistics.)
Tuesday? Rain. Wednesday? More of the same, but fortunately it let up enough at nighttime for me to take advantage of Feria with Ángela, one of my friends from my old soccer team. (For those who are unaware, I spent five months living in Seville during my junior year in college, during which time I found and joined a soccer team. I´ve since kept in touch with a few of the girls.) I met up with Ángela and some of her friends, and she successfully introduced me to Feria (olé!). In part, Feria consists of lots of tents (called casetas), some public, but most private. In these casetas, there is music, a bar, dancing, hanging out, etc. It´s free to get in everywhere, but in order to get into the private ones, you have to know someone. Otherwise, you are relegated to the public ones. Fortunately, Ángela had friends who belonged to a private one, so after hanging out outside for awhile, we all went there and stayed there for a good portion of the night/morning. By the time we called Feria a ``morning,´´ the rain had picked up again, and, I realized how perfect it would have been to have my big Amazon boots with me for that small timeslot (go figure).
The good part about going back to cities that you have already gotten to know ``touristically´´ is that you can just do whatever you want and there´s no pressure to see anything. I walked along the pedestrian streets I liked (Sierpes, Tetuan, etc.), and walked around town in general, noting several changes. For one, lots of roads are now blocked off to traffic in favor of the recent tram system. Status of change? Goood. Another change? Lots of Starbucks. Status of change? ``Vómito.´´ (I hate Starbucks in foreign countries.) But since the weather was generally bad, I didn´t have to make do with subpar pictures of the impressive Cathedral, for instance, since I already have pictures of the Cathedral with a not-a-cloud-in-the-sky background.
Feria is a time of year when lots of sevillanos either all leave town because they don´t like the festival, or they all come back to celebrate it. It was both fortunate and unfortunate for me, because of the people I know who still live in Sevilla or its outskirts, it was about half and half. I thus tried to make the most of it and see all the people who were around. I got to see the family I lived with when I studied abroad, for example, who now live full-time in their country house. Luckily, they had come into town for Feria, so I was able to spend an afternoon with them and see some flamenco dresses up close, since my former host sisters get dressed up for Feria. I also got some free meals (ah, the life of a backpacker) at the café I used to frequent, as a few of my old friends still work there. Even when I tried to leave a tip, they wouldn´t accept it. That made my pineapple ice cream (which was served in a pineapple) even better!
Friday I hit Feria again, this time with Estrella, another soccer friend, and some people she knew. And in true Feria fashion, we didn´t go home until the morning hours. Maybe it sounds like Carnaval from the way I´m describing it, but the rhythm is different, the concentration of people is different, and really, it´s not that similar at all other than it´s one big fiesta. We met at Feria during the day, so we saw lots of families, horse-drawn carriages, and games and stuff that start to disappear by the time nighttime rolls around. Luckily, one of Estrella´s friends had gotten an invite to a caseta, so we all got to check it out. They had actually just gotten the invite earlier that day, so it was perfect timing.There were a few people I didn´t get to see this trip to Sevilla, which is too bad, but everyone is rarely in the same place at the same time, so having done the best I could in the few days I had, it was time to move on.
Saturday, April 12, I left Sevilla for Barcelona (and, of course, it was a beautiful day outside). When I got to the airport, naturally, I got to the security checkpoint, and a security guard said, ``Can you come with me?´´ Frantically, I thought, ``Uh-oh, do I have fruit? Being a newfound meat eater, did I smuggle asado? What am I in trouble for?´´ The guy took me behind a cubicle and said, ``Are you familiar with the liquid regulations?´´ I said, ``No...´´ And he proceeded to ask me where I was from. I said America, and he said, ``Oh, then this is going to be a lot easier. You know you can´t take liquids of more than 3 oz. past security.´´ And I said, ``oh, ok.´´ And then he opened my bag and pulled out this 1.5 liter bottle of Aquarius (a Gatorade-like drink that I love so dearly) that I had stowed away for safe-keeping. (Note: In South America, no one cared about bringing liquids on airplanes, so I didn´t think twice that I had bottles of liquids with me. In fact, one time in Brazil, they asked me if I had anything in my pockets, and I said, just my cell phone and a bottle of water, and they said, no, that´s fine, no big deal.) Anyway, he said, what do you want to do? (I had maybe drank three sips of the bottle already.) I said, ``Well, I´m not going to waste it...´´ And then he said, ``We see everything on the monitor here. Do you have any other liquids with you over 3 oz.?´´ And knowing full well what my inventory was, I said, ``Yes...´´ and I pulled out a 500ml bottle of water. At this point, I opened the top of my Aquarius, took a deep breath, and just started chugging. During this whole spectacle (and it was, indeed, a spectacle -- keep in mind, it was a big bottle), he asked me, ``So, where in America are you from?´´ I paused, looked at him (think, ``Are you for real?´´), and said, ``Washington,´´ and picked up where I left off. He then said that his niece or daughter or someone (I forget) lived in Virginia and that he wants to go visit but that it´s so expensive, etc. etc. At this point, I finished the Aquarius, slammed the bottle down on the table, and said, ``Just out of curiosity, do people usually do this
Thank the heavens the forecast for Barcelona has nothing to do with water!
missy
http://andsmilestogobeforeisleep.blogspot.com
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