Greetings from Seville, the beating heart of Spain, which unfortunately I am leaving today. It has been a weak of tortillas, vino de naranja, and gorgeous flamenco dancing. I would have loved be able to prolong my trip but sadly, the little tasks of responsible adulthood await me at home, and so I am in the already at the airport, catching the last glimpse of the sun before I return to a harrowing storm which is set to besiege Ireland.
#1. The City
Spending time in Seville has confirmed my bias for very beautiful, walkable cities. The city centre is small, full of cobbled streets and mysterious laneways, and the much-vaunted concept of mixed-use urbanism is apparent. There are also many dramatic wide-open plazas and squares which are pleasantly lined by the famous orange trees, whose fruit cannot be eaten but must be admired.
Apparently in late spring the orange blossoms bloom and infuse the city with a sweet scent…maybe the present writer will return. Architecturally, the city benefits from the preservation of the many Moorish buildings, which lend a very exotic appearance to the city. Some of the highlights are the squat defensive tower the Torre del Oro, built in 1220, the Palacio de las Dueñas, the various cathedrals, the Plaza de España, and the rather dubious Las Setas, which I regard as aesthetically questionable, albeit of interest in providing something new and different to the cityscape.
History is apparent in the bones of the city. Seville was originally a Roman city, built as Hispanis, whose original walls were ordered to be built by Julius Caesar himself. Later, it fell under Islamic rule until it was incorporated into the Kingdom of Castille in the 13th century, which same kingdom, after joining with the Kingdom of Aragon a few hundred years later, formed modern day Spain.
Seville’s mixed heritage definitely gives it an extra flavour, like many other places which borrow from more than one historical lineage - Trieste and Sicily also come to mind. Such locations always bear the stamp of their previous inhabitants and Seville is no different. To this day the designs and architecture visible in the city recall its Islamic history. Moorish patterns are apparent everywhere, even on the beer taps in bars and of course in the very lovely mosaics which stretch over the doors of macellerias, bodegas, and just about everything else.
#2. Food, drinks and family values
I noticed that people of all ages go out to bars, unlike in Ireland where people who go out are generally in their 20s and 30s, or if they are older they likely frequent an institution where everyone else is around the same age. But here, everyone is mixed together in a wholesome and friendly way. There is also heavy bias towards family activities here and you will see whole families out for a day together, sitting at a restaurant, with the grandkids running around and grandma in a wheelchair smiling from under a sun hat. Zones of the small city are also less segregated, and if you go to bars you will also see people, often very elderly and well-dressed, popping into the corner shop to get some groceries late at night.
What can I say about the food? I have always been a little suspicious of “Spanish” food in the past, possibly because ordering lots of small bites has always felt a little strange to me. I nonetheless enjoyed it very much, the gazpacho and the mediterranean aubergine and the monteditos. I regret, however, not finding the Mercadito supermercado earlier as, like the gringo that I am, I had been going into Carrefour, which apparently is a no bueno (oing to foreign supermarkets has always been a favourite little pastime of mine, and I recall now the delight of seeing the tubes of caviar in Swedish supermarkets).
Drinks-wise, I did not fall short and drank vino de naranja and also raspberry wine, sweet vermouth and Vichy Catalan, a Catalan sparkling water from the other side of Spain, which contains chewy bubbles, a markedly saline taste, and comes in a very beautiful glass bottle based on the mosaics of Gaudi.
I used to think I didn’t like sparkling water – it turns out that I just didn’t like the most commonly-sold brand in Ireland, which is all to earthy for me, and carbonated in a manner that is somehow acidic or discomfiting. It turned out that I was drinking the wrong stuff, but even if I delved into the realms of high-falutin’ sparkling waters at a young age, I probably would not have appreciated them, just as I hated green olives the first time I tried them
I would not describe Vichy Catalan as refreshing, nor does classifying something so full-bodied and character-laded as water seem quite right to me. Very possibly, the best distillation of its flavour might be described by how it might feel to lick a very clean volcano. Having said that, I’m not sure it has taken the crown from San Pellegrino for me, yet, but it certainly belongs in the Carbonated Hall of Fame.
Next, a brief discussion of the best American sparkling waters:
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Great, and now onto our cultural notes.
#3. Cultural Notes
The present writer, on a recommendation, found himself installed in a very cozy little bar in the centre of Seville, one night. When I say cozy, I really mean it – the bar was more or less were the size of 4 or 5 phone booths stuck together, which lent itself to intimate acoustics when listening to evocative Spanish folk singing. The ambience in the bar switched quickly, following the lead of the singer, from reverent, to wildly celebratory, to melancholic, depending on the tone of the song in question. It reminded me a lot of Irish folk singing…and so I have appended below for your delectation a comparison of the two.
Irish Dancing vs Flamenco Dancing: A Cultural Study
In an effort to ascertain which country is undeniably and straightforwardly better, let us compare Irish dancing and Spanish flamenco dancing, to evaluate how societal norms influence the style of traditional dance.
First, let us take an example of the former – Irish dancing, and fast forward to 1 minute 57 seconds or so, when the boy in grey takes the stage.
The style of dance, taking place in some kind of school hall, is highly rigid. In the atmosphere there is a general feeling of oppression as the dancer moves around with a perfectly straight back, reminiscent of persons with steel rods lodged superiorly through the backside, and there is no discernible upper-body movement, because “there is no need for that carry-on.”
An insidious and apocryphal origin story suggested that the upper body does not move in Irish dancing, because the Brits, on peering at us through the windows of licensed premises, could only see our upper bodies, and so persons were at leisure to enjoy themselves via the lower moeity.
Such attributions are harmful. Any honest Irishman knows that the upper body does not move because locomotion is achieved via the lower limbs, and so excess swinging of the arms or trunk is an inefficient usage of energy. It is also true that Irish dancers do not possess hips, and their lower body is composed only of hinge joints which faciliate flexion and extension exclusively, without need to resort to more scurrilous planes of movement, such as the scandalous lateral and undulating motions resorted to below. By not moving his upper body needlessly, the dancer thereby proves, to the audience at large, and to his mother, that he is Repsectable Member of Society.
Observing his facial features, there is no apparent trace of emotion. It may be ascertained that he is not experiencing any emotion, or that if he is experiencing one, it is not appropriate to reveal it, for fear of being seen as “losing the run of” himself.
Finally, it is also noted that, despite the dancer’s prematurity of age, there is nonetheless appreciable in his bearing a subtle but unmistakeable yearning for Guinness and a packet of Bacon Fries.
Let us now take Spanish flamenco dancing as a counterpoint.
The dance takes place outdoors, which informs us of climatic factors, and suggests a more salubrious climate than is prevalent in the former video, where the subjects are forced to crowd indoors under threat of precipitation.
The energy and overall tone of the dance, compared to our earlier Irish compañero, is energetic and displays a full spectrum of emotion. There is much swishing of the dress, and showing of the legs. The dancer, as a Mediterranean, exhibits joy, fear and melancholy fluently. Her dress itself is flamboyant, showy, and consistent with the extroverted nature of her movements, as is the tempo nature of the dance which speeds up, slows down, or sometimes pauses dramatically.
Not unlike her counterpart, her facial expression does at one stage (4 minutes 58 seconds) unwittingly betray a yearning for patatas bravas which could be seen as immoderate.
We can conclude that Flamenco dancing wears its heart on its sleeve. It drinks Vichy Catalan and gets up late and has cigarettes after sex. Irish dancing does its homework and says the rosary and is a pervert who pretends to be a people pleaser. At the heart of it there lies a formidable display of latent desire, manifested in the movements which are absolutely not made, just as the most important part of some conversations lie in what was not said.
Thanks for reading. As usual, I hope to write again next week. In the meantime, click below to subscribe if you have not done so already.
Affiliates:
- Vichy Catalan
What a great writing style you have! I loved this piece. Chuckled at your suspiciousness about Spanish food and of course the brilliant Vichy Catalan review. :) It's my favorite sparkling water and definitely overtakes San Pellegrino, but I might have a geographically-induced bias.
In the end, you couldn't score a partnership with Vichy Catalan?! ;)
Your breakdown of Vichy was worth the read alone 😂