This is our fourth visit to Seville. No need to rush about siteseeing we agreed beforehand. The plan was to arrive, take it easy, then the following day wander up to the Barranco Market and have a leisurely Sunday lunch. The thing is, so far as the inveterate planner is concerned some kind of variant of Murphy's law seems to prevail, that the more careful you plan something the less likely it is to happen. We arrived in Seville a bit earlier than anticipated, the sky was very blue, the temperature notching towards the low twenties, we had travelled for five days on the trot to get here, what possible sense did it make to relax and take things easy?
So we parked up and headed immediately to Plaza España, about a 20 minute walk from where we were staying. We know the route well, the first part is very unlovely indeed, taking you through the half abandoned fringes of Seville's docks up an avenue of unkempt eucalyptus trees. I think some attempt had been made to clean the area up, it looked slightly less litter strewn than when we were here two years ago. Sadly, there is still an encampment of broken down shacks and ancient caravans beside some old railway sidings, home to a group of desperately poor people clearly living on the margins. A sad sight.
We crossed the river using the nearby Puente de las Delicias. From here it's a short distance to the beautiful Parque de María Luisa. Created in the early twentieth century from a former royal park, this 100 acre green space had to be one of the finest urban parks in Europe. With Seville's southern Mediterranean climate and a plentiful water supply, exotic plants from Spain's former colonies grow in abundance.
On this warm January day, for us, fugitives from drearier northern climes, in scintillating light, with spiky succulents and lush subtropical foliage, overlooked by swaying palms full of squabbling parakeets, the place felt so exotic it was almost overwhelming.
Most of the northwestern section of the park was redeveloped during the second decade of the twentieth century to become the focal point of Spain's Ibero-American Exposition of 1929.
The huge semi circular main pavillion is a monster of a building. Using an eclectic mix of styles, neo everything - Mudejar, Baroque, Gothic, Imperialist - utterly anachronistic even before one stone was laid. Grandiose and overblown, but people love the Plaza de España, and so do we.
Yes, of course the exhibition itself was a celebration of the Hispanic culture of the Americas that entirely whitewashed its imperialist origins and genocidal consequences. Equally the ceramic panels that decorate the facade to this day, each of them celebrating Spain's major municipalities, depict a country profoundly Catholic, deeply aristocrat and royalist, and proud of how it swept Islamic culture from the peninsula. In other words a depiction of the past wholly unrepresentative of everything admirable about modern Spain.
However, it would be churlish to want to 'cancel' the monument, because whatever its dubious origins and associations these are unimportant to the way people use Plaza España today. It is a gathering place, a social hub and you would have to very miserable indeed not to be swept away by the theatricality of it; maybe it's not so anachronistic after all if we consider it contemporaneous with Busby Berkeley rather than Walter Gropius.
Strikingly, in one respect Plaza España differed from our previous visits. It was quieter, not thronged with American and Chinese tour groups. Indeed, apart from us, there were few tourists indeed. Still, even for locals it is a place to be and be seen; how this is enacted has certainly changed since we were here two years ago.
Back then the selfie stick still reigned supreme, wielded with weaponised efficiency mainly by Asian young women. Since then the quest for the ultimate instagrammable shot has been superseded amongst twenty-somethings by the urge to be the next TikTok sensation. No longer 'look where I am!' now, 'look at meee!' It requires a change of kit, more forward planning and is a team rather than a solo effort.
I used to teach film and video production to A level Media Studies students so I am fascinated by the way technology becomes ever more democratised; what was once the preserve of specialists now open to all. Every TikToker (is that a word?) hereabouts seemed to be a young woman bent on producing click-bait content around a singular theme - look at me, I am fabulous! It has to be said most them were; these were not amateurish attempts, there was considerable forethought to their process.
The more seriously minded had swapped their smart phones for a compact camera made for the job. I Googled them. For about £700 you can buy a compact that features web connectivity, 4G video capability, professional audio quality and a host of built-in gizmos and effects essential to becoming a TikTok sensation. The problem here, compared with using a smart phone, you need a willing companion behind the camera. One wannabe seemed to have recruited her entire family as the production team, Mum, Dad, siblings all in a gaggle around the tripod as their starlet, wrapped in a loose dusty pink shawl posed dramatically in front of the main fountain. Even on a still day, because of its proximity to the river, an intermittent breeze tends to waft around Plaza España. As the camera rolled Ms. TikTok pulled the shawl over her head to form a pink hood framing her face, there was a gust of wind and the folds of her silky fabric cloak rippled like water. Nice shot, I thought to myself; it's great to see people being creative.
As well as the impromptu photo shoots popping up everywhere the plaintive sound of flamenco drifted across from the central arcade . We have seen some memorable performances here over the years. Today was no exception. Maybe the dancer was not technically the best we have seen, but she was certainly the most intense and dramatic.
It would be interesting to ask the people shooting on-line content - what motivates them most, the performance aspect of the creative process or the 'likes' of their followers? The latter I suspect, whereas I think the flamenco group would be drawn to perform with or without an audience. You felt it was sung and danced from some deeply felt inner need. The word 'soulful' is overused, but flamenco, authentically done, certainly is.
By now it was late afternoon. We tried to take a more direct route back to the van but the road was fenced off in both directions. "What's happening?" Gill asked one of the guys bolting the sections together. The Seville half marathon tomorrow, we learned. That might stymie our plan to go to the Mercado Lonja del Barranco for lunch tomorrow, I conjectured, ever one seize upon the problematic in any situation I face.
In the end, as usual, it all worked out fine. Next morning we were woken at 8am on the dot by a loud buzz of feedback then straffed immediately by a long burst of high-speed Castillian. All public events in Spain, aside from the spookily silent Semana Santa, are high decibel occasions and the Seville half marathon was no exception. All morning we were entertained by a mixture of upbeat, motivational Europop mixed with interludes of over-excited, but incomprehensible commentary. We felt under no compunction to get out there and join in the fun, it had been a long drive over the past three days, it felt very snug under the quilt, 'no rushing about' we concluded by some mysterious osmotic, unspoken process.
It was a few minutes past noon when we made our way back across Puente de las Delicias. The race appeared to have ended. Proudly displaying their 'finishers medal', draped in tin foil cloaks, lycra clad figures walked past us gingerly. Most were accompanied by their support teams - parents, friends, partners, children- who had come to cheer them on.
Our concern that the Mercado Lonja del Barranco would be rammed because of the half marathon proved unfounded, it was busy as you might expect on a Sunday lunchtime, but there were spare tables here and there . How to get food was a bit confusing, there seems to be table service of some sort, but no-one seemed to want to take our order.
In the end Gill ordered 'pick 'n mix style' directly from the various food stalls, as we have done in all of the old municipal produce markets recently reinvented as gastronomic shrines we have visited- in Lisbon, Granada, Cordoba Manhattan, Bologna, Singapore and most recently, two weeks ago - Altrincham!
For all their variety, what they all have in common is a commitment to freshly cooked food, a pop-up, street food vibe, engaging informality and a buzzy atmosphere.
There's a lot to like about them; oddly enough , when we mulled it over, although we could not recall any occasion when we were disappointed by their fare, we struggled to identify a single dish that had been exceptional. It was the place and the ambience that was memorable rather than the food. Apart from the Northern Pie Company's beef steak pie with mash and gravy we had last month in Altrincham food market, I mused, surely that was exceptional. Perhaps it was, or maybe I was simply in a pastry orientated mindset having just learned the difference between an Argentinian and Galician empanada (the former closed like a pasty, the latter open at the sides, both very rich and beefy).
They were delicious, though not quite as exceptional as the Altrincham pie. Whatever their merits, one thing was certain, indigestion beckoned, my six decade old stomach can't deal with rich, fatty food, sadly it does not stop me eating it.
We decided to walk back along the west bank of the river, it was a more direct route to where we were staying but less attractive than taking the path through Parque de María Luisa. Nevertheless, Triana, the bario on this side of the river is interesting, and you get a great view of the skyline of Seville's ancient centre from there.
As you approach the Puente de las Delicias the river view disappears behind the high walls of the Seville Yacht Club. As well as being the hub for water sports on the river, the place seems to have lots of other facilities - all weather pitches and all kinds of racquet sports courts, as well as a big social club with a riverside terrace. As we passed its bar a huge cheer went up. It sounds like Nadal's just won the Australian Open, I commented half jokingly. A minute later both our phones pinged with pictures of exactly that. I felt really smug. Pathetic really.
So, Seville, one of those places that simply being in makes you happier. Six days from Buxton, around eighty one before we are due back, it's a nice prospect. We are still in the can't believe we're here stage, but we are and it feels great.
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