Sevillian Silliness Rides Again!

Meeting up with Eline and Miguel was like meeting up with two new friends. In the time that I had been a way – a mere 5 days – they were both sporting new haircuts, looking fresh and sunny. They were both in summery clothes, as well, making them seem like the hip, Sevillian couple. (which they are, except they live in Rota)

We drop my bags in Mercedes (Miguel’s sister) apartment, and we are off to meet Nacho and company. We start off as a group of 5, then become 7, then 10, then 12… and the group grows and grows. My Spanish is still awful, so any real conversation I have must be done in English, and fortunately Nacho’s cousin, Paula, speaks terrific English.

Antonio – my ride from the airport – joins us on his motorbike as we are leaving the first bar. As he dismounted he says to me, “ I am ready to play!” Yay! A guy that speaks my language.

We head to a second bar for more drinks, and Eline and I are wondering at what point we are going to eat. With my flight earlier, I had not really eaten all day and I was absolutely starving. Multiple drinks were not really going to make things better. At this point we have quite a crowd and are drinking tinto de verano, “summer wine”, and cerveza in the streets of Triana.

When I went in to get more drinks, an elderly man heard me order and was easily able to discern my nationality, at which point he claps me on the back and yells “OBAMA!!!” and holds his hands up in victory. Everyone loves our new guy.

At 11 something, we make a move to dinner. But we have multiplied to such quantity that I know we are not getting into a restaurant, not that I had eaten a meal sitting down in Sevilla. But the thought was lovely. We go into this “pescadado fritta:” (fried fish) place and the boys do the ordering. While waiting, more friends show up – Danny, Saber, and a new couple.

We get tons of food to go, plus cerveza and head to the river where we have a decent view of the Semana Santa processions coming across the bridge.

Now, if I did not know better the scene coming across the bridge looks like a KKK rally. Seriously. About 1000 people are marching across in KKK hoods, and behind them is a group of men carrying an ornate float with a Madonna, candles and flowers. The streets are packed with people to see the procession. Its quite a spectacle – especially for someone from the South, or America in general.

I quickly sought out the resident Semana Santa guru (Antonio) to find out what exactly was going on. From my knowledge of such costumes and processions, somebody was fixing to ‘get it’…and, honestly, not to be selfish, but that is not exactly why I had delayed my flight to Venice.

Antonio gave me a brief synopsis, and ensured me that the only people who ‘get it’ during this week are those who drink too much. The costumes are so that people are anonymous. The floats represent the virgin Mary or other scene related to Easter. Each procession is for a different church in Sevilla, and during the week every church will have a procession, with the biggest churches having their processions on Thursday. The procession begins at a church, goes to the Basicilica, and will stop at another church where the nuns will sing to it. Then it returns to the church.

Once I had my explanation, I could get onto other important matters – eating! I was still famished. We had fried shrimp, calamari, white fish and adobo. The last was my favorite, and I think I ate the entire kilo myself!

As I looked around and saw this mish-mashed group gathered by the river, all eating out of paper bags and drinking from 40s of beer, I had flashbacks from high school summers at Lake Allatoona. There are so many similarities about my younger years and the way I feel here – the fried food, the accents, the happy smiling people, the easy life… and I choose to live up North for what reason?

It was such an enchanted evening with the Torre de Oro gleaming across the river, the processions on the Triana Bridge, the laughter of the group and the honest eyes I was surrounded with. I was simply relaxed and happy, with a huge smile that just couldn’t go away. The way this place makes me feel you could write songs about… all happy ones!

When the Virgin was coming across the bridge, we abandoned our riverside picnic to watch. It was quite emotional seeing how impassioned Sevillians become at these processions.

From here we headed to another bar, and then later, another. The last place being a Flamenco place. So not only do we watch the dancing, but with a few brief instructions and demonstrations of hand positions, I am dancing Flamenco! (clap-clap) Definitely no Lola Flores, but I am having too much to care. Eline is quite good – at least with the poses. The two of us are quite a pair, I must say.

We wander home at 4AM… on a MONDAY! Miguel comes in after us, but she and I are already up to no good. Having a Spanish side-kick is simply the best. (clap, clap!)