| Go for a thrilla in Sevilla
By Malcolm Rogers
Malcolm Rogers journeys to the modern capital of Spain’s Andalusia
to take in the delights of Seville.
José Manuel, the violin repairer in Seville, was optimistic about my
fiddle. He explained that there were “muchas violinistas in Sevilla” and
my problem was common enough. This was a few years ago when the sound-post
in my fiddle had collapsed. Now, the sound-post is just a small piece of
cheap wood which holds the two sides of the violin apart. In effect, it
conducts the sound from the strings into the body of the instrument.
In passing, I asked José Manuel what the sound-post was called in Spanish.
“La alma,” he announced.
The soul
In English we call it the workaday ‘sound-post’ — in Spanish the word
embodies the entire essence of the instrument. Poetic, flowery even, yet
entirely accurate.
This short linguistic lesson gives a clue to Andalusia. Quintessentially
Spanish, it’s distinctly larger than life — the land of fiestas, fiery heat,
bullfighting and flamenco, a place of stamping heels and clicking castanets,
of classy-looking shops and even classier-looking people.
It is poetic, sensuous and flowery — and they do seem to have a fixation
with the soul. The statuary greeting in the city is not “¡Hola!” but, wait
for it Señora: “¡Mi alma!”
The Berbers of Seville
Modern day Spain had its origins in the 8th century, when the Moors (aka
the Berbers) began to move in. Here in the furnace heat of Andalusia, Islam
and Christianity meshed with Jew and Gypsy to produce one of the richest
cultures Europe has ever known. Centuries later, even the Inquisition failed
to expunge this glorious culture from the southern Spanish character.
It survives in the architecture, in flamenco music, in the poetry, the
literature, even the appearance of the people.
And nowhere better to experience it than in Seville, the stylish, modern
capital of Andalusia, where the memory of the lost Islamic culture of Al
Andalus haunts the place.
The old city takes up much of the east bank of the Guadalquiver — the
word comes from the Arabic ‘Wadi El Kabir’ or ‘great river’ — and it’s here
you’ll find plazas surrounded by luxuriant jacaranda trees, filled with
Sevillianos carousing — and believe me, carousing is the only word for it.
Protocol normally demands you join in the partying at the earliest opportunity,
so I obliged with alacrity. It’s what the Berbers would have wanted, I knew,
as I ordered up the first bottle of rioja of the evening.
Civilised Seville
The maze of alleyways which make up the Barrio Santa Cruz, the medieval
Jewish quarter, is the very essence of old Seville. Here you’ll find ancient
tiled courtyards filled with that heady olfactory mix of jasmine, orange
blossom and incense.
Dozens of tapas bars serve up Andalusian specialties and noisy bars whose
televisions run on a diet of bullfighting and flamenco are open till all
hours, servicing those of us who like a bit of local comment with our late
drink.
Here in the old city, with its Islamic heritage and Baroque spirit, protocol
further demanded I spend many a balmy evening under the orange trees of
Santa Maria la Blanca drinking wine, eating Manchego cheese and contemplating
that amazing era when the world’s three great religions managed to get it
together.
As dusk drew its veil over the Andalusian capital the very different
sounds of late night Seville would surface. The traffic was gone, the televisions
muted, and the muffled footfall of the Sevillianos echoed through the ancient
cobbled streets.
When the Saints came marching back
Christianity badly wanted to assert itself after the Reconquest from
the Muslims, so Seville is long on saints. A stroll through the labyrinthine
streets will take you past the churches of San Luis, San Marcos, Santa Isabel,
Santa Catalina and on through the Plaza de Jesus de la Pasion, Plaza Nuestra
Padre Jesus de la Salud — but I expect you’re getting the picture.
Even when people sneeze around here they go ‘Jesus’ rather than ‘Bless
you’, although it would be fair to point out that this sounds more like
a celebratory ‘¡Hayzus!’ rather than the more derisory ‘Jaysus’ of Ireland.
If you want a trip round the city’s religious grandeur, the horse and
carriage is the way to go. Yes, I know, we’re all a bit too sophisticated
for that kind of tourist behaviour, but let me tell you, it’s the way to
see Seville as she was in olden times — you’ll never come closer to time
travel than this.
I soon became firm friends with my two new acquaintances, my driver,
Adolfo, and my horse Perico. “Some of the carriages are 200 years old,”
Adolfo told me proudly, “and there are still three types used — the Manolo,
the Sociable and the Mirléo.”
As we trotted down the Avenida de Isabel La Catolica aboard our ancient
Manolo, Adolfo told me a curious thing. A hundred years ago, at the turn
of the last century, Seville was still one of the busiest cities in Europe.
“There were horses everywhere — coaches, commercial wagons, caballeros,
and Andalusian draught horses like Perico there. And their manure, Señor,
horrible! It was clogging up the streets.” Adolfo didn’t exactly use the
word ‘manure’, but he went on to describe how the city fathers were seriously
worried about the pollution and stink — so much so that they were delighted
when motor vehicles made an appearance. A solution to the polluted atmosphere
had arrived.
“¡Poco podian imagenarse!” cried Adolfo. Can you imagine it.
I said nothing, but sat back in my leather seat and looked out onto the
Prado San Sebastien in reflective mood.
Thrilla in Sevilla
I first heard flamenco music in Ballymena. A Spanish group, lately performing
at a festival in Belfast, had made the journey to a local arts club. I was
hooked.
The raw passion of the Arabic and Gipsy music alongside that insistent
guitar strumming — the result bristled with seductive musical tension. You
might think the setting would have detracted from the overall experience
— but no, it turned me into an aficionado, to use that very useful Spanish
word.
Seeing flamenco in Ballymena is one thing; but to experience it in the
heat of a Seville evening is intoxicating. This is the spiritual home of
flamenco, of foot-stomping arrogance and primeval screams, a place where
hand-clapping is taken to the status of an artform. This is the voice of
Al Andalus, the lost glory of Islamic Spain.
Seville is an intensely musical city, and it’s not just flamenco. It’s
the setting for over 100 operas, including The Barber of Seville, The Marriage
of Figaro, Don Juan, Don Giovanni and Carmen.
The city was at one time regarded as a veritable hotbed of intrigue and
mystery, and combined with the sensuous spirituality of the place became
the ideal background for any self-respecting opera.
During the golden age of the conquistadors Seville had a motto — Madrid
is the capital of Spain, but Seville is the capital of the world. I would
be tempted to say that it’s still true, if you love opera, flamenco, food,
wine and dancing, not forgetting the extraordinary plazas where you can
quaff cava alongside the elegant Sevillianos — and bid them “¡Mi alma!”
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