Way Better Than Disney World

My already long day of travel was actually far from over once I arrived at the hotel from Seville Airport with the last of the program participants.  What could only be described as a lavish banquet awaited us, and though initially sleep was the only thing on my mind, I couldn’t resist the array of classed-up regional dishes and fresh produce laid before me.  Because southern Spain is so temperate (I’m sitting in my room with the window open at the moment), it is a year-round agricultural center, and every meal I’ve eaten so far has featured local fruits and vegetables that in winter would have to be shipped overseas to the U.S., only to arrive covered in wax, artificially ripened, and utterly flavorless.  Okay, to be honest, I’m not entirely sure if absolutely everything I’ve been consuming has been grown locally, but the countless orange trees that line Seville’s avenidas are testament to the fact that citrus of all kinds can flourish here, as even in January they’re all brimming with fruit.  Seville oranges, nevertheless, are actually acerbic to the point of being all but inedible (as hilariously evidenced when an unsuspecting Gina bit into one that she plucked during our first evening stroll), and while they are used to produce a marmalade that’s very popular in the U.K., surprisingly they figure very little into local cuisine, or so I’m told. 

Anyway, after said feast I begrudgingly agreed to venture out into the city with Brian and Gina in search of tapas.  I ought to speak more precisely, because one really needn’t search for a tapas bar in Sevilla.  If you were struck by a car here, chances are you could drag yourself to the nearest cervecería and order a plate of salomillo and a beer before the paramedics even arrived.  We settled on a little establishment whose name roughly translated to “The Frothy One” and soon basked in our inimitably sevillano dining experience, undoubtedly one of hundreds to come.  Our detour back to the hotel got us slightly lost, but we relished the opportunity to take in the city’s charm.  Seville at night, at least on weekdays, seems to become a sleepy burg where the roads are practically deserted and the sidewalks even more so.  We swooned over meticulously kept public gardens and brightly painted façades (Yes, we did indeed swoon, but keep in mind that at this point our delirious bodies were being propelled either by adrenaline or some form of gypsy magic.), but the sort of dramatic irony of the situation was that we were only seeing the tip of the iceberg; had we walked in the other direction, we would have come across the part of the city, replete with classical and regionalista architecture, which contains tons of tiny shops, twisting alleyways (pedestrian only, of course), Seville’s gargantuan cathedral, and the Plaza de España, elaborately adorned with painted tiles from top to bottom.  This is the Seville that tourists come to see, and indeed, this is the Seville that I immediately fell in love with upon my visit earlier today.  Despite the presence of foreigners, this historical sector of the city is not overwhelmingly touristy, as university students and schoolchildren bustle about their daily activities while locals look on from their perches at curbside bars and cafés.  I’m a bit ashamed to admit that the cheery, ever prominent presence of orange and palm trees, along with Seville’s almost immaculate cleanliness, evoked for me a sort of Disney-esque sentimentality, but unlike Main Street USA or an exhibit in the World Showcase, Seville is populated by real people, not employees, and boasts genuine—not “imagineered”—local color and millennia of history to boot.  Way better than Disney World.