Wee fee lives

Date: Apr 17, 2010


Like Starbucks at home, where for the cost of an overpriced coffee, you can get wi-fi, so here there are Starbucks in many locations around Sevilla. However, for my money there’s the ice cream shop where I sent last night’s letter or the many wee fee (wi fi) coffee shops, cafeterias, and pastelarias where you can connect. This morning we stopped at a corner place for the obligatory coffee con leche and natural orange juice (that stuff is sooooo good) and a pastry. We sat in the corner table with picture windows all around and started our day. To the left of us was an old dona who was a victim of Parkinson's or who had had a stroke, yet she was out for her morning coffee, probably as she had done for decades. Three ladies in very stylish dress sat behind us and chatted amiably before finishing, then kissing each other on each cheek and departing each in separate directions. The waitress hurriedly cleaned tables because the ebb and flow of customers was non-stop. You are never rushed in these places, no matter the time of day or night. Your table is your table until you choose to leave. They never bring you the bill until you ask for it. It’s like claim stakes in the old west. It’s your territory.

Outside the windows I watched very fashionably attired women walking, bicycling with hair flowing behind them, and literally scooting by on their scooters. Men used their large, long umbrellas as walking sticks and looked very much in charge of their day. Kids laughed their way past the windows, backpacks drooping their shoulders while they kicked at whatever they could put their foot to, never missing an opportunity to practice soccer.

I love these slow, easy mornings. It’s just such a communal way to start the day. I’m sure the ladies next to us meet every morning and the same kids walk by each day. After coffee, it’s anything but casual. Sevilla is such a lively, vibrant city. It literally buzzes with the sounds of people enjoying life. I think of time I’ve spent in NYC where you can walk down the street and all you hear is the honking of horns and other various sounds of traffic. Here it’s life – people in the full bloom of living every day. It’s a near cacophony of sound. Laughter is everywhere in the street, as is the sound of music. Sometimes it’s street musicians with a cup or their instrument case placed for coins to be dropped in, sometimes it’s somebody selling their CD’s, and sometimes it just seems to drift through the air coming from some unknown source.

We checked out several destinations. Carol wanted to see the Duchess of Alba’s house, and I wanted to see the Murillo exhibition at the fine arts museum. We have different ways of getting to our destination. Carol is far more organized and direct. She looks at the map and checks it frequently to see where we are and where we need to be. I like to look at the map to see a general direction and them just sort of head that way. The duchess of Alba, (how many generations have passed I wonder since Goya painted her) is some member of the royal family and her house and grounds occupy an entire city block. Very nice grounds they are too. We couldn’t find it, and so asked an old man walking by where it was. He looked like an old time Sevillano, and indeed he was. He took his magnifying glass out of his pocket, looked at the map, saw what it was, pointed with his umbrella, and told us to go with him. He told us that he had seen her many years ago as she came out of her house after her first marriage. He was stooped, with some teeth missing, but that didn’t stop him from dressing in full suit and tie when he went out. He told us he was 89 years old and that life was good. We said it was better than the alternative, but with hearing aids in both ears, it was kind of lost. He just smiled and guided us to the house.

At the Murillo exhibition a group of school kids looked like they were only interested in being out of the classroom for the morning, while others lingered over individual paintings for such a long time you got tired of waiting to see it. A guide spoke quietly to her group as if she were afraid someone would glean a speck of truth without paying for it.

The city is awash in churches, some are grand like the cathedral where Columbus is buried, others are small little gems, more like mom and pop places of worship. My favorite was Iglesia de San Antonio Abad. Small shrines in the small courtyard are filled with votive candles burning as supplication for favors to be granted while bunches of flowers are placed to honor their favorite saint.

They are building an absolutely stunning commercial center in the heart of the city, to be filled with trendy shops, I assume. It’s an amazing architectural design, and just knocked me out when I saw the overall plans. It just struck me that this is no old world city living on past glories. This is a place where the people and the city planners are looking forward with eyes wide open.

It will be interesting to go back to Portugal at the end of our trip, because right now what I see is so full of contrasts. As I hope I expressed in earlier writings, I thoroughly enjoyed Portugal and its people, but things are really different here. Everything is so more upbeat. Stores abound with fashionable items. My god, I’ve never seen so many shoe stores in my life. Everybody on the streets is carrying bags and bags of goods purchased on their outings. Coimbra, the university town in Portugal, was the nearest thing to what we’re seeing here.

These are just some of the myriad sights and sounds that we see as we stroll across this city. It just makes one feel so alive. We have a friend who comes here almost every year, and I can certainly see why she loves the place so much.

There are drawbacks however, as my letter of yesterday can attest. Driving is a no-no for the unprepared. The locals don’t seem to mind, but it’s downright frightening if you don’t know the rules. I just can’t understand why they drive so fast when the streets are so narrow, and there are so many people walking just inches from instantaneous death. I think the pedestrian mortality rate must be somewhat comparable with the infant mortality rate in Chad. Sidewalks, already narrow, just disappear. The streets were never designed for automobile traffic, and when the houses jut out, and they do, the sidewalk is what suffers. It forces you into the street. We always look both directions, or wait until it is clear, but the locals just trust in luck. On many of the more narrow sidewalks they’ve installed steel posts about two feet high every six feet or so to protect the pedestrians. From the number of the posts which are missing and the holes which have been filled in with concrete, somebody had a lot of foresight. They certainly give new meaning to the phrase, if you don’t like the way I drive, stay off the sidewalks. They will park in any space into which they can maneuver their car. Major streets and commercial zones are off limits to sidewalk parking for obvious reasons, but otherwise, everything is fair game.

We traipsed around the city for most of the day and finally retreated to our little room since the sky looked ominous, and indeed it did absolutely dump. We heard the booming thunder from the confines of our room. It gave me a chance to rest the back and write since my head was so filled with what my eyes had taken in and caused my brain to be so filled with this city. We’re off to Cordoba tomorrow. Ferry schedules to Morocco dictate that we have limited time here. We hope to catch it again on the flip side, but next time, I’m going to have a room where the toilet is not three feet from the head of my bed, and where I cannot touch one wall of the bathroom while leaning my shoulder on the opposite side.

So, all in all, I’d say that Sevilla is one of the great cities - Full of history from the Moorish empire, to the conquest of the new world, to modern day art and architecture. Just don’t try to drive or walk in it.
Cordoba awaits us

Carol and Jim