An Andalusian Jaunt

My flatmates and I decided to take advantage of the long weekend (Constitution Day) and head out to Seville for a few days. Armed with sandwiches and bad directions, we pointed our trusty steed (Neil’s car) northeast, and set off.

On the way, we stopped in a tiny town called Osuna (recommended to me by a colleague) and admired the building facades that dated back to the 16^th century.

The Oasis hostel in Seville was great – clean, friendly and central. They organized a tour of tapas bars and a (mediocre) flamenco show. We spent the weekend wandering the winding streets of Seville, visiting Plaza España (used as a set in Star Wars, ep. 2, for the geeks in the crowd), the Cathedral, the Parque Maria Luisa (where we rented a 4-person bike), and meandering.

I’ve been thinking lately about the difference, in tourism, between seeking the “traditional” (to witness something that doesn’t actually exist anymore) and the “authentic” (how a cultural tradition has evolved into the modern age). In an effort to put theory into practice, we did our own tapas and flamenco tour on the last night, with some fellow hostel-ites in tow…

The Bodega Santa Cruz is packed and wonderful, and the men who work there are energetic and entertaining – the place embodies “authentic”. A few of us went to a tiny flamenco bar on the other side of the river. The band wasn’t spectacular, but people (young and old) were hitting the dancefloor to show their flamenco moves. It was like a nightclub with more wrist movement.

On Sunday morning, we hopped in the car (giving a ride to a nice Irish architect) and went to Cordoba. We spent the day at the Alcazaba and the Mezquita (truly one of the most amazing combinations of Arabic and Gothic architecture I’ve ever seen). We stopped to eat in a rather touristy restaurant (think flamenco shawls draped from the balconies and a stone fountain in the courtyard), but the older waitress taught me how to do the flamenco clap, and how to move my hands when I dance.

On the way home, we accidentally took the National highway, and wound up chugging along behind tractors… lesson learned, stick to the autovía.

A nice part about the weekend for me was the chance to break out meet some other travellers. I spent hours talking with people not only about their travels, but about the bigger journey – the search they were inevitably on in some way or another…. When asked what I planned to do next by a Dutch girl, I answered, “Well, that’s the big question.” She astutely replied, “Every traveller has a Big Question.”

My big question at the moment is where I want to teach next year, and if I can find the work. But I’m trying not to worry about that until after the holidays.

Next week, I head to Barcelona for a week and then to Cadiz for New Year’s Eve. The only strange thing is that this will be the first year I spend Christmas day alone, and I’m not sure how I’ll feel about it.

Anyone want to book a last-minute flight to Barcelona and spend it with me?