As expected, the past six days in Seville have provided much-needed refuge from the contemporary hustle and bustle that is Madrid. That’s not to say Seville doesn’t have its lively parts––in fact, in a lot of ways the Sevillanos party harder than their counterparts in the North.
Seville is Spain’s fourth largest city, but what really separates it from the rest of the country is its sheer amount of history. The architecture has an Arabic influence (which makes sense because Morocco is less than 250 kilometers away). Almost every building has Baroque inspiration from 13th century Moorish kings, meaning there are palacios (palaces) on just about every corner boasting ornately carved ceilings/walls and statues on par with Roman craftsmanship.
Olivia and I arrived to the city from Madrid via train, (which at $80 each was perhaps not a better deal than taking a quick flight, but with covid mandates and the fear of excess baggage fees, we’re avoiding air travel as much as possible). One of the first things we noticed on our walk from the train station to our hostel upon arrival were the orange trees. Ripened at this time of year, the bright sunny spheres of Vitamin C line every street and fill the air with a sweetly familiar citrus scent––a tactic I wish some of Maine’s paper mill towns would try out.
Anyway, as tasty as they look and as perfectly ripe as they are during this time of year––the free oranges are apparently quite bitter and provide little more than decoration and olfactory advantages to city inhabitants. That being said, the in-season oranges that are advisable to eat from local grocery shops are out of this world. Maybe it’s the lack of produce I’ve been eating (really been rocking the cafe diet lately), but they’re the best I’ve had. I don’t even like oranges that much but these have a sort of tart jucieness to them, not unlike a sweet lemon.
Our hostel has been yet another… interesting experience, and I think I can safely say I regret booking mixed multi-bed dorms (which were the cheapest options, trust me I wouldn't be picking them otherwise). For the first three nights here, we paid to upgrade to a double room with our own bathroom. The privacy and proper sleep was luxurious and we practically cried moving our stuff into an 8-bed mixed dorm for the remainder of our stay a couple of days ago. It’s not even that sharing spaces or living alongside other strangers is all that difficult, it’s the lack of ease it takes to do simple daily tasks like putting your clothes away or showering or getting ready for bed. Nobody’s schedule aligns so you’re always tip-toeing around in the dark to find your stuff because someone’s sleeping or you’re the one trying to sleep whilst everyone around you is snoring, rummaging through their stuff, or watching Tik Toks at top volume.
Plus it's cold and the number one thing you want to do when you're chilly is bundle up in the solitude of your own warm bed in your own warm house. But in a hostel (for me at least) comfort means privacy, and that means being forced to leave and do my own thing, which means going outside into the cold, which means ducking into cafes, which ultimately means spending money unnecessarily. Truly a vicious cycle.
On our very first night in the mixed dorm here, I was awakened by the sounds of someone stumbling around the room trying to open the floor-to-ceiling window. To my surprise (not really though, not much shocks me anymore with these hostels) I looked out past the end of my bed to see a fully naked guy, clearly hammered out of his mind, swaying from side to side. He must have noticed that I was awake because he then walked over to my bed and leaned into me past my makeshift barricade which Olivia kindly created by hanging up a sheet from her upper bunk. He was practically leaning over me while saying something incoherent when I shouted “No! Get the fuck away from me!” And raised my hands ready to punch. He stumbled backward and proceeded back towards the window which I’m pretty sure he peed out of onto the street. After explaining the ordeal to Olivia the next day, we approached the front desk with the incident and asked to change rooms. Of course the hostel was completely booked so nothing could be done, but someone did talk to the guy who was (as I guessed) blackout drunk and didn’t remember a thing. He ended up leaving the next day to “stay at an AirBnB” from what I heard him mumble to another guy in the room on his way out. As it turns out I wasn’t the only whistleblower on the guy because evidently eight other people had reported him to the front desk for creepy, touchy, unwanted encounters.
In other actually fun news, one of our close friends named Elsa from France who we met in Madrid has been in Seville at the same time so we’ve managed to link up a few evenings for tapas and drinks and to meet her new acquaintances from the area. She’s a picture-perfect character for what I imagine all French women are like: petite, beautiful, a connosieiur of good wine and cheese, better at speaking English than myself, and soft-spoken yet extremely fun when put in an energetic environment.
As far as nightlife goes, Seville is a smaller city than Madrid, so the amount of spots to party until dawn are fewer, however similar per capita and I’ve seen many more older folks out and about late at night than I did in the last city. Actually the older crowd is among the most fun here. Each restaurant or bar that we’ve visited so far has been occupied by tables of joyous drunk mothers, fathers, aunts, uncles, abuelas and abuelos slinging shots and dancing flamenco while belting out traditional Spanish songs. Its a beautiful custom to witness and Olivia and I have determined that it gives us hope that we never lose our desire to go out and share fun times with our loved ones over bottles of wine.
Among some of our recommendations should any of you visit this wondrous place are The Royal Palace Alcázar, the Setas, the Seville Museum of Fine Arts, and the Alameda Hercules.
The royal palace is a must and you couldn’t miss it if you tried given it’s size and the amount of people constantly flooding the plaza in front of it. From the intricate mosaics to the meticulously maintained garden, it’s actually impossible to fully take in the palace while you’re there. We suggest taking lots of photos and reminiscing on the whole place over a couple sunny midday Aperol Spritzes afterwards. The Setas are more of an impressive piece of art than a vessel for history. Standing as the world’s largest wooden structure, The Setas resemble a giant abstract mushroom in the center of town which you can summit and catch an unbeatable view of the city for just five euros. For less than the cost of a candy bar, you can see some of Spain’s most famed artworks at the art museum which houses paintings from Picasso to Zurbarán to Leal in a gorgeous old convent building. Finally, the Alameda Hercules is a neighborhood and plaza that has easily the coolest vibe in the city. Regardless of the time of day, you can find local Sevillanos dining outside or grabbing a drink alongside the adorable Christmas markets filled with holiday trinkets and cotton candy stained children running about. The whole area is covered in easy-going vibes, affordable sustenance and Spanish pride.
Seville has so far been my favorite place (which I know is quite the title out of a whopping two contenders), but I have a feeling it will hold a near place in my heart throughout the rest of our European travels. Now off to Lisbon next for our last mixed-bed hostel stay (and Olivia’s birthday of course)! In all seriousness I am extremely intrigued by Portugal especially since I've heard nothing but glowing reviews of Lisbon from fellow travelers. AND, not to jinx myself, but I do believe our travel luck is turning because Olivia and I went through hell and back to obtain rapid antigen covid tests today (which one can only reserve online in Spanish over the phone by the way, super fun process for an English-speaking Helen with only wifi access) and both came back with negative results. Onto to bigger and better things to the west!
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