Expo 92, Take II: shiny surface v ugly underbelly

21 May

Exactly a month ago, Seville celebrated the 20th anniversary of the opening of Expo 92, the global event which brought the world to Seville, and Seville to the world, during six amazing months (20 April – 12 October 1992), changing the city forever.

On the Saturday following this most significant date, free guided tours of the remaining Expo 92 pavilions were organised by the Associacion Legado Expo Sevilla. My fellow Sevillana blogger Kim has just beaten me to it (well, been slightly less tardy) with an excellent post about her experience.

So here’s how it panned out for me. I suggested to a Sevillano friend, Pablo, to come along with me, and he agreed. Pablo was a teenager when Expo opened, and had a pass for the event; he told me about his memories as we waited in the queue to start our tour (a good half hour). A piano teacher at the Conservatory in Seville, Pablo came to the frequent classical concerts, with top international orchestras, as well as some of the film screenings. He remembers seeing Placido Domingo perform.

Pablo’s favourite pavilions were the French, with its 3D “image pool” (more of that later); the Spanish, with its spectacular art display showcasing the finest national artists (Murillo, Goya, Picasso); Navegacion; the Moroccan (pictured above), with its retractable roof which opened at night; the Italian, which also had impressive paintings; and he also had fond memories of the Sony Plaza, with its gigantic screen.

With Pablo’s memories bringing the Expo alive for me (along with my husband’s stories – he worked on the construction of several pavilions, and lived life to the full during those six months, shall we say), we collected our book Los Caminos de Cartuja explaining about the Expo site’s streets (each is named after an important historical figure, such as Einstein, Newton and Da Vinci), our luminous yellow wristbands (ingeniously, rulers which curl around in a loop, and then snap out into a straight line), and a list of pavilions we were going to visit.

Then Angel, our guide, introduced himself. A self-confessed Expo 92 nut, he collects memorabilia and is one of those people who is brilliant at communicating his love of the subject with his infectious enthusiasm.

Our guide, Angel: is there anything this guy doesn’t know about Expo 92?

I won’t mention all of them, as there are quite a few, but here are some snapshots of the pavilions I found most interesting.

Our first stop, after the Pabellon de Europa (top of post), where the tour started – you can’t help looking at it with a sense of irony now: the huge excitement and sense of an exciting future felt at the time for this new union – was the French pavilion.

This was all about reflections: one wall was mirrored, offering a view of the Spanish pavilion opposite (the dome seen in the above photo), while the main attraction was a “pozo de los imagenes“, where images on the floor of a 20-metre-deep square ”well” were lent a multi-dimensional effect by mirrors all up the wall of their pozo. You saw it all from a walkway in darkness. None of it remains now (no images, anyway), but evidently it was pretty amazing.

The Pabellon de Mexico showed a dose of wry Latino humour – they wanted to remind the españoles that although their country is pronounced Me-hee-co, it is spelt with an X, not a J. So this scuplture formed part of the Mexican pavilion. This was one of the many pavilions, Angel told us, which was intended to be temporary, but ended up staying on.

Next on the tour were Puerto Rico, Korea (curiously, only one pavilion), Rank Xerox (technology played a key role in Expo 92), New Zealand, Turkey and Italy.

For me, very few of the pavilions were striking from the outside; we didn’t see the inside of many , but the Italian one (above) was probably the most impressive inside in terms of scale – plus it had a model (below) of all the pavilions. The British one is one of the two large ones just to the left of the central avenue (Avenida de Europa) with its big cone surrounded by smaller cones.

Next was a pabellon which does stand out for its extraordinary façade, or rather decoration thereof (and reason for). I’ve driven past the Hungarian pavilion countless times, as I live outside the city, and drive through the Expo site to get home. It is built after a rural church, and carries symbols of the country’s seven religions.

But it was Angel’s anecdote about how the Hungarian pavilion’s design carried messages directed at its then-neighbours which really grabbed me. To one side of it used to be the Vatican’s pavilion – with an aggressive Hungarian warrior mask facing it; to the other, Austria’s (also gone) which was offered a “friendly facade”. Who would have known that Hungary and the Holy See were at loggerheads?

The other pavilions we saw were: Finland, Siemens, Fujitsu, ONCE, Canada, Monaco (which I visited recently as part of a water company open day, blog post to come – much more interesting than it sounds), Chile (whose display consisted of an iceberg, the idea being “if we can break up an iceberg, transport it to Spain, reassemble it, and keep it here for six months, we can do anything”. Er, quite.), Kuwait and Morocco.

The tour finished with the interior of the exquisite Moroccan pavilion (pictured furhter up), now home to the Fundacion Tres Culturas, but Pablo and I had a mutual social engagement to keep, so sadly we had to leave.

And now to the other topic of this post.

April was a busy month here in Seville, with Semana Santa and then Feria. At the beginning of the month a film came out which was set in the months leading up to Expo 92. Grupo 7 is about a special police division which was charged with clearing Seville of its many drug dealers and making it fit to host this huge exhibition.

As always happens before major international events, during which visitors will be coming from all over the world to stay in a city, and the global press pack will be present, Seville underwent a major facelift before Expo 92.

The Alameda, now the centre of bohemian Seville, with its “aromatic” cigarettes and shabby-chic cafes, was then awash with hookers and drug addicts (as my friends who rented flats there in the early 90s have told me; some still looked upon the area with suspicion when I arrived nearly nine years ago, telling me to avoid it at all costs).

In this violent and shocking film, we see a virtually unrecognisable Barrio Santa Cruz – the pretty tourist area of whitewashed houses and plazas is another place entirely, with rubbish in the streets, unpainted buildings, looking scruffy and rundown. I could spot various churches and palaces dotted about Seville, in the Macarena and San Bernardo, used in these sequences as the policemen jump from roof to roof chasing down their quarry.

The police group is seen hauling in known drug users and petty criminals and, depending on their seriousness of their crimes and the potential hazard to smooth running of the Expo, either run out of town or beaten senseless. The group operates more or less as it wishes, its members making up the rules as they go along, and largely with impunity.

This serious and depressing subject is portrayed in appropriately muted colours on screen – grey, dark blue, brown; all a far cry from the vibrant colours with which Seville is usually associated – red, yellow, pink.

You see aerial shots (real documentary footage) of La Cartuja monastery, the Expo’s headquarters, being restored, San Pablo airport being built; and, at the risk of sounding facetious amidst such a serious topic, all the period details are fascinating (remember, this is the 1990s): dial telephones, TVs, clocks, radios, fridges – they’re all from two decades earlier.

As always with cop movies, the protagonists have dysfunctional relationships, like their booze – and smoke like chimneys. One of their favourite hangouts is the Semana Santa-themed bar Garlochi, with its candles, flowers, religious statues and lugubrious music. Some things haven’t changed.

One of the main characters metamorphoses as the film goes on, becoming inceasingly macho, brutal and mad-eyed. It’s depressing, and my moral compass went haywire at the end when these vicious lawmen are roundly humiliated by residents of the blocks they had targeted. It’s the bad getting their own back on the equally bad. So should we be glad? Whose side are we on? None of the characters are sympathetic, there’s little light relief (at social get-togethers, they tell homophobic stories), and the police are no better than those criminals they target.

I saw it as much as an indictment of the corruption endemic in today’s police force, who are often in the headlines for beating prisoners, stealing drugs and otherwise breaking the laws they are paid to uphold, as it was a criticism of how these men carried out their duties in the time immediately before Expo 92.

So there you go – a view of Expo 92 from two very different angles: the international, modern, forward-thinking city, and the (then) rundown old barrios being purged of their unsightly lowlifes.

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Floral fest: the Patios of Córdoba

11 May

Spring is festival time here in Andalucia. After the Feria de Abril in Sevilla, with its fabulous frilly flamenca frocks, and elegant horse-riders of all ages, comes the Feria de Caballo in Jerez, which is on now and lasts until next Sunday (13 May). This city is where sherry comes from, so it’s the obvious place to try manzanilla, oloroso, fino and all the other types of this unfashionable but delicious tipple which is so intimately linked with Andalucia’s fiestas. Some people prefer Jerez’s feria to Seville’s, since it’s much smaller (200-odd casetas as opposed to 1,000) and more open: casetas are public, not privately-owned like at the Feria de Abril.

But more than anywhere else, May belongs to Cordoba. In this beautiful Moorish city, with its medieval feel, a succession of major events kicks off with the Battle of the Flowers at the beginning of the month; followed by the Cruces de Mayo, when neighbourhoods decorate crosses with flowers (also celebrated in other towns and cities around Andalucia); the Patios Festival (2-13 May); and then a short break before the Feria Nuestra Señora de la Salud (19-26 May) - horses, dancing, vino de jerez – all the usual shebang.

Officially known as the Concurso Popular de Patios Cordobeses, with its offshoot Concurso Popular de Rejas y Balcones (Bars and Balconies – yes, a windowbox competition: Cordobeses take it that seriously), the patios festival sees 48 private homes and institutions opening their gloriously blooming courtyards to Joe Public.

The patios are courtyards whose white walls and wooden balconies display potted flowers hanging in neat rows, creating a stunning multi-coloured floral profusion. Larger plants cover the floor, as well as trees, turning city-centre patios into lush secret gardens open to visitors for 12 precious days of the year.

This being Andalucia, music also features – tonight (Friday) ladyboy cantante Falete is giving a concert.

When we visited Cordoba to see the patios, last Sunday (you can see them till this Sunday, 13 May), the flowers had suffered a torrential downpour the day before, so some were looking a little sad, though most were wonderful. The day was warm and the sky was blue – mercifully, before the temperatures shot up to the high 30s we’re seeing this week. The heat has arrived – it’s sarong and sandals weather now here in Andalucia.

So we picked up a map from the tourist office in Plaza de las Tenderas, which showed three routes – one around the Cathedral and Plaza del Potro (pink); another in the area near Palacio Vinuesa de Viana, the patios museum, and the Plaza San Andres (blue); and a third spread out by Plaza San Rafael and Plaza San Juan de Letran (green). Having only 90 minutes to see the patios – they close for lunch at 2pm, and we are incapable of leaving the house before 10.30am on a weekend, so by the time we’d parked and got our map, it was 12.30 – I set about fixing an itinerary with military precision.

The closest route started a short walk away, so we made our way there. Needless to say, there were disagreements on which was the best street to take, but everyone was more or less in good humour. On the wall outside the first patio we saw a plaque, and the plant pots flanking the doorway boasted red coverings with a logo. A discreet signal to let you know they’re part of the festival. Nice.

My husband was thrilled to find a cafeteria inside - it was an old folks’ community centre - so he could get his essential shot of caffeine, while I checked out my first ever Official Competing Cordoban Patio – for it is also a competition, with cash prizes; plaques are awarded every year, many of which I saw proudly displayed.

After that, we had to queue to see some of the more popular (or smaller) patios, with my husband staying outside with the kids and buggy while I popped in – although one or both of them often came in to join me. My blog widower used to complain bitterly about my compunction to photograph anything and everything wherever we went; now he’s got used to it, and just puts up.

Thanks to some wrong turns caused by dodgy map-reading on my part – I now have renewed sympathy for the pavement-blocking, scowling, map-examining tourists in Barrio Santa Cruz - we jumped around a bit between routes 1 and 3. “Come on, come on, we’ve only got 25 minutes left and number 2, 3, 4 are conveniently grouped together just up the road from here. Move it, people!” A fun day out for the kids, being marshalled around by Bossy Mummy Blogger and her Camera (“Mum, STOP TAKING PHOTOS!”).

My favourite patios were one in Calle Parras (Route 1, number 4 or 5; above), and the last one we saw, in Calle Pozanco (Route 3, number 3). My biggest regret: missing the much-photographed Calle San Juan de Palomares (Route 3, number 7) which has all the classic ingredients: whitewashed walls, steps, blue pots, cobblestone floor, painted wooden balcony.

Pink is the most usual colour in the patios, so a splash of yellow made a welcome change. I saw carnations, snapdragons, hydrangeas, geraniums, bougainvillea, er – that’s the extent of my limited horticultural knowledge. Owners are on hand to keep an eye on visitors and answer any questions, though I was amazed how many people just walked past their hosts without even greeting them. The patios are free to visit, but most have a little basket or dish for coins.

Some tortoises and various small singing birds in cages (yeuch) provided extra interest. Our final stop, along a long narrow passageway, in a former convent, had  Chumbao (that Andalucia ad) playing, for a chilled vibe.

The owner was a delightful lady, who was keen to explain the history of the building – it’s a one-storey 14th-century island in a sea of modern edifices.

Going to Cordoba to see the patios was was well worth the trip, but I’ve already decided that next year we’ll stay the night and have a more relaxed visit, -especially now that I know which my favourites are.

The official patios association is called Claveles y Gitanillas (Carnations and Geraniums).

Cordoba Tourism information about the Patios Festival with its QR code.

The hours of the patios are 11am-2pm and 6pm-10pm (12 midnight on Fridays and Saturdays).

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Saturday Caption Competition

5 May

Subscribers to this blog may be somewhat surprised to see a second blog post within 24 hours.

The reason for this unprecedented event is because me and my daughter were looking though the photos from our family trip to the Feria last weekend, when I came upon this one of her. I thought lent itself perfectly to the Saturday caption palaver, of which 34 minutes still remains here in Spain, but I’m guessing we’re on UK time, right?

I’m a caption competition virgin – it’s the first time I’ve ever done this, since being organised enough to file photos under “quirky/amusing/ideal for caption competitions” is not one of my strong points.

I’m a big fan of Bibsey Mama and have seen the competition on her posts, and am also a recent convert to Asturian Diary.

I’d be utterly delighted if anyone wants to put a caption to this photo!

Saturday caption competition is organised by Mammasaurus.

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Feria II: Suits you, sir (and you too, madam)

4 May
Supremely elegant: an amazona in a traditional suit for riding side-saddle, at the Feria de Abril in Sevilla.

Yes, I know it finished nearly a week ago, but I spent the last week catching up on all the work I should have been doing during Feria. As well as writing about it for other media.

So I’ve finally got around to doing a second post about another sartorial aspect (my first was about the flamenca fashion) of this huge six-day Sevillano party, to which a large portion of Sevillanos are invited, being allowed to enter the 1000-odd casetas (small tents), while the rest of us try to edge our way in. Much sherry is consumed, Sevillanas are danced, and flouncy dressed are twirled. Economic problems are put to the back of the mind as the señoritos, a certain number of whom have inherited wealth and have never done a day’s work in their lives, entertain their friends and associates on a grand scale.

Note the tipple of the Feria, the mini bottle of sherry, and the multi-coloured cummerbund. The blue band on the the hat is pretty rakish, too.
These drivers are wearing matching trajes: nice.

Leaving the curiosities of Sevillian society aside, one of my favourite pastimes at the Feria de Abril is just wandering the 13 streets – named after famous bullfighters – to watch the horses, carriages and riders. Men, women, children, all exquisitely turned out in their trajes cortos (literally, short suits). Tiny children in control of horses – not ponies, fully-grown muscular horses.

Love the jacket on this mini-Rondeña.

This boy has the classic posture, holding the reins in one hand, and resting the other on his thigh. Note the monogrammed blanket.

The horsemen – jinetes – wear cropped jackets (hence the corto) and high-waisted trousers with coloured waistbands, while the lady riders – amazonas – also sport short jackets, but with long, elegant skirts hitched up on one side for riding side-saddle. Both wear round, flat-topped hats known as cordobes, because they come from Cordoba; the ladies have exquisite up-dos. An alternative style is the rondeño (from Ronda), as worn at the Goyesca Festival in September. The little velvet hat is called a gatite – I know because I asked the woman who was wearing it.

I love these little velvet hats, in the rondeño style, worn with velvet jackets

Pink for a girl, blue for a boy… the cream is rather fine, too.

These suits come in shades of grey or brown, and are quite sombre. I don’t know if you could call it fashion, as I don’t think it changes much from year to year – although I could be wrong. The children, in keeping with the Spanish obsession with gender colour-coding, wear pale pink or baby blue jackets; I also saw some red ones, sported by mother and daughter, which looked rather splendid.

These red jackets remind me of what riders wear on an English fox hunt.

The Feria originated in 1847, as a horse and cattle fair in the Prado de San Sebastian, just south of the city centre. It moved to its current location in Los Remedios nearly 40 years ago, in 1973, but the livestock selling aspect had disappeared long before then. Gypsies wore long dresses – then as now – decorated with two or three flounces. Farmers wore the trousers for working in the fields, in brown like the earth to distinguish them from the señoritos in grey or black, with braces and a white shirt, and a straw hat to protect their heads from the sun. They donned their jackets on finishing work.

Magnificent Arab horses – look at their proud stance.

So it’s a delight to see the thoroughbred Arab steeds prancing along the streets – providing you know to keep well clear of these snorting, rearing beasts. And looking at black and white photos of the Feria from the 1920s – when early motor cars also took part in the procession – you can see that not much has changed about the dress of riders and horses. The Jerez Feria de Caballos starts on Monday, so if you’re a horse fan, then I’d highly recommend it.

For carriage fans, the Museo de Carruajes, just off Plaza de Cuba, is worth visiting.

Beautiful equestrian garb can be found at El Caballo at Calle Antonio Diaz 7.

Feria fashion: back to black

27 Apr

This year, Feria fashion has some interesting trends.

The first is black – this isn’t a colour I’ve seen much in previous years, but this year there were a number of black trajes de flamenca. Maybe they’re a commentary on Spain’s economic situation – although red would be more appropriate.

Some had lace or sheer chiffon polka-dot sleeves, or little cropped jackets, like the one you can see below, or were even made entirely of lace, like a walking mantilla. Fine if you’re in mourning, a little lugubrious if you’re not.

There were also dresses with very low backs, and dresses with chiffon volantes - shiny net frills – all very glamorous and evening-y. I even saw a sequinned and beaded traje – but my friend and I agreed, the effect was rather too Big Fat Gypsy Wedding. Unfortunately, a combination of crowded pavements, and inability to respond immediately thanks to fiddly iPhone camera apps, exacerbated by a rebujto-addled brain, meant that I missed some fab photo opps – sorry. You’ll just have to take my word for it.

I also noticed a trend for shiny satin fabrics, above (yellow and flower prints are among my least favourites for flamenco dresses, so this one was painful) and metallics, such as this silver flower.


That old favourite, broderie anglaise, was also around, especially with a co-ordinating colour underneath, showing through the little holes, so that you get a two-tone double-layer effect.

Some dresses had a fine lace overlayer, which I loved. This one had a little lace applique waistcoat.

And here’s one I spotted on the way home (hence the ugly metal wall in the background), which ticked all the boxes: black – check; metallic flower – check (even if it’s a bit Christmas decoration); chiffon sleeves – check; low back – check. She’s even got her necklace hanging down her back – a true Feria trendsetter.

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Expo 92, 20 years on

20 Apr

Curro was the mascot for Seville's Expo 92.

Today is the 20th anniversary of the opening day of the Exposicion Universal 1992.

I wasn’t here for this momentous six-month event in Sevilla, a global cultural fiesta which welcomed representations from 111 countries, but I sure as hell wish I had been. Many of these nations built pabellones (pavilions) in Isla Cartuja, the site where the Expo was held, to show a microcosm of their culture and architecture, including the UK, the US and Japan. Each autonomous community of Spain also had its own pavilion.

This video (I’d start watching at 0:24) will give you an idea of the scale of Expo 92. The exhibition opened its doors to the public on 20 April 1992, closing on 12 October, Dia de Colon (Columbus Day).

The total number of visits to the Expo 92 was a staggering 42 million (41,814571 to be precise). Many Sevillanos met and married foreigners who had come to work at the Expo, returning to their native countries with them, and many extranjeros ended up staying here for good, including friends of mine.

Seville's ticket to the big time.

You can’t overstate the importance of the Expo in Seville’s development, economic and social. Before 1992, Seville was a charming, old-fashioned city in backwards Andalucia. It took four hours to drive 95km to the beach, ten to travel the 500km to Madrid by car, along single-carriageway roads. In social terms, to quote one veteran English resident, “Seville was still in the 1960s, as far as rights and respect for women and foreigners went.”

Thanks to the exhibition, the city’s infrastructure, and that of the entire region, was dragged into the late 20th century, with motorways, a new airport, new bus and train stations, and a high-speed rail service (the AVE) halving the journey time to Madrid. Six new bridges were built crossing the Guadalquivir. The attention of the world was focused on Seville, and the minds of its residents were opened up by the cultural mix that the Expo brought.

Two of the new bridges built for the Expo, linking the site on Isla Cartuja with the rest of the city. Taken from the Pabellon de Navegacion's tower.

During the Expo itself, my husband always tells me (he worked on the construction of the Canadian, French and Thai pabellones, and in restaurants during the event itself), the atmosphere was amazing - a mix of nationalities never before seen in Seville. He had hordes of people camping in the garden of his house (where we live now), with all-night parties which used to piss the neighbours off no end. He says it was like being at university again.

The Pabellon de Navegacion, an integral part of the Expo 92, which reopened earlier this year.

So what’s left of Expo these days? The Pabellon de Navegacion on the river
was an important part of the Expo, celebrating Seville’s part in the Discovery of America – the year of the Expo was no accident. It was 500 years after Columbus found America, and the theme of the exhibition was “The Age of Discovery”. This pavilion was a nautical-themed building, with replicas of the three ships of Colon, now resident in a dock near Huelva city. A tower next to the pabellon provided panoramic views of the Expo site, and the city. Both have been refurbished, and were re-inaugurated in January 2012.

La Cartuja, the Carthusian monastery and latterly ceramics factory (founded by an Englishman), which was the Expo's HQ.

And the 15th-century monastery Santa Maria de las Cuevas, on Isla Cartuja, as the headquarters of the Expo, was where Columbus stayed – it all ties in very neatly. La Cartuja, as the monastery is known, now houses an art centre, the Centro Andaluz de Arte Contemporaneo.

The NO8DO sculpture from the Jardines de Guadalquivir - the symbol of Seville city.

Two sites which have been restored are adjoining riverside gardens, the Jardines del Guadalquivir and the Jardin Americano. They reopened two years ago, but are not very much visited and thus provide a haven of tranquility close the city centre. Although they’re not as well maintained as they could be.

Jardin Americano, which had plants from many Latin American countries, including rare palms. The roof has various trees poking up through it.

An abandoned sculpture in the Jardines del Guadalquivir

Tomorrow there are guided tours of the remaining pavilions from the Expo. They leave every half hour from 10am-12.30 and 4-4.30pm, from the Pabellon de Europa. I’m familiar with some of them, but am hoping to go on the tour to get the full picture.

Useful links:

Guided tours of Expo 92 Pavilions
List of Expo 92 Pavilions
Jardin Americano
Monasterio La Cartuja
Pabellon de Navegacion

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Shortlisted: mummy, travel, expat blogger?

18 Apr

To the right of this post, there’s a pink logo which says “BiB” – this is a link to vote for me in the BiB awards – aka Brilliance in Blogging, run by the marvellous website Brit Mums. My category is “GO!”, in other words travel (it’s number seven in a long list). You can also nominate me in the Mads – just click on the pretty icon and then on the “Nominate” tab and fill in the form.

That’s the begging bit over with – if you want to stop reading now, that’s fine. Just so you know: I’ll send the boys round if you don’t vote for me. I know where you live. (If you take that seriously, it’s because you don’t understand English humour. It was a joke. Chill, dude. )

As someone who only does it – blogs, that is – when they get a minute, which isn’t very often, I was very chuffed to get on the shortlist, as there are some great blogs in there. There’s even a school contemporary of mine from 30 years ago.

It got me thinking about how I first started off blogging, back in 2008 (followed by a long break after my second child was born). Like many other journalists, I started blogging simply because everyone else was, so I realised I needed to as well – especially living here in Seville, where there’s so much to write about. It would be mad not to. It’s like getting a laptop, mobile phone, smart phone, Twitter account… you have to keep up (at the back).

One of the main reasons I dragged my heels was because I wanted to be selective about my blog posts – what I wrote about, and how I wrote about it. I find there are some bloggers who will write indiscriminately about anything and everything, and while some of it’s great, some of it *whispers* isn’t that interesting. Having said that, the great thing about blogging is that you can write about whatever you want to; all blogs are different, and they cater to every taste. You’re bound to find something you like out there. And, hopefully, someone out there will like what you write.

As a journalist with 20 years of experience, I’ve always preferred quality to quantity. Which is why I only post about once a week – twice is supposed to be the ideal. (That, and the squidgelet of time available after kids, house, paid work etc.) Less is more with blogging – keep ‘em keen. Remember I write for a living, so my perspective is different; also, I’m fanatical about grammar, which some aren’t. So I won’t read some blogs just becuase the blogger can’t write correct English.

But does all that really matter, you ask? To me, yes. I wince when I see a misused apostrophe. It pains me someone writes “would of” instead of “would have”. That may sound precious, but remember - I write for a living. So maybe other bloggers, who write without any training, deserve to win more than me, as a professional. Or maybe not. We all put in lots of time and effort. And none of us gets paid to write these blogs (apart from promotional or company-sponsored posts, which I haven’t done).

Finding topics for blog posts is never a problem, living here in southern Spain with all its craziness, but another of my struggles at the beginning was: who’s going to be reading this (if anyone)? For many years, I wrote for magazines, which have a specific target audience – we knew where our readers lived, how much they earned, how many times a week they ate out, how often they went on holiday, what level of education they had, what colour their knickers were… (OK, maybe not that).

We knew what to write about, and we could assume our readers’ familiarity (or lack thereof) with the subject, and we knew how they wanted to be treated – gently spoon-fed basic information without being patronized; or spoken to with confidence as knowledgeable/well-travelled/tech-savvy sophisticats.

At first, without a clear idea of who my potential reader was, I just bumbled on about what I’d done – bought a new Feria outfit,  or typical expat topics like the weather and cultural differences.

Then, as I got to know the blogosphere, I realised there are clear categories – including mummy blogger (which is what the aforementioned awards are for), expat blogger and travel blogger. The last two are obviously inter-related, as expats are by nature likely to explore, and the others can overlap too, but trying to straddle all three can get tricky. I read as many blogs as I can from all categories, but never as many as I want to, or feel I should. I’ve found some real gems out there: ones which make my laugh, and dream, and ones which hit me right between the eyes with their acute observations.  The blogging community is very supportive, with advice and suggestions always offered up by fellow bloggers.

As a journalist, I’m used to writing a post, and then editing and re-editing it ad nauseam until I think it’s OK to “publish”. I never just dash it off. And photography is so important now, hence there’s choosing, then fiddling with (wrinkle and cellulite removal, mine, mainly), the images too. However my technical know-how is seriously lacking; plug-ins schmugins. I can’t even embed a video. One of the things on my long list of Ways to Improve My Blog.

Inevitably, I end up blogging in the small hours, as daytime is for paid work and kids. Then, the next morning, I find spelling mistakes in my post and spend half the day correcting and rewriting. Ah, the perils of being a perfectionist. Who works late at night when tired. Not a happy combination.

So if you vote for me, you’ll be voting for someone who blogs for the love of it, risks exhaustion and familial ire for it, has quite strong opinions about it, and isn’t going to come out with insincere platitudes about other people who do it. Warts’n'all – that’s me. Ribbit.

Blog board picture credit

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The route of the virgin

12 Apr

As the paso starts to emerge from the church – one of the most intricate manoeuvres, given that they are often little narrower than the entrance arch itself – a hush falls over the crowd. Anticipation sizzles through the people like electricity; this is the moment they’ve been waiting for, and it brings a strong sense of community and ownership.

It’s their church, their procession and their paso; many have already been standing here for several hours. This is San Bernardo, a historic, working-class barrio outside the centre of Seville; the houses are a mix of modern and old. There are (virtually) no tourists to see this final part of the penitencia - the cross (at the head of the procession) and Jesus paso left some time ago, and some of the 2,300 nazarenos - hooded members of the brotherhood – who walk in front of this paso can just be glimpsed through the crowds.

Once the Virgin has come out of the church, a huge collective sigh of relief is breathed – she is safely among us – and there’s a round of applause. The costaleros , who are bearing a weight of several hundred kilos, have performed a tricky, delicate movement thanks to the painstakingly careful directions (“left a bit, right a bit, steady”) of their capataz.

Now people on rooftops above the Virgin’s route are throwing flower petals over her, under an ashen sky which threatens more rain. On Miercoles Santo, four days into Semana Santa, this is one of the first pasos to be completing its estacion de penitencia to the cathedral. Most of the others have been cancelled due to rain, or fear of it.

As she turns her first corner, she is silhouetted against a yellow and white building – the Fabrica de Artilleria (Artillery Factory), long since abandoned, a reminder of this barrio’s industrial past - and I finally get to see her face in profile. This is the Virgen del Refugio.

The petals collect on the floor, and the parallel with a wedding and confetti is striking. The procession moves along at its stately pace, accompanied by the band, which ceases to play before changes of direction (turning the corner into a street), and when saetas (passionate, visceral songs addressed to the Virgin) are sung by people from balconies overlooking the street. It’s hard to catch all the words, but pena (pain) and madre (mother) are enough to convey the mood of anguish.

Having now made her way along three streets, pausing frequently to be serenaded, the Virgin reaches the San Bernardo bridge. We’re out of the narrow calles of the barrio, enclosed by buildings on either side, and into a wider road where people are packed in.

The firemen (I couldn’t see any women) of the local fire station have come out on the roof to see the procession – they’ve got a good view.

On the bridge, I finally get a close-up view of the Virgin, surrounded by her white flowers and candles. They sky is still overcast, and the light is flat and dull, even with a vast expanse of sky overhead, now that we’ve emerged from the enclosed barrio. You can just about make out her lace scarf, velvet cloak, gold crown, supplicating hands – and tear-streaked face.

The nazarenos are walking in front of her, holding their candles, and other men wearing ecclesiastical outfits swing their incense holders, releasing the aromatic powder which hovers in the air.

By now, it’s time for me to head home. She will carry on to the cathedral, and then return to her church in the madrugada (small hours). But I’m tired – a few hours following a paso is enough excitement; how people much older than me stick it out for almost 12 hours (the time taken for the procession to complete its estacion de penitencia), I don’t know. Passion, faith and Andalucian toughness.

As for me, I’ve got children to bathe and feed. And I’m hoping to see more in the mountain village where we’re going tomorrow. Tune in again soon.

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Oh brother!

4 Apr

This year’s Semana Santa here in Seville has, sadly, been almost as much of a washout as last year’s so far. Only a tiny proportion of the processions – consisting of nazarenos (hooded and robed members of local hermandades, brotherhoods), two pasos (floats bearing statues of the Virgin Mary, Jesus Christ, and various supporting characters, carried by men called costaleros), and a brass band - have been able to make their round trips to the cathedral, called the estacion de penitencia. Yesterday, no pasos at all went out.

It’s hard to overstate what a huge disappointment this is for everyone: for the participants, who have spent the whole year preparing for their moment; for the locals, who adore their local Virgin and for whom Semana Santa is more than spiritual - it’s elemental, and unmissable; and for the tourists, who have come from all over Spain and abroad to experience this extraordinary week in Seville.

People waiting couldn't understand why the processions had been cancelled. The decision was fully justified a few hours later, when a torrential downpour cleared the streets. (I was long gone by then, hence no photos of empty seats or brollies!)

Interestingly, for those who are interested in these things (which presumably you are, since you’re reading this), the nazarenos of the Vera-Cruz cofradia, in Barrio Santa Cruz, went out without their pasos.

A man sings a saeta to the Virgen de los Dolores, part of the Santa Cruz hermandad's procession, on a previous Semana Santa. This is one of the many pasos which stayed at home yesterday due to the inclement weather. Controversially, her penitentes (the hoodies) went out without her.

In a few cases, only the hermandades’ nazarenos (the ones in the pointy hoods, or capirotes) went out to risk the rain, leaving behind their pasos.

I don’t blame them – they were determined not to miss the opportunity to make this significant journey, the highlight of the year for many. So rather than risking their pasos getting drenched, they went out on their own. Predictably, it provoked some serious disapproval from the more conservative elements, who huffed that the estacion should be carried out with all elements present – in other words, the statues.

A penitente of Las Estudiantes and his children, who carry baskets of sweets to give to the crowds, make their way to the Fabrica de Tabacos, of Carmen fame, now part of Seville University.

One of those which chose not to make its (very short) journey to the cathedral yesterday – thereby avoiding a torrential downpour – was Los Estudiantes. Based at the Capilla de la Universidad, the red chapel next to the old tobacco factory of Carmen fame, this hermandad met in the university building, the chapel itself being their final destination after visiting the cathedral.

Watching the dark hooded figures, some barefoot, make their way around the outside of this beautiful, honey-coloured stone building, was a photographic dream. While the professionals had to find the unusual angle for their newspapers, I snapped away happily,  loving the contrast between the dark, shiny fabric of their tunics, and the pale, rough texture of the walls.

This hermandad is one of those who wear belts made of esparto with leather straps, a kind of grass which grows locally (there’s a town near where I live called Espartinas).

When the groups of penitentes arrived at the entrance to the chapel where they were meeting, many took off their hoods, to get some air. It was pleasing to see how many of them were women.

Lots of children arrived hoping to take part in this procession, dressed like little choirboys and girls in dark robes, embroidered white tunics, and little purple velvet capes with the hermandad‘s insignia, and outfit called the moneguilla.

This rhyme, which my daughter came home from nursery singing this week, says plenty about a) dental considerations and diet for Spanish children (chuches are considered acceptible, and many kids eat them on a daily basis), and b) their manners. But it is quite sweet, I suppose.

“Nazareno, da me un caramelo
Que si no me lo das
Me voy a enfadar!”

Nazareno, give me a sweet
If you don’t give me one
I’ll get angry!

One of these little children was brought along by his father, who is well-known locally: Seville’s mayor, Juan Ignacio Zoido.

Then I walked around the end of the building, past the Alfonso XIII hotel, to get to the other side, where the announcement was due to be made as to whether the procession would take place. The band members were negative, and another official from the hermandad had told me either they go out, or they don’t – they won’t retreat or take refuge from the rain in other churches, as many pasos were forced to do on Sunday.

Crowds waiting for the procession - though not a bad spot, with the lovely building, and the orange trees in flower, their scented blossom scattered on the ground.

Everyone was wearing earphones to listen to their radios, as Canal Sur and other local stations had the most up-to-date news on what was happening, including live announcements from the top bods of the hermandades, called hermano mayor (elder brother – I even heard an hermana mayor (elder sister). Times they are a’changing.

In the end, the pasos made the 100-metre mini-procession from the cathedral back to their chapel. Better than nothing, but a far cry from what everyone had hoped for. I missed it, as I’d already been waiting around for quite a while.

If you’re going to venture out today – and the forecast is the best it’s been this week – then it might be worth checking out a couple of apps: iSemana Santa Giralda TV, from the Seville TV station, and the Canal Sur Radio one, called iLlamador.

Both have day-by-day listings of hermandades with plenty of detail, such as the names of the statues, how many nazarenos, and how long it takes for the whole procession to go past. Then you have timelined itineraries – where they’ll be at what time; routes marked out on maps, again with time points; live maps, showing where processions are at this moment; and live commentary and updates (Canal Sur) or twitter feed (Giralda TV – it also has live TV streaming, but this is not reliable on my iPhone). Giralda TV also has an excellent glossary in English.

So here’s hoping that this afternoon the sun shines on Seville - if I was a penitente, I wouldn’t much fancy walking barefoot on cobbles damp from yesterday’s rain showers all afternoon.

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29M in Sevilla

29 Mar

Today there was a general strike here in Spain, called by the two main trade unions, the CCOO and CGT, to protest against the new PP government’s labour reforms.

I wanted to go on the march here in Seville, which was leaving from various points in the centre and converging on Parque Maria Luisa, but my son was sick so he stayed home from school (they had a minimal staff working).

However I did manage to slip away for a few hours in the afternoon (thanks, suegra) to see the last part of the day’s events. I didn’t take my camera, to be more discreet, as some people can be self-conscious when they see a lens. The iPhone did the job fine.

As usual, the press quoted widely varying estimates of turnout in Seville, ranging from 10,000 (according to the police) to 100,000 (say the unions). In terms of participation, the national average was 77%, with administration 57% and construction and industry 97%. For full details from the two main unions, see here.

When I arrived (by metro, uncrowded) lots of people were walking up Calle San Fernando from the park, so I thought I’d missed the whole thing. They were still carrying their flags, and I could see more in the distance, so I walked against the flow of people towards the Prado.

There were still many sitting and standing around in Plaza San Juan de Austria (next to the Jardines de Murillo), with plenty of wacky backy smells in the air. As usual, there were all ages, from tiny babies to the elderly, with plenty of beards and bikes…

and some great slogans…

"No to reforms, yes to the (right) way (of doing things)," or something like that.

and some great slogans on bikes.

"So many people without homes, so many homes without people."

All colours of flags, too – as well as the red of the trade unions, the Republican and the Andalucian. The man’s tabard says “Quieren acabar con todo”, a snappier version of the strike’s slogan – “Quieren acabar con los derechos sociales y laborales” – “They want to destroy our social and labour rights”.

I could hear some noise coming from the Prado, a park with iron railings around it, so I went to investigate. Speakers on a platform covered with trade union flags were blaring out music, and a huge bar had been set up, serving drinks and paella to protestors.

The atmosphere was very cordial – friends chatting in groups, a few discussions with raised voices, but mostly in excitement rather than anger. (I know not to worry about people shouting at each other in Spain any more – it doesn’t mean they’re about to hit each other, it just means they’re having animated discussion.)

Then a heavy rock band started up, singing about the pigs (police, not jamon), death and destruction. They told the audience this was the first time they’d played to so many people, and it was pretty obvious why. They were shit.

This friendly atmosphere – there was a children’s playground right next to the bar, and flag-waving mixed happily with swings and slides – was a welcome contrast to what my husband had told me when I was heading to the metro station to come into town. Someone had thrown a stone through the window of a restaurant in the city centre, narrowly missing him and others.

The man had then run off towards Avenida de la Constitution, hotly pursued by a group including said husband. This was where the marchers were, so the vandal ran straight into the hands of the police, who were present in numbers to keep watch over the protestors. He was one of the five arrested in Seville today.

It remains to be seen whether President Rajoy will change his plans - his austerity budget, with 30-40bn euros of cuts, will be announced tomorrow - because of today’s marches attended by nearly a million people in 111 towns all over Spain. Half a million people were said to have packed into Puerta del Sol in Madrid.

What did seem clear from what I saw and heard, is that for most people the strike wasn’t a one-off. It was just the beginning of popular protest against widely unpopular reforms.

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