Gala night at the Alfonso XIII

2 Jun

A few nights ago I went to the (re)opening party of the Alfonso XIII hotel here in Seville.

This venerable establishment, a landmark and icon of the city, the grande dame of Seville’s social scene, had received a major make-over. It reopened less officially in March, when I got to look around.

The event had a formal dress code, which meant long dresses for ladies. I dug out a 15-year-old Ghost number from the back of my cupboard and jazzed it up with an equally ancient sequinned jacket (though it was so hot, I ended up using it as a sparkly shawl).

Arriving at the Alfonso XIII on a balmy May evening. The hotel’s Director, Carlo Zuffredini, is the tux on the left.

As I walked up to the hotel’s portico, I saw the paparazzi amassed and the red carpet in place for my arrival. How thoughtful.

Then, entering the lobby, there was a welcoming committee of footmen and flamencas, holding trays with glasses of champagne, which gave just the right impression of history, tradition, luxury and Sevillano-ness.

I found my “date”, fellow blogger Sevilla Tapas, and we were the first to head out to the patio, where more uniformed staff awaited with bottles of Möet et Chandon. As more guests started to arrive, the temperature rose – it was already a warm evening – due to a shade over the patio, which prevented air from circulating. The women, in full-length slinky evening dresses, fared better than the men, suffering in their black tie jackets.

We caught up with old friends and met new ones – often known already through Twitter and Facebook, but not in person – as the champagne flowed, copiously. A beautiful, historic setting, interesting company, first-class bubbly, party atmosphere… All that was missing was some food. By this point feeling peckish, I inquired of several waiters, who assured me it would be out soon. When no sustenance was forthcoming, I cut out the middleman and went to harass a chef who was lurking nearby. He told me that protocolo dictated that no victuals could be provided till after the speeches, and that they were waiting for a Very Important Guest.

Half an hour later, this rather tipsy and, by now, extremely hungry blogger had turned into Loud Drunk Woman. The type whom most men profess to loathe. I (and they) were saved by the appearance of a (male) opera singer on the balcony, who serenaded his female counterpart as she walked among the crowd with a microphone headpiece. My normal instinct to capture this memorable scene deserted me, due to the previously mentioned inebriation/starvation situation (Sevilla Tapas, ever the consummate iPhone professional, caught it all, and tweeted it too). I think some people made speeches – the hotel’s director and the mayor, possibly – while I kept an eagle eye out for any sneaky canapés.

Then a soldier in 18th-century dress materialised and explained that food was now being served in the garden.

Outside, with fresh air now flowing, we found tables groaning with everything from jamon to sushi to oysters, grilled meats and fish, and even pizza. All this was served around the pool, with the gardens of palm trees and tiled benches floodlit, and the building itself glowing pink. The whole effect gave a very Marbella-like feel, on a lavish scale which I haven’t experienced before in Sevilla.

Flamenco dancers stomped and whooped on a stage, to the delight of the now well-fed and watered assembled great and good, including various local celebrities: TV personality and theatre impresario Jesus Quintero; one half of design duo Vittorio Luchino; model Raquel Revuelta; and a smattering of aristocrats (though not, unfortunately, the Duquesa de Alba).

Scribbler in Seville does low-key formal; the glam touch, a sequinned jacket, was too heavy for such a warm night.

On the way out, we came upon two chocolate fountains (one white and one milk). At the risk of sounding picky, I loved the fruit which you dipped in it rather more than the stuff itself, which was very gloopy and didn’t taste nice. I’m a 70% dark person, so this was like giving an alcoholic a small, weak shandy.

In all, despite my whinges, it was a full-on, first-class party, with music, food, drink and entertainment fit for a king – appropriately enough since that’s exactly who the Alfonso XIII was built for.

11 Questions: my answers

30 May

Many moons ago, one of my favourite bloggers, Bibsey Mama, a fellow mummy expat here in Spain for those who don’t yet know her fab blog, tagged me on an 11 questions meme. As I explained in a previous post, my blog has a split personality between travel, expat and mummy, three categories which can have a certain degree of crossover.

I was recently nominated, then shortlisted, now a finalist (yipee!), for the Brit Mums awards (see badge to the right) in the travel section (my mum content is probably less than my travel content, but as a mum I qualify). Anyway, I was invited to the awards ceremony, but unfortunately I won’t be able to attend due to a prior engagement: my son’s end of term show. They’re doing the Beatles. He’s got a guitar. He gets VERY nervous before hand and is not a natural performer. Missing it isn’t an option.

Anyway, Bibsey’s observations as mum of a toddler always make me chortle (how she didn’t get shortlisted for a BIB, god only knows – I haven’t read a funnier blog about motherhood), so answering questions from her is a delight: the blogger’s equivalent of eating a large bar of Green&Blacks dark chocolate with orange bits in, slowly and extreeemely indulgently.

I used to wonder what the point was of these questionnaire type posts, until I read more of them and realised they are totally fascinating, as they let you find out all sorts of juicy background dirt information on your fellow bloggers. So I hope this won’t be too dull – I don’t like writing about myself very much.

Here are her 11 questions and my answers:

1. If you can bear to, describe a mistake that you have made in the past and what you learned from it.

Just after I got married, my husband did a job for a friend. They fell out over money, and it cost me the friendship; I was pregnant at the time, and it was a very unpleasant experience for all concerned. I will never again mix business and friends. Big mistake. (Sorry, bit serious that one. This is supposed to be fun, isn’t it?)

2. I often wake up feeling like an old lady who’s been playing musical beds with a toddler all night. Strange I know. How old would you be if you woke up one morning not knowing how old you were and had to hazard a guess?

Either 25 or 55, depending on how (and where) I and my children have slept. We tend to play musical beds. If we all end up in mine, as often happens, child 1 has 50% of the bed, child 2 45% and me 5% (father gets relegated to the sofa).

3. And how old would you be if you woke up one morning having chosen how old you would be the night before? And why?

35 – I had met my husband, but we weren’t married and didn’t have children yet – we were living life to the full, in a nice flat in a cool barrio, travelling and going out. Not that I regret having kids, for one second, but that part of my life was pretty fun.

4. I have utter shoe envy where Claudia Winkleman is concerned. If you could walk in some one else’s shoes for one week, whose shoes would they be and why? (alive or dead, famous or not)

I don’t look much like her. Cate, I covet your shapely ankles.

Anyone with thin ankles, I’m not fussy – I have cankles which look especially horrible with dainty sandals. Cate Blanchett has nice pins and wears a frock well (and is a damn fine actress to boot. Ha).

5. Is there one particular blog post you have written that makes you most proud?  Tell us why and drop the link here.

My post about things I’ve learned since I’ve been living in Spain elicited a strong response, with lots of people getting hot under the collar – always nice for a blogger to see their writing provoke a debate. *Rubs hands together in glee.*

6. Going back to the Amazing Matron’s questions. You are the leader of a political party that has just won the general election, what would your first act as prime minister be?

Make all childcare free for working mothers. Women who have children and want to return to the work place (or never left it in the first place) are a hugely undervalued resource. Having subsidised nursery places for my kids has saved my career, and my sanity.

7. As a kid I used to wish that I went to school at Grange Hill – more than anything I wanted Trisha Yates’ hair. If you had to live as a fictional character, who would it be and from what book/film/play etc?

What a fabulous question – I love being sent off into realms of fantasy and make-believe. After much pondering, I’ve decided it would have to be Jennifer Beals’ character in Flashdance. Perhaps not to live as, but talking of school days, she made such an impact on an impressionable, terminally uncool teenager with curly red hair and glasses (not forgetting the cankles). Alex had the biggest and coolest apartment I’d ever seen, a job where she was equal to men, she got her dream, and she was utterly gorgeous – a face and body to die for. Never been remotely interested in dancing, but that audition sequence is one of my favourite movie scenes e-vah.

Watch it here - kicks off at 1:55 (sorry, no embedding).

8. The papers have a story on you, what would that headline be?

British expat journalist gets exclusive warts’n'all book deal with the Duchess of Alba.

9. I used to be able to down bottles of beer in one go via a thing called a beer bong (length of tube and a funnel). Did you have a ‘party trick’ in your twenties and do you still perform it now?

Blowbacks, and no.

10. It was quite a surprise when I conceived Bibsey and I am often to be heard saying to her things like “how did mummy and daddy make something as gorgeous as you?” and “what did we do to deserve you?”. Anyone might think that I didn’t know how babies are made. How are babies made? Where do they come from?

Babies are made of love and they come from the land of dreams.
11. I’m running dry here… erm, I promised seriously silly didn’t I? Perhaps, to end on a really silly note, you would like to share the silliest joke that you know (or can find on the internet).
An all-time favourite is: Why are there no aspirins in the jungle?
Because the parrots ate ‘em all (no? paracetamol!).
That’s it.
So now what happens? I come up with 11 questions for some poor, unsuspecting blog victims. Watch out!

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Up with the gods: Seville cathedral cubiertas tour, part one

27 May

Last weekend, we made one of our day trips, to Sanlucar de Barrameda, a coastal town near Jerez and Cadiz, just across the mouth of the Guadalquivir river from Doñana National Park (seen in the distance in this photo). The idea was to visit the Feria de Manzanilla, and to briefly sample its famous local prawns and manzanilla sherry, before going to the beach for a picnic – with children, their need for exercise takes precedence over one’s own tastes and preferences.

A gusty day on a British beach is par for the course, but here in Andalucia, the only people willing to put up with sand being blown in their faces are kite-surfers and dog-walkers. And us.  At La Jara we got super-fine grains in our sandwiches, in our faces, in our hair, in our clothes… and in my camera. That half-hour (it was sunny and warm, but too gritty for grown-ups to want to stay any longer, though kids weren’t bothered) cost me dear – I had to get my camera cleaned professionally at eye-watering cost. The sand had got into every orifice and crevice, but thankfully the lens wasn’t scratched, so no lasting damage. Lesson learned: wind+sand=no camera.

Facade of the cathedral, looking onto Avenida de la Constitución. At the top, you can just make out the gargoyles I came face to face with a few minutes later.

So I was all the more delighted to get my beloved G12 back, spotless, sandless, and in perfect working order, just in time for my visit last week to the Cubiertas del Cathedral – the cathedral rooftop. I had booked the tour online the previous week, and was very excited at this opportunity to see such a well-known monument from an unusual angle - especially since my first attempt was foiled by a stupid injury. They haven’t been running these tours for very long, about a year, but I’ve been wanting to go ever since I first read about them.

Puerta San Miguel of the cathedral, on Avenida de la Constitución, where you wait for the Cubiertas tour.

The meeting place was the Puerta San Miguel, next to the main entrance door. While waiting for the guide to collect us, I could hear the drums of hermandades setting off for El Rocio tantalisingly close – I resisted the urge to go and look (and snap), for fear of missing my tour. The guide led us inside – about 12 Spanish people, in their 30s to 60s, and me – where we joined up with a group whose guide spoke in English, and translated everything the Spanish guide said. We were shown an original plan of the cathedral which was recently discovered in a monastery, and then told that we were going to see “sorpresas que nunca se imaginaria” – surprises you’d never have imagined (isn’t that the whole point of a surprise?)

The guide, Antonio, worked hard to build up the anticipation – we were going to see how they built the cathedral back in the 15th century, “through its secrets”, and take “un viaje a traves del tiempo” – a trip back in time. In 1401, Seville’s chief Catholic clerics decided to build, on the site of the Mezquita, a Gothic cathedral made of stone. This was highly ambitious since such grandiose buildings had hitherto been constructed of brick and wood. The obra started in 1402 (funding and planning applications must have been processed more quickly back then) and lasted for 73 years. Antonio showed us a floor plan for the cathedral, recently discovered in a monastery.

We were each given a radio transmitter and an earphone, through which we could hear Antonio giving his breathless, dramatic commentary – until the organ started up, drowning out his words. He took the opportunity to inform us that this instrument dates from 1725, and is the second-largest such machine in the world, with 7500 tubes. The cathedral itself, however, can definitively claim to be the largest Gothic cathedral in the world – it measures 135 by 100 metres.

Going through the door to the staircase which would take us upwards through the inner part of the cathedral.

We then filed into a small chapel, which was locked behind us, and proceeded to climb the steep, narrow stone steps (dating from the 15th century too) up to a balcony, which provided a good opportunity to catch one’s breath and admire the view of the five naves, and of the choir directly in front, from 25-odd metres up.

Looking down from our rooftop eyrie onto Avenida de la Constitución.

Then it was up again, through a low, narrow gap and out onto the roof, where we saw the outside of a large, round stained-glass window, and got to see gargoyles and an atypical view of Avenida de la Constitución, with its tram tracks.

A scary wee beast, also used as a conduit for rainwater.

Antonio explained that the stone used to build the cathedral 600 years ago was from the San Cristóbal mountains in Cadiz, near Jerez, and was a porous marine rock, consisting of shells, which is now very worn and full of holes made by rainwater entering, and extreme temperatures further dilating and breaking the stone. Quality of building material was sacrificed for ease of transport.

An outside perspective of the round stained-glass window.

Then it was back inside again, and out onto the narrow balconies high up above the central nave, all along its length. We got to see stained glass windows close up, including the oldest one, a circular, colourful example of the art at one end of the main nave. Even though the faithful were clearly never going to examine these closely, the detail is amazing – the older saints have wrinkled foreheads.

Stained glass window, as seen from the balcony near the ceiling. The colours of the glass reflect on the stone frame, giving it a shimmering effect.

Looking along the arches of the nave – the scale is awe-inspiring; this tour gives you a bird’s eye view of the biggest Gothic cathedral in the world.

To give you an idea of the scale of this cathedral, and just how high up we were – nearly on the ceiling – these are views from, and to, the ground.

The perspective from down on the floor of the nave – the balcony is just below the window.

Neck-craning in the cathedral.

Looking down at the little people – perfect for studying the floor design, too.

The balconies were one person wide, and as the group was so large not everyone could fit on at once, so some unfortunate souls were stuck in the narrow passageways which lead to these stunning vantage points. Not for claustrophics, or those who suffer from vertigo.

Checking out the jaw-dropping view of the windows opposite and vaulted ceiling.

Antonio kept up his commentary throughout, but unfortunately the earphones were substandard – they had very dodgy connections, and you had to keep twiddling them to maintain the sound (made in China for 0.01 euros, I’ll bet), which is complicated when you’re also taking photos and making notes. The long and the short being, unfortunately I missed most of the commentary while we were inside the cathedral, though outside the group was less separated, so I could hear him using my own ears, rather than the crappy earpiece.

The Alcazar and Plaza del Triunfo, as seen from the Cathedral roof.

This is already a very long post, so I’ll do another one soon showing the views from outside on the cathedral roof. We saw the Archbishop’s Palace, the Alcazar and its gardens (here’s a visual taster, above), Barrio Santa Cruz, the river, the Torre Pelli, and best of all, the Giralda. It was especially thrilling to get so close (relatively speaking) to Seville’s most iconic building, the tower which remains from the Almohad era when, 1000 years ago, a mosque stood in the cathedral’s place.

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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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