I was jostled awake by a pocket of turbulence as the small plane began its descent into Sevilla. I been asleep about an hour- the first sleep I’d gotten in the thirty-something hours I’d been traveling. As I gazed out through half-closed eyelids at the pastoral farmlands below, I slowly registered the words coming over the planes speakers. “I… Had… The time of my life… And I owe it all to yooou!” Huh. Then the voice behind me: “Oh my gawd! Look at the voineyards! This is where they get all the de-liscious woine!” Had I gotten on the wrong flight in my sleep-deprived state? Were these the pastoral farmlands of upstate New York I was flying over? The quick patter of the spanish flight attendant reassured me that I was not a few thousand miles off course, and by the time I was fully awake, we were touching down outside of Sevilla.

I quickly escaped from the New Jersey patois, and my boyfriend and I made our way to baggage claim. My backpack swished through the flaps of the conveyor belt, and was retrieved. The bulk of the luggage came through, any my boyfriends pack had not appeared. Over the next slow twenty minutes, a few bags poked their way through, until finally the attendant approached. “No mas. That is all.” Well, shit.

Mural in the Madrid airport.

We waited in line at customer service while the woman in front of us had a heated argument with the Iberia Air employee. I could only make out a few words here and there, but she didn’t seem/in the least pleased with the outcome. It didn’t look good. Finally it was our turn, and within two minutes we were done, assured that the bag was simply on the next flight and would be hand-delivered to our apartment by the following morning. At first relieved that it had been found, I hoisted my own pack, and then turned sharply to my boyfriend. “Wait a minute. So you don’t have to lug your backpack all the way into town? You get to just casually walk along, and they’ll just deliver it to you?” He simply grinned, and we continued on into our adventure.

We arrived in Triana around 4pm after finding our way through busses, metros, and a tangle of unfamiliar streets. The apartment we rented this week is in a tall anonymous building, one of the many that tower over 5 brick covered pedestrian streets that overflow day and night with wine and tapas.

Sunset over the Guadalquivir river facing Triana.

While reading about flamenco over the past few weeks I have seen the phrase “Flamenco is a way of life” and it is something that has really stuck with me. I know that fluxus art is meant to break down the barrier between life and art but I haven’t really been able to envision what it would look like for an entire city to live and breathe art! I have seen this every day since I’ve been in Sevilla.

I have begun to navigate my days by sounds and smells. Lunch begins when the hum of voices, clattering plates, and the smell of meat comes through my window. Siesta begins when the city falls into silence. Tapas begin with faint laughter and distant sounds of clinking wine glasses but it’s really dinner that everyone is waiting for. Dinner begins around 11pm with booming laughter, greetings, singing, arguments, and robust smells of fried fish and meat. Each day follows a strict rhythmic pattern while simultaneously being fluid and free.

The view of a bodega outside our bedroom window during lunch.

People have been breaking into song randomly at bodegas over tapas, clapping along to music in department stores, and even the news reporter has been singing his announcements on TV. I’m not sure how normal these things are or if everyone has just been excited about the Feria de Abril starting on Monday at midnight. Probably a bit of both.

Next week I’ll be writing all about the Feria! Seven days of round the clock drinking, singing, dancing, and carnival rides. Not sure how I’m going to keep up but I’ll give it my best shot to ensure you all get all the facts. It’s a hard job but somebody’s got to do it.

Until next time –