I like Seville. There's a mighty buzz about the place. Especially on a Saturday afternoon, when every square is chock full of people drinking beer. When i say "chock full", I don't mean that all the al fresco dining seats had been taken, I mean that people were standing shoulder to shoulder absolutely filling any public space near anything resembling a bar. I asked someone what people were celebrating. Turns out it was Saturday.
There are orange trees everywhere. They give a certain Mediterranean exoticism to a boulevard of Moorish architecture or a palace garden, but when they are growing through a rundown, seventies precinct they just seem a bit desperate. In the time I was in town, I didn't see anyone pick an orange. If you had that many oranges in a UK town hey wouldn't last the weekend.
I thought Seville but give me a Wow moment. I was expecting it to come from the cathedral (biggest in the world, by a basilica technicality) or its donkey tower (you have to bring your own donkey, disappointing). Maybe from the Real Azucar or from the enormous, fungal parasol. But no, it came from Plaza de Espana, a shiny hotchpotch of pillars and water that I really wasn't expecting.
Much like with not appreciating that Leipzig was in Saxony, I didn't appreciate that Seville was in Andalusia - I'd never really given much thought to where Andalusia was. Once I found out, well that meant Debaser was cemented into my head.
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