I first arrived in Seville in the spring of 1984 on a bicycle. I had abandoned
my London office job in shipping to visit a friend who was teaching English
there.
I juddered down the maze of cobbled streets to his flat in the old Jewish
quarter of the Barrio Santa Cruz. The air was heavy with the scent of orange
blossom. Brilliant purple bougainvillea and vermilion geraniums cascaded
down the whitewashed walls of the houses and people walked the street four
abreast laughing and talking all at once and handclapping in perfect
flamenco time. It didn’t feel like Europe but some halfway house to Arabia.
Once I’d been introduced to la vida de la calle (street life),
strolling from bar to bar, eating tapas, listening to live music and joining
the open-air parties in various squares every night, I was hooked.
Having cycled 2,000 miles (3,218km) I was in good shape to make the most of
Semana Santa, the Holy Week leading up to Easter Sunday, and the Feria
(festival), a fortnight later, because, believe me, stamina is required. So
much so that the locals are given a week’s holiday for each.
Semana Santa might appear to be religious, as figures of the Virgin Mary are
carried on ornate floats decorated with thousands of flowers and candles,
borne aloft by a dozen young guys (costaleros) and accompanied by the
sinister-looking nazarenos in their pointy hats. It is, however, like
most things in Seville, a fascinating blend of religion and hedonism,
tradition and theatre. Watching these processions is not what tires you out
— although seeing the costaleros straining underneath a
two-tonne float can have a deleterious effect on one’s equilibrium. You
become exhausted by the endless eating and drinking that accompanies the
spectacle.
The Feria, a more carnal festival with a week of dancing and bullfights, takes
place at the end of April in a tented town that springs up on the outskirts
of the city. It is more physically demanding in that you have to dance, and
not just any old foot shuffling. You must dance sevillanas. A full sevillana
is in 12 parts but if you can vaguely master the first three or four
movements you will be in demand, especially if you’re male. I’ve never been
known for my deftness of foot but even my rudimentary steps attracted
partners, from six years old right up to grannies, all dressed in striking
flamenco tiered dresses, combs and fringed shawls. You get better as the
night progresses because the only available drink is fino or manzanilla,
bone-dry sherry at 15 per cent alcohol. It loosens up the concrete in your
feet beautifully, but transfers it to your head in the morning.
I returned to the city in 1993 as a writer in the process of publishing my
first book. As soon as I started walking those narrow streets again, feeling
the buzz of excitement hovering between the cavernous walls, hitting the
bars, knocking back the beers and the sherry, I knew I was going to set a
novel in Seville.
But why choose Seville for the setting of a crime novel? Barely 15 people are
murdered here a year. It is known throughout Spain and the world as one of
the most beautiful cities with a people so full of alegrÍa (high
spirits) that it’s impossible to have a bad time. As the saying goes: “To
whom God loves, He gives a house in Seville.” A city with such a strong
image is irresistible to a crime writer because, as we all know, nothing is
as it seems. The Sevillians aren’t immune to the human condition and their
society has the same social problems of any other modern city. It just
appears not to. And appearance versus reality is one of the most powerful
themes of crime fiction.
It is also a deep pleasure to wander the city in the name of research. I never
tire of browsing the Moorish geometric tile designs on my way through the
Alcázar to the beautiful and peaceful walled gardens behind, or walking
through the Parque Maria Luisa to the Archaeological Museum and around the
Plaza de España (the colossal monument left over from the 1929 Expo).
I love strolling by the river (which plays a significant role in the Falcón
books) and stopping for a manzanillain La Bodega de la Albariza on
Calle Betis, wandering around the Plaza del Museo on a Sunday morning
looking at the locals displaying their art, and drifting past the Colombian,
Cuban and classical music bands busking on the main shopping streets. The
pace is slow but the atmosphere always lively and, of course, Seville is the
most flirtatious city in Spain — everybody of all ages is always looking at
each other.
Bars and stars on the epicurean trail
Seville is an epicurean’s delight. Here are a few of Wilson’s hero
Inspector Javier Falcón’s top tips for transcendent tapas.
El Cairo, Reyes Católicos. Inés (Falcón’s ex-wife) likes to go here for
a piquillo pepper stuffed with hake ( pimento de piquillo relleno
de merluza), but my favourite is the jamón Ibérico de bellota
— cured ham made from pigs fed only on acorns. It is indescribably sweet and
melts on the tongue. Enough to make vegetarians momentarily relent, it’s not
cheap but worth it. Enjoy with a manzanilla (La Guita) or a rioja,
especially Muga or Marqués de Arienzo.
Bar Eslava, Calle Eslava. Near the wonderfully shaded Plaza San
Lorenzo, this narrow bar becomes a heaving mass of scoffing humanity from
9pm. This is early for Seville, but the tapas are great. My normally
fastidious wife devours sangre encebollada, a form of black pudding.
The salmorejo (like a thick gazpacho) is the best in Seville and the costillas
a la miel (honey-coated ribs) are a dream.
El Rinconcillo, Calle Gerona, round the back of the Santa Catalina
church. This is the oldest bar in Seville and with its tiled frontage,
sherry from the barrel and decent selection of tapas, it has to be seen. Try
the espinacas con garbanzos, spinach with chickpeas.
La Estrella, Calle Estrella. Spend some time in the maze of streets
between the cathedral and the Plaza Alfalfa trying to find this place. The
tapas menu is perhaps the most extensive in Seville. Eat a solomillo al
whisky, which Falcón makes at home: flash-fry pork fillet and garlic,
flambé with Johnnie Walker. Delicious. This bar has a sister on Calle Mateos
Gago called Bar Giralda, which has tiled walls, vaulted ceilings and much
the same menu. Try a glass of cava and a flamenquÍn, a
kind of exotic croquette.
Casa Ricardo, Calle Hernán Cortes, behind the San Lorenzo church. In
this strange bar, manzanilla and the Madonna meet — the walls are
covered in photographs of processions and the piped music is from Semana
Santa (Holy Week). Here Falcón trysts with Consuelo, a woman (and
ex-suspect) he is crazy about. They eat scrambled eggs and salt cod ( revuelto
de bacalao).
Bar Garlochi, Calle Boteros. Opening late at weekends, this place takes
the religious/secular to an extreme. The bar is decked out like a Semana
Santa float, incense burns and the house cocktail, served in a large glass
chalice, is red and called Sangre de Cristo, Blood of Christ. The
ultimate in decadence.
Need to know
This year Semana Santa is April 1-8 and the Feria is April 23-29.
Getting there: Clickair (00 34 902 254252, www.clickair.com)
flies from Heathrow to Seville; Ryanair (0871 2460000, www.
ryanair.com) flies there from Stansted and Liverpool.
Staying: Casa Imperial, a palacio set around three courtyards, doubles
from £135; La Casa del Maestro, 11-room B&B with roof terrace,
doubles from £67. Book with www.i-escape.com
Further information: www.turismosevilla.org
