“Solo in Seville” – Part Four

12 minute read

Previously in Part Three of “Solo in Seville” – The safe walk of death, adventures with Sylvester Stallone, a lesson about olives, the potential for weather-induced disappointment, concentrated wind, though not of the farty-type, flashbacks to Iceland, fun facts about rabbits, almost making a new friend, but not wanting a new friend, feeling stucker than a stuck thing, the therapeutic power of nature, and the murderous power of nature, panic attacks, rooftops, and the welcome reach of friendship

Day Three – Wednesday

From the moment I awoke, something felt different.

I was still feeling a little fragile, yet somewhere deep inside there was a sense of hope; like a flickering light bulb that was desperate to shine brightly.

I rolled over in bed and picked up my phone. Maddy had sent me a good morning text, reminding me that it was a brand-new day.

“Another day, another adventure.”

I smiled, feeling immediately warmed by my friend’s message; and then I climbed out of bed and walked blurry-eyed to the balcony doors.

I lifted the latch and opened the shutters, expecting a wave of heat and the morning sun to explode into the room.

But instead, I was hit with a blanket of grey and a downpour of heavy rain.

I was due to visit the Real Alcazar at 9.30am, but there was no way that I could get there in this rain. I’d have been soaked to the skin within a few metres of leaving the apartment.

But instead of panicking or feeling like I’d been hard done by, I made myself a mug of coffee and then sat down to devise a Plan B.

First, I checked the Real Alcazar website and found that a few time slots were still available for the afternoon. Second, I checked the weather apps, telling me that the rain would clear up around lunchtime, but that it would return tomorrow for my final two days.

I watched the rain falling outside and then looked around the apartment, before taking a sip of the strong breakfast coffee.

Five minutes later, I had my Plan B.

I’d booked a new ticket for 2 o’clock that afternoon, which meant that I had a few spare hours ahead of me.

All things considered, I felt that a few quiet hours in the apartment would do me some good; providing me with the opportunity to read and to relax, and to spend some time in quiet reflection.

I picked up the coffee and then closed my eyes and took a sip, and I held the mug close to my face as I listened to the sound of the rain falling outside. The heat of the coffee warmed my face and the aroma filled my nostrils, and I just sat there; breathing in, breathing out.

Thoughts of the previous day flashed through my mind, but reflections of the past couple of years sat heavy at the forefront; the break-up of my relationship, the effects of Covid and lockdowns, and how detached I was feeling from myself because of all this.

I took another sip of coffee and then opened my eyes, realising that this morning could be a blessing in disguise.

I couldn’t get away from the rain. I couldn’t get away from anything.

Instead, I sank deeper into reflection, and then I reached for my journal and began writing.

And I would keep on writing until the rain cleared.

It was just after midday when the rain stopped and the sun came out, and as I stepped out of the apartment, I somehow felt lighter.

I felt invigorated, and my surroundings seemed more vibrant. Maybe it was the effect of the sunshine on the wet ground, or maybe it was something else altogether.

Seville looked beautiful.

Whatever had happened over the past few hours, it somehow left me feeling like a new man. Like I was ready for whatever lay ahead of me.

The rain had gone and the veil of grey had been lifted, but I was only too aware that it was likely to come back. Buying a new umbrella seemed like a sensible idea, yet I had no idea how quickly I could find one. But, as though by some bizarre twist of fate, I ducked into a tiny leather-goods shop and the first thing I saw was a basketful of compact black men’s umbrellas. And they were on sale.

What were the odds of this happening?

A man behind the counter was engaged in conversation with a short elderly lady, and he placed his hand gently on her shoulder so as to create a pause, and then he turned to face me. He had one of the friendliest faces I’d ever seen, and although neither of us could speak each other’s language, his presence made me smile.

I pointed to the umbrellas and he gestured for me to take whichever one I wanted, and a few moments later I was stood back outside on the footpath.

How strange life can be. Just the previous evening I’d felt panicked, lost, and as though my surroundings were suffocating me and everybody was a threat. And yet here I was the following afternoon, feeling as light as a feather, in wonder of my surroundings, and feeling like friends were there to be found.

And I’d found what I’d needed without hardly having to look.

I still had a good amount of time until I had to be at the Real Alcazar, and so I wandered aimlessly, just seeing where my feet would take me.

With the rain having gone and the sun now shining, I began using my SLR camera so that I could try to capture the atmosphere of Seville as best as I possibly could; regularly swapping lenses as I took random turns, wandered along tiny alleyways, and walked in and out of the different shops and indoor markets.

Finding myself outside the cathedral and La Giralda, it was the perfect opportunity to sit down and engage in some people-watching.

And even though I was only a stones-throw away from the Real Alcazar, I got so lost in the moment that I almost missed my 2pm time-slot.

The Real Alcazar is widely considered to be one of the most beautiful buildings in the world and for more than seven centuries it was used as the home to Spanish kings.

The gardens are paradise, they’re majestic, and they look as though they’re from another world; and in fact, they are, because the Real Alcazar was chosen as one of the key locations for Game of Thrones, in which it’s otherwise known as the Water Gardens of Dorne.

The palace itself is stunning and it was a pleasure to slowly wander around and to investigate the various rooms and corridors, and to take in the stunning array of mosaics.

The palace gardens were immediately recognisable from Game of Thrones with its unmistakeable architecture and exotic palm trees that reached confidently into the clear blue sky; but it was one room in particular that completely stopped me in my tracks.  

I knew very little about the Real Alcazar before visiting and I believe that this can sometimes be a blessing. I agree that when you’re visiting anywhere it’s good to be prepared to some degree, but when we read a guidebook and it tells us that we must-see this and we must-see that, and when we’ve revelled in numerous pictures that accompany these statements, the outcome can often be underwhelming.

But when I stepped into the Salon de Embajadores (Hall of the Ambassadors), the first thing that I noticed was that everybody was looking up, and when I too looked upwards, that’s the moment in which my jaw literally dropped and my breath was taken away.

The artwork of the ceiling is truly something to behold, with a huge circular centre and star-shaped polygons on the outside. It was difficult to tell whether the circle was recessed or whether it curved outwards, but I couldn’t take my eyes off it and I felt as though my mind was bending along with it.

It was like looking into the most beautiful night sky and seeing the secrets of the universe unfold before my very eyes, with a huge planet in the centre and millions of twinkling stars surrounding it.

In some ways it reminded me of the first time I saw the ceiling of Brunelleschi’s duomo in Florence, but the Salon de Embajadores was something else entirely. It was other-worldly.

And this is what’s so incredible about art. It’s individual, and what impresses one person will not impress another. Art is personal, and this was something that I learned during that trip to Florence when I visited the Uffizi Gallery.

Dozens of people were queuing to get into an exclusive room to see an original painting by Leonardo Da Vinci, but when I got in there myself, into that specially-lit climate-controlled room, I felt absolutely nothing when I cast my eyes upon his work.

But as I left that room and wandered down a seldom-visited corridor, at the very bottom was a single painting that stopped me in my tracks. It was called Head of an Old Man by Camillo Boccaccino, and although it was stuffed away like some long-forgotten painting, it reached out and grabbed me.

And that is what art is all about; it’s about what you feel. It’s about how you connect with it. And it doesn’t matter what other people like or what other people may think, because to fully appreciate art you have to do so with honesty.

The art that matters will speak directly to you, but you have to be willing to listen to whatever it has to say.

After leaving the main interior of the palace, I walked along the balustrade walkway that offered stunning views into the gardens, and I finally felt at peace. As I descended the steps into the gardens below, I felt like I was floating, and I steadily made my way over to a large water fountain.

I settled down on the steps of the fountain alongside a number of ducks that were dozing in the sunshine, and I felt soothed by the sound of the water that trickled down into the pool below. One of the ducks opened its eyes and glanced at me lazily for a second, before closing its eyes again, clearly unconcerned by my presence.

I closed my eyes also, enjoying the orange glow that accompanied the late afternoon sun that was penetrating my eyelids, and I could feel its warmth upon my skin. Breathing slowly, and deeply, the moment had become meditative.

I have no idea how long I stayed there, and it didn’t matter. But it was one of those truly peaceful moments in which you can embrace the feeling of what it’s like to connect with nature, and to live alongside it.

Nature is the most honest thing in the world. It’s exactly what it is. It’s constant. Reliable.

And while humans may play their games and we often have to second-guess their intentions, nature remains solid and it keeps its integrity.

Maybe that’s why we so often feel the need to escape to it.

Following an early evening dinner of some fine tapas and red wine, I made my way back through the city until I reached the Plaza de Espana.

I’d had the intention to watch some Flamenco while here in Seville, yet I somehow felt reluctant to go to a show by myself. But as I found myself approaching the stunning crescent-shaped plaza, I could hear the sound of Spanish guitars in the distance.

And as I wandered around the colonnade and marvelled in its stunning design, the guitars steadily grew louder and I heard a number of loud cheers, soon realising that I’d just happened to chance upon a Flamenco performance.

I sat upon the tiled floor and, leaning against the steps behind me I lost myself in the moment.

When the guitars fell silent and the dancers stopped dancing, I moved into one of the alcoves and took a look around me, letting everything in, and then I took out my journal and started writing.

The following entry is taken direct from my journal, exactly as it was written on the day.

I’m sat in one of the alcoves on the Plaza de Espana, listening to the sound of horse’s hooves on the pathways, and the claps, the guitars, and the cheers of Flamenco.

Dusk is upon me and I’m just taking it all in. Not just the sounds, sights, and smells, but also the touch; running my hands along the tiled frontage, feeling the smooth, the rough, and the coolness on my hands.

Because you can read and see all that you like from afar, but nothing compares to having your senses set alight by a place. What it actually feels like to be somewhere.

I’m here. Right now.

And I’m happy. I feel good. And I feel hopeful for my future.

It’s going to be different than I thought it was going to be, for now, but this has all turned around for me now. What a difference a few hours can make.

This place is alive.

And so am I.

The turnaround over the last twenty-four hours had been phenomenal. This time yesterday I’d felt miserable, lonely, lost, and like I couldn’t do this sort of thing anymore. I’d been having really negative thoughts about future trips and questioning whether I’d ever be able to go away by myself again.

But as I left the plaza and walked back through Seville, I realised that I was smiling, swinging my arms until my hands clapped lightly together in front of me, and navigating the streets as though I knew the place. What had felt unfamiliar two days ago now seemed familiar.

I noticed that other people were smiling too, and it even seemed as though they were smiling at me. Maybe I was just imagining that though. Maybe it’s what I was now choosing to see.

I walked into a colourful sweet shop and bought all kinds of pick-n-mix; things I’d never seen before back at home. And then I walked into a convenience store to buy some beer, waving to the shop clerk as I walked in.

“Hola!” I said, smiling.

“Hola!” They returned.

As I got closer to my apartment, I walked past an ice cream shop that I’d wandered past several times before, having felt too uncomfortable to go in. Despite all that I’ve done in my life, and all the crazy situations that I’ve thrown myself into; prior to this trip my confidence had taken such a knock that I was even feeling too nervous to order ice cream from a shop, simply because nothing was labelled in English.

But this evening, I turned back around and wandered into the shop, smiling, and I ordered a mixture of ice cream, including a cheesecake variant that looked mouth-wateringly good. My two weaknesses combined; cheesecake, and ice cream. And lots of it. But fuck it, I was on holiday.

Back in the apartment, I sat down and fired up the iPad. And with a mountain of ice cream in front of me and a large glass of beer to my right, I put my feet up and watched a few episodes of The (American) Office, allowing myself to indulge in a few home comforts.

And then I began reflecting once again.

I can’t lie. I won’t lie. And if I cannot tell the truth then I would rather not speak at all.

And the truth is that at the end of yesterday I believed that I’d be coming home and writing a travel blog in which I’d have to conclude it by stating how unhappy I was and that I cannot do this anymore. That I no longer had it in me. That I could no longer travel alone.

But just twenty-four hours later I was sat in my Seville apartment drinking beer and eating cheesecake ice cream like I didn’t have a care in the world; feeling the exact opposite of how I’d felt the day before.

I felt rejuvenated.

I felt confident.

But if I’m going to be honest then I also have to admit that I didn’t want to be alone, and I would have much rather have been doing this with a partner. To be with somebody. To be sharing the experience.

That much is true. But what is also true is that I now knew I could still do this, that I did still have it in me, and that I will continue to do it alone for as long as I have to.

My life has moved on since those solo-adventuring days of my twenties and my thirties. It doesn’t appeal as much now, in my forties.

But we don’t always get what we want, and life doesn’t always turn out the way that we expect it to. No matter how hard you work. No matter how many promises are made. No matter how well we obey the rules of life. Nothing is guaranteed. Nothing is fail-safe. And everything can change in an instant.

But the solution is not to feel sorry for ourselves and to ask why life hasn’t turned out the way that we felt it should’ve done.

Instead, the solution is to accept life as it is, no matter how harsh that may be; the good, the bad, and the absolute fucking ugly.

That’s how we find closure. That’s when we find our new starting point. And that’s when we can decide what we’re going to do next.

Click here to read Part Five of “Solo in Seville”

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