Se-La-Villa

An early morning train ferried us west from Granada through Andalusia’s Spaghetti Western landscapes and hillsides rich with preening golden stalks of wheat and sunflowers. Upon arriving in Sevilla -- Spain’s fourth largest metro area and the hub of southern Spain -- a little past noon, we journeyed to our eclectic, musically-themed budget hotel. After dropping off our bags, we took a stroll through the cobblestoned streets of the Old Town. Looming before us was Sevilla’s famed Catedral, which was closed to tourists on a Sunday afternoon.

We briefly lamented our seeming inability to gain entrance to prominent sights on the first try before moving on to the next venue on Kaberi’s list (furnished to her by her cousin Amit). In short order, we found ourselves before the opulent Hotel Alfonso XIII, commissioned by the King of Spain for the 1929 Great Exposition. Following Amit’s recommendation, we stepped inside for a mug of decadently-rich hot chocolate in the gorgeous mosaic courtyard. Savoring the melted chocolate and an accompanying cream-filled pastry, we lost ourselves in our thoughts before the bill brought us back to reality (Vik was apoplectic over the cost, which he claimed compared unfavorably with the downpayment on our condo).

Taking full advantage of the perfect weather, we strolled through the Plaza Santa Cruz and around the Jardines de Murillo, where a number of tourists lingered lazily at the plaza cafes while amorous young Spanish couples engaged in vigorous public displays of affection on nearby park benches. With the afternoon heat building (literally and figuratively), we chose to seek shade and a quick nap at the hotel. That evening, we once again followed Amit’s epicurean advice and chose the Restaurante San Marco, an old Turkish bath house housing an Italian restaurant, for dinner. After a week of forgettable breakfasts and subpar tourist venue tapas, we were thrilled to enjoy a scrumptious meal on the road in Spain. Kaberi likened her gnocchi to light and airy potato pillows, and we jointly inhaled our velvety tiramisu in mere seconds.

The next morning, we took a circuitous route through the quaint streets back to the Catedral. Grumbling about the need to visit yet another church, Vik was only cajoled into entering after intensive lobbying on Kaberi’s part. The largest church in the world as measured on a cubic space basis, the Catedral anchors the Sevilla skyline and also marks the burial spot of Christopher Columbus. Nevertheless, the most impressive aspect of the structure was the Giralda, one of three remaining Almohad minarets in the world (the others are the Hassan Tower in Rabat and the Koutoubia in Marrakesh) and the only one able to be climbed by the general public. The Giralda's upward-sloping path was built to accommodate two horses side-by-side while the facing windows of every level provided clear city views. After scaling 340 feet to the bell tower, Kaberi took pictures to her heart’s content while Vik slowly came to terms with the notion that the visit was probably worth the price of admission.

We spent the rest of the day online, with cerveza con limon in hand, to finalize our travel arrangements for Morocco. Before turning in for the night, Vik made the fateful decision to close the wooden shutters of our room, thereby rendering us devoid of any natural light. Without a wakeup call or the benefit of Kaberi’s internal alarm clock (which much to Vik’s chagrin, is cued by the dawn’s first rays of light), we awoke the next morning several hours after our morning train to Cordoba had promptly departed without us on board.

Hurriedly making our way to the Sevilla San Justo train station, we soon discovered that we had lost the full value of our tickets. After purchasing a new pair and grumbling to ourselves, we caught the next train to Cordoba for a daytrip to see the Mezquita. After a brief bus ride to the site, we found a beautiful old mosque with an interior of alternating red and white striped arches. The Mezquita was once the largest mosque in the world. However, the building appeared diminished with all of its doors closed, confounding the natural pattern of light and airiness of its original design. More disconcerting, however, were the gaudy cathedral nave and inner chapels fashioned inside the structure after the Catholic monarchs expelled the Moors from Spain. We were somewhat heartened to read in our guidebook that Carlos V (the authorizer of the unfortunate renovation) had immediately regretted his decision upon seeing the finished product for the first time.

Without incident, we caught our northgoing late afternoon train back to Madrid. We were thrilled to be able to spend a night with Debashish and Iraxci at their home before our Morocco trip commenced. We enthusiastically washed several much-needed loads of laundry before being taken out to dinner at our hosts’ favorite sushi restaurant, the charmingly-named Sushi Ole, and drinks at the lace-curtained and British-owned Almeda.