So I put on the two other shirts I'd brought and after a coffee and mollete with tomate, aceite and jamon, I set off. In the last two days I've discovered two places with trees - trees that matter. Yesterday was in the Real Alcazar gardens, where in the Garden of the Cross, some odd pines substituted enough for the very tall trees of coastal B.C., and some ferns in ceramic pots with the sun shining on them through these trees, gave me a sudden pang of memory of the Endowment Lands' ferns. It is something physical with which I am attached to the terrain and nature of home. I feel almost ill missing it, if something makes me take notice.
Anyways, I had found out about paths in the Sierra Norte de Sevilla a while ago and finally looked up more details, train and bus schedules and walking path descriptions. After the third day in a row, I finally managed to get up at 7:00 and get to the bus by 8:00, to get to Cazalla, in the national park, by around 10:00. I was hoping I'd get started early enough and the paths I had a choice of were only 2-3 hours long, so as not to be toasted by the sun.
This area suits me much better than Olvera, as far as its walkability. Besides the Real Alcazar, I've finally found another place in Andalucia where there are trees that one can actually walk under, and there are just enough of them along the path (real trail - not a road, in most places) that it resembles more the kind of walking/hiking I'm used to; not a desert place suitable only for bandits.
Many of the trees are oak. There were goats, sheep, mules and a few cows along the way, some of the sheep and goats wearing cowbells. I had to go through various gates meant to keep livestock in or out. The walk was loaded with
proper trees
wildflowers of many kinds, all along the way. I sat by an arroyo (creek) for lunch, which reminded me of a Sevillanas letra, which I then kept singing and learning off my ipod for the rest of the way:
Una paloma bajo --------------- A dove/pidgeon went down
A un arroyuelo a beber ----------------------- To a steam to drink
A un arroyuelo a beber,
Y en el agua se miró ------------------------- And in the water he looked at himself
Con vanidad de mujer ----------------------- With the vanity of a woman
En el agua se miro
Con vanidad de mujer
Ay, orgullosa paloma ------------------------ Oh proud dove/pidgeon
Que te olvida de la sed ------------------------ That you forget your thirst
Ay, orgullosa paloma que te olvida de la sed
Cuando el espejo te asoma ---------------------- When in the mirror you appear.
This is my favorite Sevillanas, not only because of the letra (words) which I love, but because of the recording from the solo compas CD, in which Miguel de los Reyes sings. He sounds like an old man, one that has seen much pain in life and made serious mistakes, but still views life as incredible and beautiful, and is proud. I don't know if that is true, but his voice while singing this particular Sevillanas makes me feel that.
There was not one single other person walking. The only humans passed in a vehicle on the railway and a few in a car, as well as a couple farmers in their fields. There were numerous spots along the way where I wanted to stay forever.
I took almost double the suggested time for the walk. It was 4:00 when I got back and Cazalla was dead, except for a castanet class that was practicing somewhere I couldn't see them. I sat on a bench in the main square where a few little kids were kicking a soccer ball, below the church, which had 3 storks on top. I stared up at 3 eagles soaring way above a wrecked white building across from the church, which had swallows circling in and out of nests stuck into its corners.
Around 5:00 I found the only bar that seemed to be open, as I still had an hour to wait for the late bus. I had no choice but to ignore the hearsay about normal social behaviour and went in and ordered myself a manzanilla and sat at the bar near a bunch of old men, the only people in many bars in small towns at that time. Worrying about things I'd been told about the abnormalcy of sitting in a bar or restaurant alone, especially as a woman, and drinking, I was pretty stiff when the men started talking to me. At least I managed to make myself look up to Spanish presentability standards today. Jose Maria told me in English, "you look like a Spanish woman". Then he asked if I spoke Spanish and told me the same thing in Spanish, due to my hair and my manzanilla drinking. I told him I do try to appear Spanish.
Jose Maria introduced everyone to me, and they went back and forth between talking among themselves and talking to me, until his brother started to sing and knock on the bar (flamencos do that). So I mentioned something about it and someone started to do bulerias palmas, and I joined. One man was particularly impressed that I was studying flamenco and asked what kinds I liked and knew, and told me Jose Maria was a "gitano, entiendes?" He's a gypsy, do you understand? I said yes, and Jose Maria started to sing a bit of Alegrias.
They told me they and all the other small towns in Spain, and indeed much of Europe is in crisis right now, economically, and checked to see if I understood. But we have other things and we are happy anyways, they said. Jose Maria owned the restaurant next door and seemed to be taking charge, buying everyone as many drinks as they would drink. I tried to listen a few times while they talked among themselves or to the barman, and knew they were talking about politics (there is an election very soon), and then caught the gist of something about living life being most important, which was said emphatically and with a bit of frustration.
Gradually the town was waking up and two more of their friends wandered in one at a time. They both kissed my hands and made me flattering comments, and I ended up dancing a tiny bit of Alegrias and bulerias, with Jose Maria singing again. By that time he'd paid for my drinks (insisted I had a second one), and several of them tried to convince me to stay longer. I managed to leave, but told them I'd come back again.
These men made my day - well, it would have been incredible even without them, but it was even more so. I really love Andalucian people. Some say that in Andalucia they are really open and friendly to everyone right away but it's all on the surface, and they aren't true friends this way. I don't really care much about whether this is true - I love this way of interacting with others. It's my way, even though I'm not really used to it yet. I would rather have a lot of surface friendliness (call it superficial if you like), happiness, and togetherness, than aloofness. I'd rather have relaxation and partying, singing and dancing.
As far as flamenco, it thrills me much more to walk into a random bar in a small town and find myself among flamenco people, than most of the shows in Sevilla.
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