For me Sevilla was a city of thinking, a city of talking and a city of doing.
I finally got a hair cut. After over a year fearing the dreaded chop of the scissors I plunged into a new look created by a woman who did not share a language with me.
I wandered through a cathedral, the third largest in the world, and I thought; I thought about religion and identity and challenging my identity and embracing it and what did it mean / what it means… to be proud of being British.
I talked with my friends, my dear friends, over glasses of wine, and gin‘tonics and shots of tequila. We talked about where we wanted to be in ten years time and we talked about where we saw each other at the tender age of thirty: married, kids, career, dog, apartment, carpets, dreams, hopes, fear, insecurities.
We walked, we walked throughout the city; sometimes meandering for the fun of it, sometimes lost and drunk but laughing, sometimes just walking from one place to another for the discovery of our chosen destination. We walked through the Plaza de Espana and marvelled at it’s beauty, we walked through the cathedral and did the same, it seemed like we hardly walked anywhere without an intake of breath and some exclamation of prettiness and positive impressions. I fell in love with flowers that smelled like grapefruit and trees that looked like chewing gum. I fell in love with the language. I fell in love with Sevilla.
Two days is never enough in a city, two weeks wasn’t enough for all the cities we visited but it left a beautiful taste of fascinating and vibrant cultures that sometimes overlap and merge and sometimes rise up in their own distinct expressions. Through buildings, people, sights, sounds and smells I gleaned a view of two countries that I came to love in ways I never thought possible, and have made vague plans in mind to return with the people I feel will love it like I do.
Was it a holiday, spring break, adventure, journey? The cliches sink like lead through my mind. All I know was that it was two weeks, and it was wonderful.