Finding Beauty In Seville When The Agenda Falls Through

It was a simple question. How was Seville? Colleagues, family, seemingly everybody asked me this question upon my return - as is expected. Though, I could not answer it so simply. The city was gorgeous - familiar yet otherworldly with its warm bulbs that differed from the stark and harsh light of London. Why could I not say that? Instead, I stuttered and stumbled over my words. It would appear I had been disappointed by my visit. I was not, not at all. When somebody embarks outside of their home, there is a societal expectation to return with feedback - with stories and opinions. The landmarks that we see in magazines and on social media, how were they up close? Yes, I saw many of these famous locations. Though, it was not those experiences that imprinted on my memory. It was the space in between the steps I took towards those points on the map that I treasure. The gaps in between words of a beautiful sentence that make your mind wander and think about life a bit more. Seville was gorgeous, yes. But our mind controls our eyes. As well as our heart and soul. Our grief, hope, pain and love. It is my poetry that saw Seville in a way that others may not understand. The way I see life, it is not so easy to explain. This is why I write. So, I will write.

As my sister and I sipped coffee beside the hotel breakfast buffet assembling an agenda for the day, there were a few locations I was keen to include. Still, I remember the day I discovered Seville in a travel magazine. There was an image of Plaza de España glowing proudly in the warm sun - this iconic landmark is what encouraged me to book a trip to Spain. As well as Plaza de España, I requested my sister put the Royal Alcázar of Seville and the Seville Museum of Fine Arts on the agenda. Some of my best memories are of my sister and I emerging in four walls that frame our thoughts and our views of the world.

Walking towards our first stop on the schedule, the Seville Museum of Fine Arts, we were faced unexpectedly with a closed door. It was a Monday, the museum is shut on Mondays. Despite walking for one hour towards the inaccessible destination, I was not disheartened. There are moments in life that feel like a movie. When you find yourself placed inside of a scene you could not direct if you tried. Pixels, atoms, all carefully constructed to build an image of beauty. The walk to get to the closed museum was a moment as such. Above our heads, the air surrounding us was entirely ashen. Palm trees beamed through the dusk, paving the way to our destination - allowing us to believe we were already at the museum. For, art was all around and within.

With art still on our minds, my sister and I entered a minuscule gallery through a narrow and discreet alley. Despite the size of the room being timid, the art displayed on the walls, reaching high up to the ceiling, was grand and gorgeous. Animals, people, landscapes - all unlike anything I had seen before. Interrupting my awe, a woman peered from behind a canvas. She introduced herself as the artist of these works and we engaged in pleasant conversation. Always, I ensure people know how much I admire their work when it calls out to me the way hers did. The artist was in admiration of my sister and I's friendship, encouraging her to speak of her own sister who lives many miles from her. Readying to leave, we thanked her for her time, she thanked us for inspiring her. Did we inspire her next painting? Her next trip to the sky to greet her sister again? Whatever she meant, it may not have been possible should our schedule have gone according to plan.

Our programme change allowed us to breathe in the air of a foreign city - to be utterly present. We wandered through small shops, shops that felt catered towards the locals. By not looking at our map, and with a little bit of instinct, we turned a corner to find a quaint tapas restaurant. Indulging in truffle risotto, pork cheek on potatoes and focaccia topped with ox tail. With stomachs full of flavour and contentment, we finally made our way to the Royal Alcázar of Seville - only to find that we were just too late to enter. My sister and I looked at each other and laughed. Of course, this could have all been avoided with better preparation. If we had spent less time refilling our coffee cups by the breakfast buffet and more time researching opening times. Though, this is precisely the point of my words. If we had bought our ticket to the Royal Alcázar of Seville in time, we would not have sat on the wall just outside of it, eyes closed, embracing the golden setting sun. Listening to the sound of horses trotting and children playing. These are the moments that you remember when you travel.

The following day, we did manage to enter the Royal Alcázar of Seville. Despite the extraordinary array of cobalt and emerald peacocks dancing beside our feet, please note that this is not a pleasant place for somebody with trypophobia or claustrophobia to visit. Having both, myself, I was eager to leave. We, too, were successful in visiting the Seville Museum of Fine Arts later in our trip. Although, it is not the paintings that I remember most vividly from that experience. There is something special about listening to music with somebody else in synchronicity. A pairing of heartbeats that makes you feel more understood than you have ever been able. The times when my sister and I stand in a quiet corner to construct a playlist, hovering our thumbs over the play button as we count down from three. Suddenly, we are not two people in an unknown world. Now, we have become two people in one world that makes complete sense. Looking up high at the tall gallery ceiling to the song my sister was supposed to get married to that same year, that is what I remember. That is what felt momentous, precious, healing.

We took our synchronised music with us to Plaza de España as it was closed for a Spanish Royal’s arrival the day prior. Through the semi-elliptical pathway, symbolising the embrace between kingdoms, I glanced at my sister as the introduction to her favourite song sang in both our ears. My lips begin to replicate the lyrics, causing my sister to turn the other way. Perhaps I was embarrassing her. Maybe spoiling the song for her forever. Though, my eyes watched the slight smile in the corner of her mouth as I ran towards her from our grown distance with arms wide open. Twirling in my pastel and lace dress. Confused spectators watching the scene unfold. Months prior, when I saw that photograph in a travel magazine of where I was currently standing, did I expect to return with stories like this? Of course not, because I did not plan one moment of it.

Seville is a beautiful city. This I can say with certainty. Though, it takes more than one sentence, or one picture, to express the direction in which the city moved me. External spectators, those without a key to my soul, they want to hear my thoughts on the Royal Alcázar of Seville, the Seville Museum of Fine Arts, on Plaza de España. They might not care to hear that my most treasured memories in the city include sitting on some steps at dusk, eating marzipan with my sister - a tradition I ensure to continue through each sea we cross. Nor would they want to listen to the quiet moments we shared in the hotel lobby playing cards and drinking thick hot chocolate. Something I have learnt on my travels is that travelling is precisely that - mine. It is not my responsibility, nor yours, to create an agenda based on other people’s expectations. Your trip is for you to build the memories that make sense to live in your heart.