There are people who are your family members by birth and by bloodline, and then there is our family by choice. People who enter your life, and from the moment they do, you have an undeniable connection which goes far deeper than mere friendship. Neighbors, schoolmates, teammates, co-workers, close friends of your close friends, or even perfect strangers. The rare few who from the moment you meet there is an immediate sense of a special connection worth cultivating. The deep friendships that last a lifetime. One such person for me is Cloty.
Our family’s Au Pair when we were children growing up in Spain, she then followed my mom back stateside to support her new role as a divorcee and single mother of three. Cloty was the first honorary member of my family by choice.
The next stop on my meander around Spain was as a guest in her home for as long as my heart desired and my schedule permitted, the bullet train bringing me from Madrid-Atocha to the new railway station Santa Justa in Seville. What a wonderful way to commute. Averaging 190 MPH, the AVE completed the 293-mile journey in under 3 hours (making several stops along the way), for a total cost of $75 USD. The route takes you through the heartland of Spain’s southern “autonomous region” – Andalucia – past the sweeping plains of Castile, climbing south to Toledo and through the Sierra Morena, descending to sea level as it approaches Seville. The trip was a delight, requiring half the time of a traditional train. Wondering why a country as vast as America hasn’t invested heavily in this kind of transportation.
Eagerly awaiting my arrival outside of the Santa Justa station with sun-kissed skin and a smile that lit up the Spanish sky was Cloty. She radiated kindness and love, something very common with the residents of this part of Spain. Although the running joke from my family in Madrid is that the people in Sevilla are too busy eating, drinking wine, singing flamenco and taking siestas to be bothered with work, of all the Spanish destinations, you won’t find warmer and friendlier people than in this amazing city. And there is truth to my cousin’s description of the Andalucian’s. They really have a unique lifestyle, value their time, and really appreciate the little things. They’re passionate about their music and flamenco, wine, cañas, and tapas. Little holds more value than spending quality time with family and friends. And Andalucia is the final bastion for the siesta in Spain, that mid-day rest period from 2-5pm which originally was used to keep everyone inside, quiet, and in the shade during the most suppressing period of heat each day. In Andalucia, there is a common feeling that there are more important things in life than the pursuit of money and commercial things.
Sevilla was Cloty’s home. It was where she was born, where she had met my father at the age of 7 (they were neighbors), and at 14 was introduced to my father’s new American wife. Cloty told me how she would run as fast as she could from school to my parent’s new flat as soon as her classes were finished so she could be with “her kids.” Cloty and my mom became best of friends, busily raising their children together.
My mother was enamored with Spain for her entire life. It was her happy place, and who could blame her after the experiences she had there. The strikingly beautiful blonde American college grad took the country by storm.
Arriving in the late 1950s as a guest of the US Ambassador, her bff from high school’s father John Davis Lodge was given the post under Eisenhower after his re-election bid for a second term as Connecticut’s Governor failed. She dined with the Dictator of Spain Francisco Franco and the most famous bullfighter of the era was her steady boyfriend. She told me about chicken fights in the US Embassy pool with Richard Nixon and attended all kinds of political events as a guest of the American Embassy, one such event was where she met my father who was employed as a translator for the Liberian Ambassador to Spain.
But even with all of the pomp and circumstance she enjoyed in Madrid, it was the charm of the South and all it encompassed that stole her heart. And nothing was more special to my mother than the Feria de Abril, a six-day fair in April, beginning at midday with a long parade of carriages and riders carrying Seville’s most influential citizens. Even without experiencing The Feria which unfortunately was 6 months away, it’s easy to understand her deep and undying love for Sevilla. The same strong affections are now cemented in me.
Sevilla is the capital and largest city of Andalucía. Its inhabitants are affectionately known as “Sevillanos,” about 703,000 of them living inside the city limits with an additional 800,000 making up the entire metropolitan population. The fourth-largest city in Spain, Sevilla is the 30th most populated municipality in the European Union. But even with all of its scale and grandeur, somehow while you walk around and explore its streets and take in its architectural magnificence, it feels like your favorite old shirt coming out of the dryer – comfortable, warm and smelling great. Another unexpected pleasure of the city are the sweet wafting scents of the orange blossom and jasmine everywhere you go. It’s like experiencing a nose orgasm.
The original core of the city dates back to the 7th century B.C. Through the years Sevilla changed hands multiple times, the Moors ruling from the 8th-11th centuries, and then incorporated into the Christian Kingdom of Castile under Ferdinand III in 1248. Unlike so many cities that were destroyed and often dismantled by their subjugators, Sevilla’s beauty and charm clearly captured the hearts of all of its various invaders. Instead of being dismantled and destroyed, they added to its majesty. Under each occupier’s reign, numerous breathtaking landmarks were constructed to include the Giralda, Casa de Salinas, Capilla de San Jose, as well as three UNESCO World Heritage Sites: the Cathedral; the General Archive of the Indies; and the Alcázar palace complex (the upper levels still used by the Royal Family as their official Seville residence).
There is an unexplainable magic and undeniable charm, palpable to all who wander around the heart of the Old Town – el Barrio de Santa Cruz. The streets are quaint, the architecture breathtaking, and the houses are constructed with only a few feet in between one another. All of these buildings typically include a courtyard in the middle of there square structures, laden with flowers and plants, areas designated to relax and unwind. The city was constructed purposefully this way by the Arabs, the narrow streets and courtyards providing shade in the dead of summer as Sevilla is the hottest major metropolitan area in geographical Western Europe (~95°F).
Every region in Spain is famous for their own unique local fare, as well as the special way they prepare traditional dishes like paella. But as world-renowned as the many delicious individual dishes are, when discussing food, Spain is possibly most famous for its unique serving sizes. Small plates called “tapas” or ración (a larger serving meant to be shared) are customary and available in just about every bar and café throughout the country. Tapas fuel the Spaniards journey from bar to bar in the early afternoon before their midday meal as well as when they make the rounds in the evening before dinner. And in many of the larger cities at the old traditional bars away from the tourist areas, tapas come free with the price of your drink.
An interesting story I once heard about the origin of tapas was while on a trip through the countryside, King Alfonso stopped to rest in the town of Ventorillo del Chato in the southern province of Cádiz, requesting a glass of jerez (sherry) to quench his thirst. It was a very windy day with dust and debris flying around so the innkeeper served his drink with a slice of ham covering the goblet to prevent the sherry from getting dirt in it. And when ordering his second round, King Alfonso liked the ham accouterment so much he requested another “tapa” (which means ‘lid’ or “cover”). And so as this story goes, the wonderful small plate eating tradition was begun.
After graduating college I moved into my father’s house in Fuengirola, got a job, worked on polishing my Spanish, and did my best to acclimate to living under a very conservative European male’s roof after 22 years of a very liberal upbringing in America. Although that experiment lasted less than a year, the one thing I remember most vividly from my time living in the Costa del Sol were my favorite tapas. There were a few special dishes that made an imprint on my taste buds that make me salivate to this day when I think of them. Wandering around Sevilla with an empty stomach, I was on the lookout for my favorite eats: Pinchos Morunos, Espinacas, Pimientos de Padron, Gambas al Ajillo, and manzanilla olives. And no Spanish feast would be complete without a café and some flan for desert.
So after questioning the locals and a quick check of YELP! reviews, I landed on a fabulous old bar in the center of el Barrio Santa Cruz. The pinchos are the hardest to find, requiring a taperia that specializes in meats other than Jamón serrano (almost every bar carries that). For this delicacy, the pork loin needs to be brined and left overnight to soak in the flavors before skewered, rubbed with cumin, paprika, chili powder and salt, then placed over an open flame to unleash the oils from the fat which add the secret sauce. And not only did they have my pinchos, but this particular taperia had all I was craving. Mysteriously, no matter how much I eat, there always seems to be a little room left at the end of every meal for a sweet treat. After engorging myself with my tapas, I ended the meal with some delicious flan de nata.
My evenings in Sevilla were spent one of two ways: wandering aimlessly around the Old Town searching for killer foto ops or chilling in Cloty’s living room enjoying her endless stories and insights into life with my parents. Stories about my dad, the showman who was like the Pied Piper of the neighborhood. He’d pull in to their housing complex with his white VW bug convertible honking his horn, throwing chicklets in the air for all the neighborhood kids who had gathered like it was Mardi Gras, doing magic tricks and singing songs on the accordion. Stories about their struggles as newlyweds – her wanting the latest household inventions sweeping the states (a clothes washing machine and an automatic dishwasher), but my father refusing as they already had a full-time staff on the payroll to include a housemaid and cook. Cloty told me the story of a man who couldn’t help himself, constantly satiating his thirst for women other than his wife, the same man who she could say with complete certainty had
found the absolute love of his life in my mother. And it was clear even through all of the infidelities and challenges with the marriage as well as those that bled over into the divorce years, my mother never stopped loving my father, in the deepest of ways. They were soulmates.
The stories were all over the board, from joy and amusement to shock to astonishment. But they helped fill the many gaps in my understanding of the family dynamics and politics, especially why my parents’ marriage fell apart, and also an alternative narrative as to what happened in the post-divorce years. Learning once again, the stories we are told and perpetuate are just that – stories. They are all slanted. Each dependant on who is feeding you the storyline in terms of what “really” happened.
And this story about Sevilla now comes to a close. Two more kisses, one long hug and some more waterworks outside of the Santa Justa train station, I grabbed my bags from Cloty’s car and headed to the AVE platform. What a joy filled week, and although sad to leave, I was headed back to the place in Spain I know best – Malaga, Fuengirola, and the Costa del Sol. My time in Seville was such a wonderful and unexpected gift. I left with a full heart and a greater appreciation for Sevilla, my parents, Cloty, and the blessing of my family by choice.
