Sunday, May 15, 2011

La Feria: I feel pretty, witty & scared

During la Feria, the streets of Sevilla, España are at their liveliest and most colorful: swarming with tourists; women in enormous, vibrant flamenco dresses; men in perfectly circular wide-brim hats and old-fashioned, short, fitted coats driving 4-horse drawn carriages; and more. Everyone and their baby is ready for the festivities, literally. I saw many a wee babe smothered in fluffy ruffles and some three-year-olds in pink heels:

 Alas, I had no flamenco dress of my own. I settled for a red dress one day last week, to avoid blandness at the very least. Armed with a moderate knowledge of sevillanas and a camera, I planned to hit the streets of Feria during the day to get a sense of the different atmosphere. Waiting in the center of town for a couple of friends, I witnessed the phenomenon of the ultimate tourists.

Background note: Feria isn't taken lightly here and actually causes some complaint amongst the population. It's commonly called clasista. The problem is the private casetas. The private casetas are just that: private. Not everyone can enter, and those who spent the money, rented the space and provided the food--in my opinion--have every right to invite whomever they please. If they have the money, they're going to spend it on their caseta. We see "class" differences while strolling about Feria, but is that different than what we see on the street everyday? People wear what their money can buy them, drive what their money can get them and spend it how they please. Feria is no different. It isn't a guaranteed public fiesta. In the end, are the complaints founded? that the outsider will not enjoy himself at Feria? The average Feria-goer can and likely will get drunk in a public caseta and have a swell time, I believe. May I present exhibit A, below?:

Back to the original thought, that Feria isn't taken lightly: women are decked out, all day and all night, and the paparazzi-like tourists have a field day. Those with money make it known: they wear a different flamenco dress each day for the week of Feria. Now, the average price range I've seen on flamenco dresses was at the very lowest, €100, ranging anywhere up to €500. Do the math--remember the 1.4 conversion rate--and be shocked. Anyway, I was people-watching near a fountain and saw a Spanish woman pursued by various tourists with cameras. They thought they were inconspicuous, but their khaki shorts, cameras slung about their necks and tennis shoes were the blatant markings of a tourist. As I was watching this woman fail to shake off her followers, I realized I was in the viewfinder of someone's camera myself! Across the plaza, two men thought they were pretty sneaky. I empathized with the women in the flamenco dress and waited for them to move on. I think the lovely, old building behind me framed a blonde in a red dress fairly well, or something. As I had walked to that bench earlier, a wandering photographer asked me if he could take my picture--what? Since when does this happen? Oh, Spain.

Slightly out of place.
Walking home that night, I had the biggest scare I've had yet in Sevilla: I was followed! Now, don't worry: I don't plan on letting this happen again. I only have a week left; I won't be up that late/early again; and I won't walk alone on narrow side streets anymore. Thankfully, I was on the phone with a friend here so I felt as if someone were with me and they could have at least instantly responded (I say this to stave off others' worries). I was walking home after a late night at Feria, someone passed me on a motorbike twice, slowly, then oddly enough, stopped in the road when I was crossing; then must have turned around later because as I was turning onto the last few small streets home, I heard a motorbike behind me again. I thought, "no, that can't be him," but it was. There were some people in the street, and then, as if in a movie, they all vanished in a group around the corner, walking away from me. I had hoped for a few stragglers, but no such luck. Before turning down another street where the bike had anticipated my route, its engine shut off, my heart about quit too, and I turned around and took off for the longer, better-lit path home. I am still alive, safe and sound, and slightly wiser.

A non-creepy, silly parallel to this type of situation: earlier in the day, upon asking the price of a ride around Feria in a horse-drawn carriage I was informed by the driver of the exorbitant €80 price tag on a 45 minute ride. I was about to walk away as he decided to let me know it would be free if I'd be his girlfriend...after a moment's debate, I decided the opportunity cost was a bit too high. I'll take a carriage ride another day.

Often, situations in Spain are more like that: harmless and hilarious. They do tend to become annoying, to say the least, with the more aggressive, macho men. But these last few days, I haven't had a worry in the world: I've got a protector.


Her name is Maya and she's nine years old. She's got a great set of sharp teeth and a loyal spirit. She's a Rhodesian Ridgeback that I'm watching while her family is away. I've got a great apartment to myself, near the Cathedral, and I stroll around with this large animal, happily watching the people eye her and then shuffle to the side as I walk by. This never happens--it's generally shoulder to shoulder on the sidewalks of Sevilla, and generally, the bigger man wins the sidewalk space. I miss chivalry.

Her owner said people flock to dog-walkers as fountains of knowledge; oracles of Sevilla's geographical information. And she was right. I've been asked twice for directions since walking the dog and am happy to report, I was able to assist in both cases.

Tomorrow, the fantasy is over. I return to my little bed, in my little room, with my feisty little Spanish host mother. It was fun while it lasted. But being called to the table to eat, and being prohibited from any housework aside from making one's bed is a rather harsh reminder that one doesn't belong. At Leo's, I'm just a study abroad student. Here, I'm a functioning human being: I gladly wash dishes, singing with joy as I do; I walk the dog with a skip in my step and create meals for myself, using more dishes than necessary sometimes, just so I can wash them later. But it's been a contentment-learning experience: c'est la vie.

And on Thursday, I will bid good-bye to my host mother and say ¡hola! to my real mother!

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