The first is obvious. It’s just too darn hot. My first trip there was in August, the sun beat down without relief. The heat was Saharan, so hot that we were permanently in a rage. Taking a siesta through the worst of the afternoon might have helped, but we were too poor to afford air conditioning it just led to a restless sweat in our airless hotel room. One July, years later, I’d worked all day protected by the A/C, only to be hit by a wall of high 30’s heat at 8 in the evening.If you do find yourself there in high summer, go for culture and relate to the suffering saints of Zubarán and Murillo in the Museo de Bellas Artes, or get some holy cool in the vast vaulted space of the Cathedral. It’s the biggest gothic church in Christendom – although of course it started life as a mosque and its great bell tower the Giralda was once the minaret that towered over one of Iberia’s great Moorish cities.
Exploring the interior will reveal art works to rival the museum, macabre saintly relics and the tomb of Christopher Columbus, who set off from Seville on his accidental discovery of the Americas.Seville can be kind on joggers. It’s flat, has some fine parks and both banks of the Guadalquivir offer breezy views for runners. There were no fears from the heat on a bright February morning, but an overnight storm presented an unlikely obstacle to my fitness program _ the streets were littered with oranges. The glossy green trees which line the streets of much of the old city had been laden with fruit the night before and the nocturnal burst of raid and wind had scattered them across the cobbles, presenting an ankle-threatening obstacle course out of the old Jewish quarter.
Once past this slippery challenge, there was a glorious trip through the Jardines de Murillo, around the University _ once the tobacco factory where Carmen rolled cigars in Bizet’s opera. Then past the fountain of the Plaza de España _ a grandiose setting for the planet of Narboo in Star Wars II _ into the shady allies of the Parque de Maria Luisa. Next, the Paseo de las Delicias which follows the palm-lined riverbank alongside the Torre del Oro _ part of the old Arab defences _ and the Real Maestranza bullring.
On the left, the multicoloured facades of the Tirana neighbourhood famed for its flamenco bars. Crossing over the river back along the Tirana bank then over again on the Puente San Telmo, past the Cathedral, then dodging the tourists and the fallen fruit into the Barrio de Santa Cruz.My goal after all this running was Las Casas de la Judaría a hotel of enormous charm occupying a jumble of mansions and courtyards that once belonged to the noble Béjar family, patrons of Cervantes and hosts to the first American Indians who returned with Columbus. Painted in lemon and white and decorated with antique furnishings with a series of linked patios filled with flowers and fountains and Andalusian tiles, it oozes character. The rooms are airy and tastefully furnished. From 120 euros including a great breakfast of jamón, fresh bread rolls, cheese, fruit, freshly made café con leche and orange juice served in a beautiful, cool room covered with murals. The only drawback, would be if you were arriving by car, since the access is through a maze of narrow lanes,
culminating in an ally barely wide enough for one vehicle leading to the private underground parking. It’s next to the Santa María la Blanca church, a former synagogue in the heart of the old Jewish neighbourhood which existed here before Columbus’ bosses drove out the community in the 15th century.Wandering the tapas bars is one of Seville’s great pleasures. Dating from 1670 El Rinconcillo is generally supposed to be the city’s oldest. It retains a spit-and-sawdust feel. Like most of these old hangouts it’s has hams hanging from the ceiling and dusty wine bottles lining the walls. We stood at the counter and chewed some slices of acorn-fed jamón and a plate of espinacas con garbanzas – spinach with chickpeas – a signature dish in Seville, pungent with garlic and with a hint of curry, washed down with a glass of dry manzanilla sherry. Across the street in a rival Plaza de los Terceros establishment we had toasted rolls topped with fried quail eggs, and next door beer with slices of salty Manchego cheese.
The problem the tapeo is that with all that drinking, eating, strolling and chatting, it's hard to remember the names of all the places you’ve been. Las Teresas in the center of Santa Cruz and is well known to tourists. We stopped there for rough red wine with some re-located fabada asturiana and spicy chorizo, then moved down Calle Mateos Gago for garlic prawns and more jamon beneath the bulls heads in Bodega Belmonte, then on to La Goleta, a tiny, hole-in-the-wall for snails in tomato sauce followed up with sweet viño de naranja.
Saturday lunch time around the Plaza del Pan is filled with shoppers knocking back glasses of chilled Cruzcampo beer and tucking into shellfish delights. Café Europa opened in 1925, its award winning tapas include prawns and pungent garlic spuds doused in Baena olive oil. This is the old commercial center of Seville north of the Calle Sierpes. It’s makes a refreshingly down-to-earth alternative to the tourist trail around Santa Cruz. There are splendid tiled advertisements from the 1920s, shops ablaze with flamenco dresses, natty waistcoats and sombreros, embroidered mantas, printed fans and other paraphernalia of the feria and semana santa. Somewhere around here I stopped in for a haircut in an old-fashioned place filled mirors and bright coloured bottles and old boys discussing the upcoming Betis-Sevilla derby. It tested my Spanish to the limit, but you cannot go to Seville without seeing the barber. Then on to one of the many tapas bars in Calle Pérez Galdós for some squid and finally a plate of menudo _ a Sevillian tripe stew in a trendy place on the Calle Alfalfa.
La Campana, a cake shop and café, at the start of Calle Sierpes is the place to go for a café solo and polvorones, a crumbly sugar-dusted sweetmeat made with almonds and lard. It's been the city’s best-known day-time meeting place since the 1880s and boasts a terrace perfect for people watching.
For a more substantial bite, Casa Robles and Becerrita have a lot in common. Both have a long tradition of serving fine Andalusian cuisine. Both are housed in centuries-old buildings offering tapas in front of a succession of dining rooms decorated with tiles, antique prints and paintings.
Juan Robles started his restaurant in the 1950s as a bar to sell his fruity white Condado de Huelva. Robles now has a chain of restaurants, but the flagship in the shadow of the Giralda is still highly recommended by locals. I’ve had a couple of excellent meals here, but the last visit was bit of a disappointment. Our group was tucked away in a rather austere upstairs room hung with Baroque religious paintings. The mixed starters were fine – excellent jamón, satisfyingly salty boquarones (anchovies), grilled vegetables and a tasty dish of mixed wild mushrooms, all washed down with a fine bottle of the Condado de Huelva. I was really looking forward to the main course of perdiz á la Sevillana _ the partridge came stewed whole with potatoes, but was rather bland, dry and tough, a let down, that even the fine Rioja couldn't cheer it up.
Becerrita can be found up near the Puerta de Camona on the edge of La Macarena district. Here a recent second visit lived up to expectations. We started out with a mixture of Andalusian tapas _ boiled new potatoes with lots of garlic and local extra virgin olive oil, fried aubergine with salt cod, strips of steak, bull’s tail croquettes, matched with Torres viña sol from Catalonia. My main course was ventresca de atun rojo con ali-oli de Albahaca – red tuna belly with garlic mayonnaise made with Albahaca olive oil – simple but fabulous, pungent fish, the lightest mayo. Among the choices by my companions, grilled squid with black rice and lomo de buey (ox loin) were all greeted with unreserved praise. Gelado de arroz de leche (rice pudding ice cream) which came with a glass of sweat, sticky Pedro Ximinez wine was the penultimate treat before a huge glass of brandy rounded off a meal that cost about 60 euros a head.
Back over the river in the backstreets of of the old gyspy barrio of Tirana, the Casa Anselma warms up round midnight. It’s packed and steamy and wonderful place to experience spontaneous flamenco, where guitarists, dancers and singers get up and let rip in a whirlwind of foot tapping, hem spinning and palm clapping sevillanas. The formidable Anslema is a renowned performer, when she is not surveying the spectators to ensure nobody has an empty glass, since there is no entry fee and the drinks pay the musicians. Grab a chilled bottle of barbadillo white wine from Cadíz to get into the swing. Forget about being the only tourist though, that ain’t gonna happen _ there was an awed group of Japanese business men when we went _ but they were well outnumbered by local aficionados and it’s the nearest I’ve found to the real thing.
