Basking in Seville’s glow

Ray Wilson goes with the flow and finds much to be seduced by in this lively Spanish city.

It was one of those lazy mornings in Seville, where the city’s 25,000 orange trees — found along the main roads as well as the maze of alleyways — were starting to groan under the weight of the new season’s crop, which is traditionally harvested in January and February.

Best not to pick one — it’s against the law and carries a fine — though the bitter taste of the oranges makes them unpalatable when fresh but exceptional in a marmalade.

The trees have grown in Seville since the end of the 12th century and the fruit is owned by the local government. Much of it is exported to Britain and in particular Scotland, where Dundee has a global reputation for making marmalade.

In this city, where the serene Guadalquivir River meanders through the town, it’s ridiculously easy to shift down a few gears. A stroll-and-observe sort of town, where the temperature averages 36C in summer — thankfully it was around 25C when we visited early in November.

So, after doing nothing much at all on the morning of our fifth day in Spain’s fourth-biggest city, the afternoon tossed up some memorable Spanish delights.

Among her friends, my wife Leonie has a reputation for her obsession with anything sweet: gelato, chocolate, dessert, cakes, pastries . . . her passion has no bounds. I slipped through under false pretences.

We were looking for a special ice-cream parlour and even Christopher Columbus couldn’t have negotiated the often befuddling network of alleys and narrow streets to get there as quickly as Leonie.

Christopher Columbus tomb in Seville Cathedral. Picture: Ray Wilson

Speaking of whom, the famous explorer (known as Cristobal Colon in these parts) would turn in his grave if he knew the debate that has raged over his remains: are they in an ornate coffin in Seville Cathedral, or in Santo Domingo, in the Dominican Republic, where they were certainly housed for many years before supposedly being returned to Spain?

We found Bolas, the ice-cream shop. It was immaculately clean but spectacularly nondescript for what it was about to deliver. Reviews raved about the pineapple, mint and chocolate fondant blend and others including a mix of orange, walnuts and orange peel in peach ice-cream.

As always, I left the ordering to Leonie. When it comes to ice-cream, I know my place.

We sat at a small table inside and Leonie did her usual autopsy on the three ice-creams in the cup. One scoop was bitter chocolate, the other a fig, cheese and vanilla combo and the piece de resistance was a scoop of kiwifruit on the top.

We left the parlour as happy campers but our afternoon of discovery had just begun.

We knew of a free two-hour walking tour, starting at the fountain near the Giralda, the famous bell tower of Seville Cathedral — the biggest Gothic cathedral and the third-biggest church in the world — but we also knew that free walking-talking tours are an urban myth.

Seville Cathedral’s Giralda bell tower. Picture: Ray Wilson

And so it was, but on the way we were treated to a flamenco street dance we would have happily paid for. Visually striking and costumed in colour, the dancer asked of her hips and torso seemingly impossible moves as she produced staccato volleys on the wooden boards on the pavement. It was as seductive as it was violent.

The walking tour told the history of the Giralda tower before we skirted the Alcazar, which started life as a Moorish fort but is now the oldest royal palace in Europe still in use. Finally, we walked through the old Jewish quarter of Santa Cruz.

All the while, the one constant was the ubiquitous tapas bars. Here, slow-cooked oxtail and pork cheeks, pork and veal meatballs in a rich gravy and chunks of cod in a tomato puree made the late dinner start — few authentic tapas places open before 8.30pm — tolerable.

La Brunilda, housed in an 18th-century building on unremarkable Calle Galera, got our nod as the best. We queued from 8pm to guarantee a table before ordering dishes (averaging about $4.50 each) that sent our taste buds into freefall. Duck confit on a spiced carrot puree; salted cod croquettes with a delectable dipping sauce; Iberian pork with sweet potato, yoghurt and beetroot puree.

Then, of course, Leonie needed to dissect something, so we shared a chocolate fondant, which was simply spectacular.

La Brundila’s Diego Caminos is one of Seville’s new-style chefs who has created a range of contemporary tapas which are proving immensely popular. The lack of a bull’s head mounted on the wall of the restaurant demonstrates that Diego’s links with the past are not as ironclad as many of the tapas places in Seville.

For, at the back of the Plaza de Toros de la Real Maestranza de Caballeria de Sevilla, one of the oldest bullrings in the world, in the heart of town, many tapas bars have as many as 10 bulls’ heads mounted on the walls, all of which met a gruesome end in the 14,000-seat arena.

Bulls’ heads line a tapas bar. Picture: Ray Wilson

By now the late afternoon sun was producing a pastel light show on the buildings as we set our sights a little higher before our booking at Fargo, a nearby restaurant.

Following directions we eventually found La Terraza, the open-air rooftop bar of Hotel Inglaterra. It offers unsurpassed views of Plaza Nueva and the magnificent cathedral, which was lit up in golden light after sunset.

With a black mojito and a beer under our belts, we found Fargo and enjoyed the meal we’d longed for. We had overdosed on tapas and yearned for something a bit more substantial, so we ordered a tasting plate and then commanded a few minutes silence as we savoured a plate of ravioli filled with ricotta, a perfectly cooked duck breast and a pear and spinach salad with goat cheese and flash-fried quinoa.

It was an afternoon and a night which produced a rich afterglow, enhanced by the stroll back to our hotel when we chanced on a choir of nine women singing haunting love songs.

Yes, they kill bulls in Seville, but the place fizzes with life.