Seville's Feria de Abril was a total bust.  Where Scott and I had expected a Spanish Mardi Gras; we found a prvate party and a rundown amusement park.  It was fun for an hour to watch 10,000 flamenco dresses (each with matching accessories) and 1,000 horses gallivanting around a neighborhood of crowded cafes.  But as soon as we got hungry, we realized that all thedelicious looking food was inaccessible to the public.  At the time, the whole fanfare seemed like an excuse for the locals to get drunk and ,ake fun of the tourists.  There's clearly something we missed.

But Seville was a blast anyway.  We fine-tuned our tapas ordering skills, relaxed in Parque Maria Luisa, adnired the magnificent Plaza de Espana and the grand cathedral, and explored the Alcazar palace.  On our last night, we treated ourselves to a flamenco show, and the city surprised us with fantastic fireworks!

The flamenco show was the highligh of my week.  I have never seen a similar art before, and was wowed throughout the show:  The guitarist starts off with intricate harmonies that seem to tell a story of ancient times.  Then the singer joins in--a rich alto whose cascading melodies remind me of the muezzin calling the faithful to prayer from their minarets. (You have heard this Arabic scale before if you've seen any version of Aladdin.)  As the three musicians, all in black, clap intricate rhythms, out of the shadows appears the star.  The flamenco dancer's dress impresses most of all--the only bit of color on the whole stage is tailor fit to sensuous Spanish curves, and the flares at the elbow and ankles accentuate every movement.  Marina's poise is what gets you next--this is a woman who knows her strength--as she grins at the audience in defiance.

The dance itself is unlike anyting I have ever seen.  The only way I can describe it is through anologies to other cultures I am more familiar with.  Marina's wrists move in delicate circles that remind me of something either Persian or Chinese.  her hips sway like the Latin American cultures she has influenced.  Her feet stomp with the strength of an Itish step dancer, and they clack with the precision of a jazz tap dancer.  The percussion of her shoes, her fingers snapping, and slapping her thighs is like an African American step dancer.  And don't forget that her rhythms are always complimented by the up-beats and off-beats of her fellows in the corner, shouting "Olé!" and "Assah!"  This is a show not to be missed.