Caves and cave art - Dordogne, France

“Do you want to see the caves?”, I asked. “Nah!”, “Not fussed.” came the unanimous replies. I wasn’t fussed either. We had seen caves before – Jenolan Caves and Wombeyan Caves in NSW, Australia were familiar and accessible to us. I also vaguely recalled seeing some Aboriginal rock art on rock walls in the Blue Mountains while out 4-wheel driving several years ago. It was interesting but nothing earth shattering. The kids had seen similar Aboriginal rock art on their school excursions. So the caves of the Dordogne region dropped to the bottom of the list and I didn’t think of it further.

That was until a chance meeting over the weekend with an American couple now living in the area who commented that the caves of Perch Merle were a ‘must see’. So the caves were back on the list. Ironically, we opted not to go to Perch Merle and chose to go to the Vézère Valley instead. Based on the ‘research’ – aka a couple of blogs and TripAdvisor reviews – this area had a high concentration of pre-historic caves and was a ‘gold mine’ for archeological sites. The only trouble was that it was going to require some serious effort to get tickets for the recommended cave of Font de Gaume. The cave has a maximum daily limit of just 52 visitors and no pre-booking allowed. Reviews and comments advised to get to the caves 2.5 hours before the opening time of 9:30am. We were just over an hour away so that meant setting off at 5:45am. “Kids, go to bed! We need to leave at 5:45am tomorrow morning!” came the announcement around the house at 12:30am. Grumble, grumble…

We miraculously arrived promptly at 7am. The last thing I wanted was to get there at 7:30am only to miss out on getting tickets, so it was all or nothing. We HAD to get there by 7am. A few people had just arrived before us so we were numbers 9, 10, 11, 12, & 13 in the queue! Spots quickly filled up after us with people arriving one after the other. By 9am all the 52 spots were filled.

The ticket office opened promptly at 9:30am and there was a very orderly system in place. Meanwhile, we had met and talked to a few of our ‘queuemates’. After all a 2.5 hour wait at 7am is better with a sense of humour and some company. A family with young kids from the US was passing through the region enroute to Provence (5 hours away) and specifically came to Dordogne just to see the Font de Gaume. Mum was well prepared with her 2018 Rick Steve’s Guide to France and was sharing information about the cave with her kids. I asked if Miguel could join her ‘class’. If this was the one cave they chose to see on their way through, I felt we had made the right choice. Anything else we could see after this was icing on the cake.

We were able to get into the first English group at 10am for Font de Gaume and the 12:15pm French group (no Engish group) for Grotte de Cabarelles.

Font de Gaume

Font de Gaume is one of the last remaining caves with polychrome (colour) cave paintings that is still open to the public. This is the reason why attendance is strictly controlled. Other polychrome caves such as Lascaux and Chauvet caves in France are viewed as replicas. Many other caves, if and when discovered, are not even made known to the public. Altamira Cave in Spain is even harder to get into than Font de Gaume, with only 5 people per week selected at random allowed to visit.  

Groups were made up of 13 people. Given there were 5 of us, it was almost like a private tour!

After the usual ‘do not touch walls’, ‘do not take photos’ briefing, we made our way in and through the narrow cave ‘hallway’ until we were told to stop and form 2 lines facing one side of the wall where our guide had indicated. We positioned ourselves and I was staring at the wall in front of me. “There’s nothing here”, I thought. As far as I was concerned I was looking at a blank cave wall. The guide took his torch and shone it on the wall. “You’re looking at the first bisons”, he said. And suddenly there they were! Out of nowhere suddenly the images appeared. Quite faint but once outlined with the help of a laser pointer and with the shadows from the headlamp they became clearly visible.

This is how it continued for much of the tour. Images barely visible to the untrained eye, suddenly becoming obvious. It reminded me a bit of those posters that you need to stare at (or look at slightly cross eyed) and suddenly a 3D image pops out. Or trying to find animal shapes in the clouds.

What was most impressive though was the detail in the painting… the horns, the eyes and eye sockets engraved into the limestone, the 3D perspective in using shading and light and dark colours, the 3D perspective by using the natural curves on the cave walls to form parts of the animal, the tail, the layers of fur, the mouth, the tongue… these weren’t random stick sketches on a wall. These were skilled artists! Even more skilled given that they were creating these works of art in total darkness with nothing but the light of a flickering oil lamp, using nothing but natural pigments applied with whatever they had available – animal hair, twigs and branches, animal bone, flints, moss, their fingers…

I don’t consider myself an art aficionado, nor am I particularly interested in the ‘caveman era’. The most exciting thing I’ve seen relating to this era is the mummified body of Otzi, the Tyrolean Iceman, in a museum in Bolzano, Italy earlier in this trip. And even then, we were in Bolzano for the Christmas markets – seeing Otzi was incidental. The decision to see the caves was more of a ‘must do’ while in the area. How can we say we’ve been to Dordogne and not see a single cave??? Needless to say, I was a bit surprised that I found this fascinating.

Suddenly people from this era didn’t feel so primitive. Suddenly they seemed quite sophisticated. Suddenly I found myself wanting to see more caves, more cave art. I wanted to understand why. Why did they paint them? What did these paintings mean? Why did they paint them so deep in the caves? Why did they only paint animals and rarely human figures? Why didn’t they paint landscapes or plants or maps of the local topography to understand the land they were on? Why didn’t they paint local scenes from their way of life? Of each other?

And as the lady at the end of our tour said “I feel privileged to have seen this.” It’s so true. The other 2 similar caves with polychrome paintings (Altamira in Northern Spain and Lascaux in France) have already been closed to the public due to the damage caused to the paintings. Who knows how long Font de Gaume will stay open to the public.

Waiting in the queue for Font de Gaume tickets. A 2+ hour wait early in the morning and in the rain. That's dedication for something I wasn't even sure would be worth the effort. It turns out it was!

Miguel up bright and early so he gets the photo. Two girls asleep in the car as we hold their place in the queue. 

At the entrance of Font de Gaume showing the extent of the cave network. Many of the paintings and encravings were in very narrow passage ways deep into the cave.

At the entrance to the cave. There is an airtight cave door that controls conditions inside the cave. It can only be opened for a limited number of minutes in a day.

Grotte de Cabarelles

Our 12:15pm tour group ended up being the 5 of us plus a French couple. We were told the tour would be in French but the guide was bi-lingual so she spoke French for the couple and translated to English for us and vice versa.

Like Font de Gaume, images seemed to appear from nowhere – more obvious in the shadow of a lamp rather than with direct light. Only obvious if you know what you’re looking for. Images of the artwork on the internet make me wonder how the detail of the artwork was captured with photography when they are barely visible to the naked eye. Is it just clever lighting or was photo enhancement used to make the artwork more defined?

Unlike Font de Gaume though, there were more images that were engraved and had lost the detail of their colour (if any) due to the conditions in the cave. Still, the detail was impressive – the scratch marks to represent the horses mane, the curvature of the horses mouth, nose, ears, jaw line.

The fascinating thing about this cave was that it was originally only about 1 metre in height – so they would have had to practically crawl into this cave and create their artwork in extremely cramped conditions. Why would someone do that? What would possess them to crawl deep into a cave, in total darkness to make these drawings and paintings where no one could see them? Why?

Sadly the only photo we have of Les Combralles.

Grotte de Rouffignac

This is a massive cave 8kms long and quite deep and wide so an electric train carries around passengers within.

My favourite piece of work in this one is the 10-bison mural on a stretch of the cave’s side wall about 5-7 metres long. It shows a well thought out mural with the artist depicting some sort of elementary scene, as opposed to random one-off isolated animal paintings.

The other impressive piece of work in here is the “Great Ceiling”… what appears to be a random collection of several drawings of mammoths, horses, rhinos, mountain goats deep in the ceiling of a cave that would’ve been no more than 1.5 metres off the ground – a pre-historic Sistine Chapel! Or more like an artist’s sketch pad on the ceiling of a cave. It’s believed that the work is from 3-4 different artists at most.

Again, the question is why. Why these paintings so deep in a cave – a 10-15 minute ride deep by slow electric train? Was it a sacred space? Was it a secret space? Was this their modern day grafitti or ‘street art’? And why the obsession with animals? Maybe they were smoking something and feeling inspired?

Entrance to Grotte de Rouffignac - one of the largest cave systems in the area. Transport around the cave system was via an electric train.

Lascaux

After seeing the other caves I knew we had to check out Lascaux. It seemed to be the cave everyone was talking about. Most of the literature about the area talked about Lascaux. The kids had seen enough of the caves and refused to go to Lascaux, so John and I went on our own.

Lascaux is a replica cave – one of the reasons it wasn’t on top of my list. I wanted to see the real thing. We visited Lascaux II which is the 1^st replica cave built in the 70s and opened in the early 80s. The original cave was closed to the public in the 60s due to the damage being caused to the paintings by oxygen, carbon dioxide and other bacteria introduced by human visitors. Not visiting the cave because it’s a replica is a big mistake, in my opinion.

Lascaux was mind blowing - so much so that everything we had seen in the earlier caves now seemed like child’s play – or an artist’s doodle pad – when compared to Lascaux. The vibrant colour and completeness of the scenes on the cave ceiling before me was something that represented a pre-historic Sistine Chapel. As opposed to other caves that appeared to have random images of bison, horses, bulls and other animals in seemingly random positions, the Lascaux painting had composition. Even the 'Great Ceiling' in Rouffignac looked like child's play. ‘Michelangelo, eat your heart out’ was the first thought that ran through my head – but he wouldn’t have even seen this cave, nor known it existed! BUT, maybe it was vibrant because it was a replica – so I asked how this replica compared to the real thing that sat underground 200 metres away. I was assured it is a complete replica, each curve, each crevice of the cave duplicated manually with the most sophisticated technology they had in the 70s. The result was an accuracy of the caves curvature and paintings within a few millimetres of the original. Even the pigments, tools, and methods used to create the paintings were mirrored what they knew of the original. The vibrant colours and quality of the paintings were replicated exactly as they were at the time the cave was closed to the public in the 60s... making it a snapshot in time.

Had we not seen the earlier caves, I probably wouldn’t have believed that pre-historic man was capable of creating this work – from perspective and composition to rudimentary animation, they had it all. Even more impressive when you think about it is that all the animals and their anatomy were drawn purely from memory, by candlelight, on a cave ceiling! There were no photographs to study, nor did they have live specimens in front of them. Few of the animals depicted were in motion too which meant they were very familiar with how the animals moved – so sharp were their skills of observation and memory. As we saw in Font de Gaume, how they used the natural curves on the cave ceiling to create depth and dimension to their images was more obvious at Lascaux. Then it occurred to me, the Renaissance introduced nothing new to art. They only used the tools available to them in their modern day to advance what was already intrinsically there… a long, long time ago.

Needless to say, after the impression Lascaux II had left on me, we went home and told the kids that this is something they HAD to see. It was a non-negotiable. They would’ve been dragged kicking and screaming if we had to but I felt so strongly about their need to see these caves and be aware of them… owing to the fact that I had reached the ripe old age of 45 without knowing they existed! So back to Lascaux we went the next day, first to Lascaux II then to check out Lascaux IV. I was a bit confused by all these Lascauxs. Why so many?? So, we just checked them all out.

Essentially, Lascaux II is the first replica made – back in the 70s and opening in the early 80s. Due to the limitations of the technology back then they simply replicated the most impressive part of the cave known as the Great Hall of Bulls. Lascaux III is a touring exhibition of the cave paintings. I have no idea how that would translate but I’m sure it would be equally impressive for anyone who can’t get to Montignac, France (where Lascaux caves are – the original, Lascaux II and Lascaux IV).  Lascaux IV sits in the same general area as the original cave and Lascaux II. Opened in 2016, it sits in a modern building with an Exhibition Hall and a more detailed and high- tech replica of the cave together with a complete visitor centre and other exhibits about the paintings and the materials and pigments used to create them. There are even realistic virtual reality displays that Miguel and I played with that give you the sensation of walking through the real cave… so real it made me nauseous. Personally, I preferred the simplicity of Lascaux II and marvelled at what they had achieved to build such an accurate replica in the 70s.

One of the paintings of a bull in the Great Hall of Bulls.

Part of the Great Hall of Bulls. A series of black horses convey motion and the idea of animation. 

Image of a horse (or is it a bull?) making use of a natural feature in the rock surface to create the eye. Also present is the use of shading between black and brown to create illusion of depth.

Paintings on the ceiling of what is known as the Axial Gallery - a particularly high ceiling with a narrow access path in the cave. One interpretation of these images is that they represent some sort of transition between one life to the next through a kind of vortex. Animals are presented as floating and upside down in relation to one another. No clear horizon line.

Rare depiction of a half human form with the head of a bird. A bison stands over the figure. Located in an area called 'the shaft' in the cave - difficult to access.

Display of tools and pigments used in Lascaux IV - paint brush made of horse hair, rectangular stencil made from animal hide, blow pipes for airbrush effects, and natural pigments (manganese - black; iron oxide - reds; hematite - reddish brown)

Display of paintings in Lascaux IV. Image of a suspected mythical creature with horns from the Great Hall of Bulls, followed by the series of 'running' black horses.

Interactive visitors centre in Lascaux IV.

But the big question that still played on my mind through seeing all this was WHY? What did the paintings all mean?

These questions were swirling around in my head on the drive home so I opened it up for discussion and here are some of our thoughts:

-         Spiritual – doesn’t seem to make sense. Maybe, but as Kat pointed out, they would have been more about survival and the physical world around them (or so we thought). Were they really capable of higher order thinking of intangible ideas? Also, we tend to assess what we see based on our existing framework. Given that many of the artworks as we know them today are linked to religion, perhaps the expectation is that the art of the past is also linked to religion or spirituality – when it may not necessarily be so. It’s just that that is the way we know it today so that is how we think it would’ve been in the past – which may not always be the case. Having said that, for the Aborigines, there is definitely a spiritual component and a connection to the land with their rock art and Dreamtime stories. We can confirm this because, fortunately, the Aboriginal race is still around. But is it the same for the European counterparts? Some experts find the interpretation of these cave paintings consistent with rituals of Shamanism but we will never know.

-         Documentation/Expression – just like we photograph or want to paint a beautiful scene or piece of nature, could this simply be their way of documenting the beauty that they saw around them? The reason I say ‘beauty’ is because animals are usually depicted in peaceful, ‘at rest’ poses. There is nothing aggressive about their behaviour in how they are represented. It’s as if the artist has taken note of all the finer details of the animal’s anatomy to later be recreated on a cave wall purely from memory. In Lascaux, however, some animals appeared to be in motion but again nothing aggressive. And why is there no plant life or other aspects of nature represented? No trees, no mountains and rivers, no sunrise or sunset, no horizon.

-         Communication – was this simply their means of communication? If so, then why the limited depiction of reindeer which was common in their diets, or why the need to paint these so deep in the cave system? If they wanted to use this as a means of communicating with others, wouldn’t it make more sense to position these paintings where they would be easily found? Instead they are hidden deep within the caves. And why no depiction of themselves as humans… except for a rare image deep within what is known as ‘the shaft’ in Lascaux. Perhaps it was a way to warn others of dangerous species of animals to look out for – but then again why put them in a place so difficult to find? Perhaps to protect against the elements and leave behind for future tribes to find?

Experts on paleolithic art have studied these caves and all we are left with are assumptions and theories on an era and a civilisation that we know very little about. One thing is for sure though – these cave paintings created tens of thousands of years ago, to be discovered only in the late 19^th and 20^th century, turned everything we (they) knew about pre-historic man on its head. It certainly did for me.

PS. If you want to know more about the pre-historic cave art of France and Spain, this book gives an excellent overview. Written by someone who had the same questions I had, he went out to find some answers. I found out about this book from a 'queuemate' at Font de Gaume who was holding a tattered copy which looked well read. He read about the caves before visiting them. I, on the otherhand, read the book AFTER visiting the caves. For someone who didn't have an iota of interest in prehistory or cave art, I probably would've found the book boring if I had read about the caves prior to seeing them. As it turned out, our visit to the caves piqued my interest enough that I wanted to know more.

Monday Morning Musing - Hondarribia, Spain

We’re currently teetering on the edge of Spain in the seaside town of Hondarribia...so close to the French border we could literally walk across it. In fact, we did. In a few days we leave what has been our “home country” as we wander around the rest of Europe for a few months. It’s this awareness that makes me reflect on our experiences (my experience) in Spain so far:

- we’ve been so far south we actually crossed over to Africa;

- we’ve been so far north there was nowhere further to go;
- we’ve travelled so far west we made it into the Atlantic ocean and Portugal;

- we’ve visited the beaches, the mountains, the cities;

- we’ve visited white villages of the south and farm villages of the north;

- we’ve watched religious procession after religious procession with those who are, without a doubt, some of Spain’s most religious;

- we’ve partied (and couldn’t keep up) with some of Spain’s hardiest party animals;

- we’ve learned about conquests, cruelty and Catholic Inquisitions;

- we’ve seen how a country can be so diverse in landscape, language and culture;

- we’ve eaten everything we shouldn’t have;

- we’ve talked, asked questions, and listened with curiosity as our brains worked overtime trying to translate what was being said and to say what we wanted to say.

Why did we do all this? I can only speak for myself but I feel like I was looking for something. I was looking for some sort of connection. I wanted to understand.

-          Understand a culture that has seeped its way into my own and into Philippine society in general;

-          Understand (and speak) the language – a language I had grown up around but never learned;

-          Understand the history of a place that has played such a dominant part in Philippine history and the Filipino psyche;

-          Understand this country that my ancestors called home;

-          And last but not least… to understand me. My roots.

Digging into the family’s patchy history brings up names of aunties, uncles, grandparents, great grandparents that were from Spain, along with anecdotes about relative so-and-so was Spanish or from this region or that region of Spain…yet I would never be so quick to consider myself Spanish.

There has never been a definitive answer about where in Spain these ancestors were from (maybe because there were so many of them). As a child I recall my father mentioning that he thought his background was, perhaps, from the Basque region because of the colour of his skin and physical features – the dark and hairy variety. Not an unlikely assumption given that the name Martinez de Ubago (Ubago being a town in the Basque region) appears in his maternal lineage, but even he was unsure.

So I guess this extended stay in Spain has been about ‘feeling’ my way through to find that familiar connection. We’ve been to the South before but never to the North so we wanted to check it out. It’s not the most scientific way to ‘research’ ancestral roots but I’ve always been one to use intuition (combined with some facts) to make a judgement on things. So here it goes… this is where I ‘feel’ my ancestral roots lay:

-          Galicia – nope. Very foreign to me. No connection at all.

-          Basque Country – nope. No connection to this place at all. Nothing is familiar. Language is completely foreign. Don’t feel a thing.

-          Cantabria and Asturias -  beautiful… love these regions but nope. Maybe in a past life? I’m convinced I must’ve been a peasant farmer living in the mountains but I felt the same about  the mountains in Austria so I think it’s more do with mountains than the region itself.

-          Cataluna – exposure limited to Barcelona – but nope.

-          Valencia – exposure limited to Valencia city – but nope.

-          Madrid – most definitely. The first time I arrived in Madrid, this felt familiar within the first few minutes of being there. I was ‘seeing’ aunties, uncles and grandparents in the streets and bars. I felt like I had finally come home despite having never been there.

-          Andalusia – most definitely. The Force is strong with this one. So strong that I’d be willing to put money on it. Everything felt familiar the first time we visited several years ago. That feeling was reinforced on this trip with our extended stay in Seville and, given the city’s role in colonialist Spain, I wouldn’t be surprised. Like Madrid, I was ‘seeing’ relatives everywhere. The physical features my father thought to be possibly Basque, I can now see are likely more Andalusian. I’ve been told that we have ancestors from this region – but I’ve been told that of other regions too so no one really knows.

Given the lengthy colonisation of the Philippines, it’s likely that every Filipino has a Spanish ancestor but I have yet to find someone, anyone, in our family tree who is a Filipino ancestor - an 'Indio' - preferably hailing from a province in the Philippines. I have yet to find links to a region in the Philippines – a region that is not Ermita, Malate or Alabang. Growing up I silently begrudged my parents (sorry Mom!) for ‘being so boring’ and not having a province we could go to during summer breaks – like many of my classmates. “How could anyone possibly not have a ‘home’ province??”, I thought. Now I understand how.

This is one of the reasons why I felt ‘the search’ was in another country. Travelling through the Philippines trying to find a connection outside of Manila seemed futile. The only ancestral home on my mother’s side that I know of is in Malate (old Manila), a stone’s throw away from the University I went to. My father’s old home, which is now long gone, was along Taft Avenue in the same neighbourhood.

Someone once told me that when you get older, you go back to your roots. If this is true, then this explains a lot...and it also explains how little I really know of our family history.

PS. This is a continuation of a previous blog post Musings from My Madrid Rooftop written several years ago.

Flowers, frills, fru-fru...and horses - Feria de Abril (Seville, Spain)

Next to Semana Santa, the Feria is probably the next biggest thing on every Sevillano’s calendar so we just had to experience it. How could we not?

As soon as the dust settled from Semana Santa celebrations, the energy around town changed from religious devotion to a party city. Stores selling trajes de flamenco and complementos – the flowers, shawls, earrings to accessorise the outfits – were all packed with women meticulously colour matching their ramillete (flowers) and manton (shawls) to their dresses.

At this stage I had made up my mind that I wasn’t going to get all dressed up. The effort (and cost) involved just seemed too much. So I resigned us to the fact that we were going to experience the event as an outsider – dressed up as best we could in our travel wardrobe – not in Flamenco gear. That was until I got a text message a week before Feria: “Muummmmmm, can I pretty please dress up for Feria? I have a friend that has a caseta.”

After all, we were here to experience it. Wasn’t that the whole point? So how could I say no?

That afternoon we trudged to a little shop we had seen months prior knowing they rented out Flamenco dresses. We picked our dresses, shawls, and flowers with the help of Marieta – the shop owner and our ‘stylist’. She showed us how to wear the shawl, how to do our hair, how and where to fasten the flowers. Not on the side, not behind the ear, not at the base of a bun or ponytail. “No! No! No! En otro pais si. Pero no es Sevillana. Sevillana aqui!”, she said quite emphatically when I questioned the position of the flower on top of the head. Ok. On top of the head, three finger spaces back from the hairline it is!

We agreed to come back on Tuesday the following week to pick up our dresses.

The Feria officially opened with the lighting of the arch way at midnight on Saturday, so we excitedly headed over to check it out on Sunday afternoon. The ride on the bus with both women and men getting on the bus all dressed up added to the anticipation. When we got to the fairground I was momentarily stunned into immobility trying to take it all in. The dresses, the flowers, the horses, the flowers on the horses, the bells on the horses, the carriages, the people so close to the huge horses, the horse dung, the horses….

“Kat!!!”, I screamed. She was so keen on capturing photos of everything happening in front of us that she didn’t realise she had walked dangerously close to and was now standing directly behind a horse. All I could see was the horses butt and hind legs coming up to her head. Her life flashed before my eyes. I could see her getting kicked to kingdom come. Kat turned and glared at me “Don’t yell at me!”. “Get out from behind that horse!”, I gritted my teeth to control my nerves and stay as calm as possible (although her version states I wasn’t very calm).

Horses...

...horses...

...and more horses everywhere.

Feeling like a mother in need of Prozac I continued to get overwhelmed by it all. It was all so pretty yet all so… overwhelming. People and horses. People crossing in front of horses. Horses getting restless around people, around all the other horses. Riders trying to control their horses around people. Horses with bells, with flowers, some with carriages, some with single riders, some with pretty ladies riding side-saddle in their Flamenco dresses. We were finally able to pluck the courage to cross the street and steer clear of those horses.

People and horses share the road. It wasn't uncommon to be walking only to 
turn around and find a horses face breathing down behind you.

Ladies ride side-saddle effortlessly.

One of the younger riders confidently takes charge with 
single-handed and side-saddle riding.

Horses decorated for the occasion.

Young girls having fun with their drinks outside 
a caseta as their parents party nearby.

Those frills can hold 'government secrets'. 
A girl reaches inside a hidden pocket within the layer of frills.

Just one of the many pretty dresses

Then there were the pretty lanterns, the beautifully decorated casetas, more horses, the horse dung, the vibrant dresses with all their frills and polkadots, the music, people milling around outside the casetas, people walking around with Manzanilla-filled champagne glasses and plastic jugs and cups filled with rebujito – a popular drink during Feria made with a mixture of Manzanilla, 7-up and huge chunks of ice. We were told this is so they can keep drinking this diluted alcoholic mixture all day and all night without getting too drunk.

We made our way to a public caseta where we found the dancing…everyone dancing the Sevillana in their dresses that accentuate every move of their arms and every swirl. Kids, teenagers, grandmothers…it looked like everyone came out of the womb just knowing how to dance this dance. It looked easy enough yet I wouldn’t dare. I have two left feet at the best of times. I wasn’t going to try this until I had practiced in front of a mirror – and even then - would I even try it at all?!

A group of young girls dancing the Sevillana 
on the sidewalk outside the public caseta.
Photo credit: Kat Matias

Friends we made at the public caseta - Mila and her family - who kindly 
shared their pitcher of rebujito with us. They're from Valencia and 
came to visit for the Feria. She showed me pictures of 
herself and her daughter dressed up for 
Valencia's internationally renowned fiesta 
"Las Fallas" held in mid-March.

We left the fairground early by Sevillano standards – around 8pm (they leave at 8am!) My senses were frayed. I felt frazzled and exhausted. Seven days?? They do this all day and all night for seven days??!

Sure enough, Tuesday came rolling around. We picked up our dresses, spent all afternoon getting ready, and planned to head off to the fairgrounds in the late afternoon. The ‘getting ready’ was part of the fun and dragged out a bit too long over the entire afternoon. The entire apartment was a mess with all our ‘stuff’ but we finally got there. By 5pm we were ready to go!

Precious cargo

Finishing touches and we're almost ready to go.

“Shit!” I said out loud. “How the hell do I board a bus in this dress??” Momentary panic. We’ll figure it out when we get there. Surely I wasn’t the the only one with this problem. Worst case… don’t those buses have they hydraulic thing-a-ma-jigs for wheel chairs? Slightly embarrassing if it had to be used because I couldn’t board the bus in my Flamenco dress. Oh well...

On the way to the bus stop. It's all about the back.

Waiting... and hoping I can lift my leg high enough to get on the bus!

We got to the fairgrounds and made our way to one of the public casetas where we based ourselves (and our feet) for the evening. There was an interesting mix of people. Travellers in jeans watching and joining in the fun trying to learn the Sevillana, locals who preferred to dance the Sevillana, excellent dancers who danced anything but the Sevillana, the group of guys in jeans and t-shirts teaching ladies how to dance the Sevillana, many teenagers dancing with their first loves or high school crushes (or brothers/sisters/cousins??), strangers having dance-offs with each other, more teenagers with their plastic jugs filled with rebujito, the little 7-year old girl in her own world dancing with all the moves to a modern pop song. I had read that the problem with the public casetas is that you can’t really control the mix of people and can get some ‘undesirables’ but I found that’s what made it interesting. It was such an eclectic mix of people that you wouldn’t necessarily get in a private caseta. Of course, you just need to do a bit of ‘public caseta hopping’ to find one where the crowd suits you. One of the earlier ones we visited had a bit of a ‘rough and ready’ feel to it with a child screaming a song into a microphone so we exited pronto.

I felt homesick. If we were born and bred in Seville, I have no doubt the Feria would have been such a fun tradition – especially for kids growing up. Suddenly we missed all our family and friends. Could we see this happening in Australia?? Absolutely not. It seemed like such a weird thing for Australians to get into. The closest thing I can think of is the Royal Easter Show meets Melbourne Cup - on steroids - but even that's not quite right. In the Philippines?? Definitely. There are so many aspects of life here in Seville that remind me of the Philippines, the Feria is just one of them. While there isn’t any single event in the Philippines that comes close to it, I can definitely see it happening there more than I can see it in Australia. Suddenly the isolation of travelling on our own set in. Ah well…moving on.

Andalusia (Seville being its capital) is known for its dancing horses and their dominance in the Feria was obvious with the horses and their riders. Whilst horses weren’t dancing on the streets (although you would occasionally see riders make their horse do a sideward trot), riders in total control of their steer with reigns in one hand and a champagne glass in another showed off their underlying skill.

Riding with one hand is part of a Spanish riding discipline called 
Doma Vaquera - based on traditional cattle herding. 
That leaves the other hand free for a drink of course.

Another single handed rider leaving the reigns to his son - literally.

There was even someone assigned to the task
of keeping the riders 'well hydrated'.

   Just like Semana Santa, not all Sevillanos like the Feria. For some it’s a money pit (agree), for others it’s a lot of pomp and pageantry just ‘for show’ (maybe). Love it or hate it, what is undeniable is that it’s a part of the Sevillano way of life. Families and organisations who have private casetas every year, the public casetas made available for each district to ensure everyone – not just the rich – can enjoy the celebrations, the ladies in their dresses, the horses and their riders (who I suspect and have yet to confirm are from the Royal Andalusian School of Equestrian Art in neighbouring Jerez de la Frontera), the whole community of equestrian lovers including the horsemen/women and their carriages and the mounted police. They all come together during the Feria to represent what Seville (and Andalusia) is all about. For anyone visiting Seville, it’s a great experience – an assault on the senses – but worth every minute. There’s nothing quite like it. Dressing up in Flamenco gear is optional. Many simply go dressed up for a nice evening out (or jeans if you don’t mind sticking out as the tourist).

We left Kat at her friend’s caseta agreeing that she needed to be home by no later than 2am (negotiated down from 3am!). She would catch the bus and John would meet her at the corner of our street so she wouldn’t have to walk that final stretch to the apartment alone. Something I’m not sure I would be comfortable with in Sydney but I feel safe in Seville for some reason – especially during times like Feria and Semana Santa when there are so many people out and about quite late.

We still have 3 days to go of the Feria and we  will be heading back for one last time before it ends – this time I'm going in jeans and sneakers! If that doesn’t give away my tourist status the camera around my neck certainly will.

Here are some more happy snaps in our gear. We weren't about to let the photo ops pass us by given that we are probably never going to wear anything like this again.