La Taberna del Alabardero

For anyone looking for a place to stay in Sevilla, I highly recommend La Taberna del Alabardero. My parents and I chose it on a whim the night before we left, having no idea what to expect and hoping for the best. As soon as our cab dropped us off at the front door, we couldn’t believe this place was so reasonably priced and easy to book. The hidden gem is an elegant converted mansion, known more for its gourmet restaurant than as a place to stay. It is close to the train station, and a two-minute walk from the bridge connecting the two major sections of the city of Sevilla – Sevilla and Triana.

Inside the hotel, every wall is vibrantly colored in southern Spanish style, adorned with mosaic tiles and paintings of bullfighters, flamenco dancers, and other Andalusian icons. Vines grow all around the railings, hanging down over the walls to make each floor look more like an outdoor courtyard. Many of the windows are stained glass with distinctly Southern Spanish patterns, incorporating Catholic, Jewish, and Islamic artistic styles. The windows are all perfectly sized and positioned to illuminate the most beautiful aspects of the interior with the natural Andalusian sun, while never overwhelming visitors with too much light or glare. A continental breakfast comes free every morning, including coffee, orange juice freshly squeezed on the spot, and hot croissants and pastries. Accidentally stumbling upon La Taberna del Alabardero was the best thing we did in Sevilla.

El Patio Sevillano

I went to my first pure flamenco show in Sevilla this past weekend at a small, intimate venue called El Patio Sevillano. The dancers were all incredibly well trained and well rehearsed, but with an ability to improvise freely that can only come from a lifelong connection to the art. When the first male flamenco dancer came on, I was subjected to a gracefully forceful display of fundamentally Spanish machismo. His routine was a passionate and prideful showcase of mankind’s physical and mental prowess and his dominion over the rest of the animal kingdom. With a controlled, thunderous stomp and an authoritative spin, he flung his sweat in a sparkling mist through the spotlight on the otherwise dark stage, like a summer night’s rain highlighted under a streetlight. As I sat bewildered, sipping the beer that came free with the 37-euro entrance fee, he whipped around and backhanded the air like it owed him money. It dawned on me that a flamenco stage is perhaps the only setting in which a man in a scarf can twirl his wrists and shake his hips and still look like a badass. After the first male solo, a woman in a scarlet, red, and black ruffled dress took the stage by force, combining delicate beauty and surefooted confidence for an almost boastful reminder of the fact that women are included in the term “mankind” and share that dominion over all else. I was fully captivated for an hour and a half straight, and the show struck me as a quintessential Spanish experience.