Pebbles from the Dreamscapes

Twenty of us from around the world pause for breath under sour orange trees and sunset wisps of cloud. Ana, leading the walk, speaks in a feisty Spanish tongue. She rolls her r's and laughs at her every mistake. I feel fluffy moths in my stomach. It is my first evening in Sevilla, Andalucía - the seductive city of 14,000 orange trees, bloody battles, and golden glow midnights.

Ana pulls us close to the Catholics parading in giant costumes. Strangers two hours ago, we now pose as lovers beneath the kissing balconies in the city's narrowest lanes. We climb trees to taste the oranges and regret it, so sour are they. We imagine wildly, we laugh like children and dizzily soak up Seville.

We zigzag through the Old Town, recreating in our minds Jewish massacres and a woman’s tragic death. She warning her lover of the impending attack on his Christian kin. They striking earlier and massacring the Jews. She betrayed by the very man she loved. She branded a traitor. She hanging herself with chains. We all stand at Calle Muerte and stare at Susona's severed head. In 2013, it remains merely a pale blue tile depicting what we must imagine was her skull.

This crisp winter night, I join a pub crawl, mildly apprehensive. Prams, churros and makeshift markets colour the squares. Lamps pointing to the sky flood the streets with gold. Our voices pulsate with the sounds of the night as Pablo, a Sevillano, tells us how Seville got its undue share of delicious trees.

One of Seville's most genial kings, also a great poet, finds his match in a poor potter girl. He falls in love with her poetry and asks her to stay, which she does as his favourite mistress. But being a traveller, she craves adventure. And one winter night, not unlike this one, she decides to leave for Granada, where, she declares, they have snow. The king asks her to wait, and orders for 14,000 orange trees to be planted across town, promising that her wish will soon come true. Till one spring morning, she wakes up, opens herself to the golden blue skies, and finds snow surrounding the castle. Snow in Sevilla. Sweet-smelling-orange-flower-snow.

In the warm glow of this café, my smile is joined by many. How can one relate to a city so full of beauty and contradictions? Conversation flows with the drinks, and salted sunflower seeds dot the tables. Neither my skin nor my accent makes a damned difference. In this Andalucían city brimming with romance, our hearts are celebrating together.