The Importance of Consulting a Map

I’m getting a bit cocky. Having been here for a month, I’m starting to think I know the city, its sights, and its streets. As it turns out, I don’t.

A friend invited me to a ballet last weekend here in Sevilla. I was so excited about the opportunity to see ballerinas in tutus with perfect execution of plies float across the stage. I even invited three more friends who I knew would enjoy the show. We met almost two hours before the ballet started in the center of town, and began the journey to the theater. The theater is on the Isla de Cartuja, the most northwestern point of Sevilla. We had all been there earlier that day on our adventure to the Gypsy market, which proved to be even more exciting that we had originally thought it would, and so we thought we knew our way, or at least the general direction. When we were near the Gypsy market, we asked a passerby the direction of the Teatro Central. In the traditional Spanish manner, he indicated the direction with a vague wave of the hand. We proceeded on, only to find ourselves in deserted territory. This was not where the theater was. There was no traffic besides the high-speed highway, and we were four girls in skirts and high heels. I noticed a police officer parked on the other side of the road. With a sigh of relief, I darted across the road, knowing he could help us. It turns out he had never heard of the theater. However, between a road map and a call to the station, we finally figured its location. He suggested we find a taxi, as the theater was still quite a ways away. Did I forget to mention that we were now late for the show as well? We crossed back over the road and began in the direction of the theater, hoping to flag down a taxi.

There were none to be found. And after two calls to a taxi company, we were informed that they didn’t service our zone. Suddenly, the city that I thought was fully navigable by foot wasn’t, nor was it by taxi. At this point, the evening was hilarious. We thought briefly about skipping the ballet totally and finding a nice location on the river for some sangria, but decided against that. We had come too far. The option now was to run for the theater, hoping we might make it by intermission and they would allow us to be seated. Running in heels doesn’t get one far, and we eventually found a security guard who was able to call us a taxi. When he arrived, we bolted for the car.

Leave it to the cabbie to know the city. We were at the theater within five minutes. And after pleading with the theater, they consented to seat us at intermission. It turns out we had arrived at intermission, missing the first full half. The usher walked us to our seats, which were in the back of the theater, by entering at the floor and marching us up the middle aisle. Yes, we are the extremely late Americans. All slightly out of breath from the long journey, we enjoyed sitting down, exhaling as we had finally made it.

The lights dimmed and the second half of the ballet began. On to the stage pranced completely nude ballerinas. I choked on my laughter. Here we had run around the city for two hours, on a journey of epic proportions, to get to the ballet. The fact that it all of the ballerinas were nude was almost more than I could handle. What a perfect ending to our story! The four of us couldn’t look at one another for fear of erupting in loud laughter.

After the initial funniness of ending up at a ballet that no one had expected, we sat back to enjoy a very surprisingly beautiful and redemptive second half of the show. The ballet was thoroughly modern and contemporary, but still graceful and inspiring. Once again, another new experience on this never dull road of life here in Spain.

Oh, and we rode the bus home.