June 9th, 1999

May has slipped by without notice and Kate Juliff is angry with me. But can I help it if the month has been full of the 'Feria', 'el Rocio' and the visit of an alcoholic mate from Melbourne? All in all many beers have been slurped and many lies told. Only now as the haze rises do I realise that I have been negligent in my commitments.

As one brought up as an underage drinker in the Melbourne of six o'clock closing I am always full of admiration for the way the Spanish and particularly the Sevillians handle their drinking. I nostalgically recall the days of cement floors swimming in vomit, spilt beer, blood, broken glass and of course no women allowed. Didn't Germaine Greer once evoke the image of her husband for six weeks with his erect penis stuck in a Foster's can? Melbourne in the late 1960s. Memory fails but there were perhaps a couple of swinging corks to keep the flies away.

2000 years and more does provide a civilising influence and today and for many years past the 'Feria' is and has been an example of how to get drunk, stay drunk and keep on one's feet for seven days without throwing up, fighting, crudely and unwantingly soliciting a member of the opposite sex or generally collapsing in a sodden heap after a few beers or better still, 'manzanillas'.

The 'Feria' officially starts on a Monday night at the end of April, the beginning of May, at midnight and continues to round midnight the following Sunday. The Mayor or in this case the Mayoress pulls a switch and the whole area is lit up in a blaze of lights and it is the signal to get stuck into the booze and traditionally for this night only, fried fish. It is also the signal for seven days of non-stop drinking, eating, singing and dancing. Surprising for me at least, is that this sudden blaze of lights is not also the signal for frenetic sexual activity. Maybe the collective unconscious is at play providing the information that sex only interferes with the real pleasures of life or more likely the local equivalent of Carlton and United Breweries has a hand in it.

The local brewery is by the way, Cruzcampo, owned by that ubiquitous multinational Guiness, who I am happy to say have lost their shirts because they tried to change the taste of an excellent beer and replace it with an innocuous international brew that they could manufacture and sell anywhere in the world. The locals told them to piss off, which they are attempting to do, by not drinking the stuff. Guiness is also partly responsible for the latest grotesque fashion of Irish theme pubs.

What decent self-respecting human being would drink in a theme pub? It's almost as bad as eating in a McDonald's or a Colonel Sander's establishment. Or maybe it's a combination of going to Disneyland, eating an overcooked hamburger or frizzled bone of chicken and swilling it down with a tasteless international beer, surrounded by biscuit tins from Cork and other Irish paraphernalia purloined from unsuspecting Irish widows. To add insult there is Mickey Mouse trying to make everybody have a good time.

What has this got to do with the 'Feria' of Seville or even the Royal Melbourne Show with it's splendid show bags, the joy of every child visitor? The answer to that is absolutely nothing. By the way, can anybody tell me if they still give out show bags or if the Melb. show is still an event with the boys in blue marching around beating on drums and blowing trumpets? Jung might make a few connections here.

Once the Monday night drinking stops at around 6 or 7 in the morning there is a lull and the whole area, which is like a small town, is hosed down for freshness and to prepare for the day's parade of horses and carriages. This starts at around 11 or 12 o'clock and continues till about 5 or 6 in the afternoon when the 'streets' are cleared for the night's activities .

The really serious have their own horses and the men dress up in period pieces, most interestingly 'al Greco' or in the typical Sevillano or sometimes Cordobes style. The women in typical flamenco dresses are perched up behind or are often like the men dressed in typical riding gear and ride alone. The general idea is to ponce about the place on a trusty stead and to stop off but never get off at friend's 'caseta' or little house, drink a manzanilla or two and ride on to the next one and to the admiration of all. The plebeians rent a carriage and are shunted around for half an hour for around 40Aus dollars. Shunting is about right as because of the horse and carriage congestion they never get more than about 100 metres. Time gentlemen please. Pay your money and get off.

Particularly inspiring are the half wits in jeans and T-shirts who rent a horse, think they can ride and spend half an hour clinging to the necks of their out of control beasts. However it is like many things in Seville a truly marvelous spectacle. The serious ones stop strutting about at around two o'clock, dismount from their thoroughbreds, stumble half pissed into their private 'casetas', change from their riding gear, not forgetting a quick wipe under the armpits, into proper drinking, eating and dancing clothes. For the women this is flamenco dresses. From now till about nine at night is 'lunch' time with general revelry, including much clapping, stamping of feet, swirling dresses, twirling arms, cries to the heavens and rising dust. The only pause is to water the gullet or to fill the stomach with prawns, cured ham, whitebait and other local delicacies. All to be put down when the music starts up again. Flamenco dancing can be intensely erotic if danced well or desperately gross if danced badly. Some feel untrained gringos should keep to eating and drinking but there again everybody has a good time, so why not.

At around nine there is another lull for some people who go home and shower, rest a bit to return at about midnight to carry on with the festivities until seven or eight in the morning when the cycle starts all over again. And this for seven days and not a drop of blood spilt. The Anglo-Saxons have a lot to learn. The organisers of the Melbourne Show could well spend a bit of the taxpayers' money by paying a visit to Seville during the Feria. But what would they do with the show bags?

Patrick
Seville
June 1999