Just Visiting, part 7

We got a taxi to the fairgrounds, passing many men on horses in splendid traditional costumes and fringed flat-brimmed hats, and many horse-drawn carriages filled with costumed Sevillanos.

Once we reached the fairgrounds we were stunned by the sights. Acres of land were laid out in intersecting avenues, all lined with casetas—tentlike huts made of striped canvas, filled with people and music and dancing and drinking. Strings of lights hung over every street, and horsemen and costumed participants filled the way. Later we learned that the partying at the Feria goes on all week, virtually all day and night, with different societies inviting guests to their casetas and providing food, drink, music and dance. It was breathtaking. “This must look incredible at night,” Mike said.

It felt strange to be left out of the action. But even the uninvited, like us, had a place to be at the Feria, and that was at the amusement area next to where the casetas were located. It was as big as a permanent amusement park, and the kids were delighted to be there. “This is a great birthday celebration!” Lisa said, because she was turning seven that day. “I love this!”

Each ride had its own ticket booth, and each had its own barker and sound system, so the cacophony was unbelievable. We had a screaming, laughing ride on a Ferris wheel that would never have made it in the U.S.—the car doors were open, not barred in any way. Mike teasingly inched Julie over toward the door, saying, “Just move a little further that way . . . I’m trying to see over there,” and she giggled and squirmed to stay away from the gap. And we watched a pony ride with a relentless barker who kept announcing: “Los caballitos ponies (the “little horse” ponies) . . . los caballitos ponies . . . los caballitos ponies!” Those poor, tired-looking animals were tied to a slow-moving carousel; they had to go around and around endlessly. It seemed amazingly cruel.

Eventually we returned to the train station and took an hour ride up to Córdoba. There the hotel was particularly foreign and depressing, with ugly beige furnishings, a musty smell, and nothing but bullfighting on the TV. “Isn’t there anything else to watch?” Julie asked.

“This is boring!” Lisa added. She couldn’t stand to watch the savage bullfights at all.