Election Day

Our first night in Sevilla, Cristina, our host mom, launchs immediately into the state of the world. We frantically sift through her words, picking out the ones we know. We share sympathies for the state of the global economy. She says that it is as bad as 1939.

Supper, several days later. I lose the word for envelope. She points to one on a side table for clarification. It is the envelope that contains her ballot for the upcoming provencial elections on Sunday, June 7th.

We venture out on Sunday, comfortable in our sneakers (dress is more casual on Sundays), uncertain about the culture of election day in Sevilla. It is quiet, slowly awakening after the customary extended Saturday night social life.

Evening falls on our wandering, and we make our way home. We pass through Plaza Nueva. The ayuntamiento, the town hall, anchors the east side of the plaza. It is festooned with greenery. Media cameras hover as a crowd fills in. Ah, we think. Election results! We continue toward the Catedral, following the trail of people. Ah, we think. It is an election parade! We stop when we hear the band, marching slowly, emphatically, sans Sousa, along the parade route. I think of the Alamo, a small chill of understanding surrounds each pounding of the drums. We stand, transfixed by the ponderous music. As the band passes in front of us, the spell breaks. Band members wave and smile at friends and family as they wait for the next note.

We continue on and find ourselves swallowed by the crowd, swimming upstream. Slowly,we find a sidestream that appears less congested and escape. It is not an election parade; it is another saint; it is La Esperanza de Triana.

From Antonio Pizarro, El Diario de Sevilla.



At lunch on Monday, we ask Cristina about the election results. She says that the party leaning to the right won, no triumph in her voice.