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Seville reopens for business – and even masks can’t hide its charms

Seville, restaurants - getty
Seville, restaurants - getty

At the peak of the Covid-19 pandemic here in Seville, people shared eerie photos and videos on social media of a forlorn city: empty streets, shuttered bars, piled-up chairs and tables. No activity, total silence – apart from cheeky resident peacocks revelling in the uncharacteristic lack of humans, strutting proudly around the Alcazar’s main patio, and even out into the narrow alleyways of Barrio Santa Cruz.

For anyone who knows this vibrant city, throbbing with life and thronged with locals and visitors all year round, Seville without people is a disturbing and apocalyptic vision. For eight long weeks of lockdown, restaurants were closed, and we could only venture out for shopping, to go to the doctor, or to walk the dog.

But now that Spain is over the worst of the virus, with a tragic 27,000-plus death toll, la vida is slowly returning to normal, much to everyone’s relief. Since Monday we’ve been in Phase 2 of our “desescalada” (de-escalation), in which restaurant interiors can open with 40 per cent capacity, to ensure adequate spacing (outdoor terraces reopened two weeks ago, at half capacity). Sadly, you can’t stand at the bar and order a tapa, that great Sevillano tradition, but instead must be served at a table.

At this intermediate stage, shops and shopping centres, libraries, cultural monuments, concert halls, museums, cinemas and theatres can also welcome public visitors (with limits on their capacity). Groups of up to 15 people can meet, and rules no longer apply on when, how often, for how long, or how far, we can go outdoors; only the over-70s keep their time slot.

Here in Seville, the main monuments, the Alcazar and Cathedral, and most museums, cultural centres and exhibition spaces, have chosen not to open to the public yet. They will probably wait till June when more travel around Spain will be allowed, with international tourism set to restart in July.

Seville - getty
Seville - getty

Yesterday I ventured out for dinner on the Alameda, a tree-lined avenue in the north-west of the historic centre crammed with places to sup, sip and take a spin on the dancefloor, as well as children’s play areas. This was my first trip in two months into the city centre; previous excursions had been limited to local supermarkets, vet and chemist, but no alfresco glasses of wine or tapas, two of the things which make life worth living here in southern Spain.

Use of masks is obligatory if you’re within two metres of people outdoors and in indoor public spaces. Arriving in the centre, I could see that less than half of the Seville residents had their noses and mouths covered, although under the minimum distance from each other. The Alameda wasn’t as busy as usual, but still had its customary relaxed, friendly vibe with dogs, families, the young and the young-at-heart.

I was relieved to see that the waiters at the restaurant where I had booked a table were masked and gloved. A large bottle of hand-sanitiser had pride of place on a table by the door, next to the reservations list. The five tables were a good two metres apart from each other, and on our table we found a QR code to scan and access the menu – digital or disposable forms are favoured, or a blackboard. No tapas at this place though, as they’re not economically viable with so few customers, just raciones (large plates) for around €7 (£6.20). A bit disappointing, but you can understand their reasoning.

The waiter, standing back at a safe distance, reeled off a long list of the day’s specials, which was a little tricky to understand through his mask, even with my decent Spanish. I found it so odd speaking without visible facial expressions – such an essential part of communication – that I felt compelled to explain that I was smiling at him under my mask; he said the same, and concurred that the experience is unnerving.

A pretty ceramic bowl of olives arrived (I took my mask off to eat), covered with clingwrap, and the  dishes that my companions and I ordered were brought soon after; with fewer customers, service is, logically, faster. You can eat in groups of up to 10; most here were couples or quartets.

As with most establishments these days, contactless card payment is favoured – less hygienic cash is losing currency, so to speak. Tables are allocated in 90-minute slots: ours was 8-9.30pm, although with no one waiting to take over afterwards, we managed to tarry a while. Who would want to rush home, when they can stay and savour the silky evening air?

The sound of a guitar floated on the air – you often see musicians strumming instruments on the Alameda, part of its boho outdoor-living scene. Damn, it felt fine to be back. That glass of crisp, chilled verdejo, under the Alameda’s lofty foliage, on a warm early summer night – after so long at home in lockdown, a moment to be treasured.