Sofia Costa

Seville runs on a simple rule: be outside early, be inside at three, come back out when the stone cools. I arrived at dusk and walked straight to the Giralda, which was glowing like it knew I had a camera. The next morning I was in Barrio Santa Cruz before eight, when the lanes are narrow, shaded and almost silent.

I was third in line at the Real Alcázar gate. At eight fifty-five the courtyards were empty and the tiles were cool enough to lean on. Evenings belonged to Triana, across the river, and to a small tablao where the flamenco was close enough to feel through the floor. Tapas in the Feria neighborhood were eaten standing up. There were no chairs. Nobody minded.