The Rain in (the Sunny South of) Spain

by Alfonso Mate Barrero

It had been raining all morning when I arrived at the airport. Despite being kind of an agnostic person, I was actually curious to know that peculiar way of celebrating Easter time in Seville. Nonetheless, I meant to spend just one night there and then go to the seaside for the rest of the week. Going to the beach in late March is something that you can only dream of in Britain.

Upon arriving downtown, everywhere was crowded with people dressed as if they were going to a wedding ceremony. “Didn’t you know?” the taxi driver said.  “You MUST wear a suit on a Palm Sunday in Seville.”

I bought myself a suit in that popular department store with an English name. That was my first mistake. Because of the rain, all the scheduled processions were cancelled and I could not see a single float on the streets. All I could see was a host of people wandering around and speculating about what the weather would be like for the next minutes, hours and days.

The following day went far worse. Not only was my rental car stolen – my entire luggage inside – but I also had to put up with all sorts of jokes for wearing a suit on a nice, 35-degree spring day in Málaga. So I went to buy some spring clothes and swimwear in that department store with the English name. That was my second-last mistake, for it was raining for the rest of the week. I had never seen so many weather forecast experts together, dammit!

I spent my last four days in Spain just counting the hours left to take my plane back to Heathrow. It was only when I stepped out of the airport terminal that I could breathe the nice smells of home: in fact, it had been raining all morning…