Striding down the Avenida de Roma, my way is blocked by a crowd of thousands waving flags. I’m on my way to the Museo Arqueológico, in Sevilla, Andalucía, the autonomous region of southern Spain. I am eager to get to the museum and learn about these people and their history.
In my rough Spanish, I ask a bystander if this rally is for the local futbol team. “No. Politico.” he says.
I thread my way through the crowd, boisterous and festive. People carry signs, chant slogans, ride children on their shoulders. The avenue is swelling with emotion as well as people, the mood is electric. Trumpets blare and a band plays a soaring melody. Suddenly, everyone around me begins to sing in unison. I stop in my tracks, goosebumps on my skin. As I listen, the air shifts, the electricity has discharged, grounding me to the spot.
“What are they singing?” I ask.
“Himno de Andalucía,” I am told. The Anthem of Andalucía.
I am amazed, inspired, immersed in a sea of people who love their homeland. My steps feel lighter as I walk on.
I glide through the gardens of the Plaza de España in high spirits, only to deflate as I reach the southern end of the park and approach the Museo Arqueológico. Behind fences, I see a sign, “Renovando.” Closed for renovations. Disappointed, I turn and see a building across the square, El Museo de Artes y Costumbres. My rough Spanish mistakenly translates this as a museum about costumes and fashion. Not really what I am interested in, but I have walked a long way. I might as well see what there is to see.
I pay the €1.50 admission fee and enter. The first sign explains that “costumbres” means “traditions,” not costumes. This museum celebrates the arts and traditions of the people of Andalucía. Its artifacts were not made by famous artists, but by bakers, washers, workers, craftsmen, and seamstresses – ordinary folk who are planting, working, cooking, eating, and living their lives. My excitement grows, the goosebumps return. This museum, which I had entered grudgingly, is exactly what I was looking for.
For the next two hours, I walk through the homes and workshops of common people. Seeing the details of their days, they come alive: boats and fishing nets; heavy stones for grinding wheat and pressing olives; potter’s wheels and ceramic tiles; looms, sewing machines, and embroidery needles; the handworn tools of silversmiths, luthiers, and leatherworkers. Everything here was made to be used. I am in the company of candlemakers, weavers, cooks, and coopers, the ancestors of those who sang today on the Avenida de Roma. And to think I almost passed it by.
¡Dios mio! How often do I walk through the world with eyes half-closed until shaken by a song or other small miracle?
Photo of El Museo de Artes y Costumbres from Wikipedia