Seville

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Once, many years ago, I found myself in Seville on New Year’s Eve. The day was spent wandering through fragrant orange groves and overgrown palaces, exploring the wild courtyards and gardens of the Reales Alcazares. In the evening we sat at the corner table of a crowded restaurant, near a pair of handsome Americans who shared their wine with my table of Frenchmen, while people sang Spanish songs in the distance. We watched flamenco and drank sangria until after midnight, when we wandered through the quiet, echoing streets beneath the glowing blue light of so many decorated orange trees.

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