An afternoon in Sevilla is perhaps the strangest part of the day for me. When I am on my way home from class, it is still early enough that people are out and about, getting their shopping and important tasks done before the nap period or, siesta. Folks gather for quick bites to eat at restaurants along the streets of Alfalfa and around the catedral. Here, it is quite normal to find groups of Spaniards indulging in a Cruzcampo or two and a couple of tapas at twelve in the afternoon. I have done the same myself on a number of occasions. In the beginning of the afternoon, the citizens clog the tiny shopping streets and I cannot escape being serenaded by a horn quartet or romantic Spanish guitar. The hip and young, whether tourists or locals flock to Zara, H&M, Stradivarius and any number of the boutiques in droves, especially when there is a rebaja. Once I make my way out of the maze of miniscule streets, I am greeted with the sounds of horses clop clop clopping down the cobblestone, a sound I have come to treasure during my time in Europe. It takes you back in time and creates a fascinating juxtaposition against the smooth woosh of the trams and the symphony of iPhone ringtones.

Then, in what seems like a quarter of a second, the entire city stops. People all of a sudden have disappeared from the streets and abandoned the shops and cafes. The time has come for siesta, in which Sevilla becomes a dead zone. Alternatively, the city is the brightest during siesta, but also the least lively. This is when the sun becomes the most brutal and the hottest heat that I have ever experienced rears its ugly head, turning the streets into a living oven. I always attempt to get home before my dear churros stand shuts its windows, but I never make it in time. My stomach grumbles in anticipation of lunch.

Cityscape and New Media Final.Paco Gonzalez.Summer2014