Parque de María Luisa

Listen for a moment. Beneath the traffic of the city, there is the sound of water — small fountains, narrow channels, the drip from a tiled basin. The air under these trees is cooler than the street you just left. The paths are made of packed, sandy earth, and they crunch softly underfoot. Somewhere above you, green parakeets are arguing in the palms. Welcome to the Parque de María Luisa, the great green heart of Seville. For many people here, this is simply where the city comes to breathe.

Let us start with the name. María Luisa Fernanda was a Spanish princess, the Duchess of Montpensier. She lived in the nearby Palace of San Telmo, and these grounds were once part of its private gardens. In 1893, she donated a large part of them to the city. It was a generous gift. A royal garden, closed behind walls, became a place where anyone could walk. The park still carries her name, and that act of giving is the root of everything you see around you today.

The gardens did not stay as she left them. In the early twentieth century, Seville decided to host a great international fair, the Ibero-American Exposition. It finally opened in 1929, after long delays. To prepare, the city called in a French landscape designer named Jean-Claude Nicolas Forestier. He had worked on public parks in Paris. Here, he did something different. He looked south and east, to the gardens of Moorish Spain, and to the old courtyards of Andalusia, the region of southern Spain around you.

That is why this park feels unlike a typical European garden. There are no wide, open lawns built for strolling in the rain. Instead, there are long straight walkways, raised pools, and water channels running at the level of your feet. Shade comes first. Forestier understood that in a Seville summer, a garden must protect you from the sun. So the paths are lined with tall trees, and the water is always close by. Even the sound is part of the design.

Now look at the benches and the fountains. Many of them are covered in glazed ceramic tiles, in yellow, blue, green and white. This style of decorated tile is called azulejo in Spanish. Much of this ceramic work is associated with Triana, the old potters' district across the river. Some tiles show geometric stars. Others show flowers, shields, or scenes. Touch one if you can. The glaze is smooth and cool, even on a warm afternoon. It is a small surprise many visitors walk straight past.

Scattered through the park are small open spaces called glorietas. A glorieta is a little clearing or round corner, often with a bench, a fountain, or a monument. Each one is dedicated to someone, often a writer or artist with a link to Seville. One of them is shaped like an open-air library. Its tiled shelves were made to hold books, so people could sit in the shade and read. It is a lovely idea: a garden that invites you not only to walk, but to stop and think.

The most loved of these corners belongs to Gustavo Adolfo Bécquer, a nineteenth-century poet born in Seville. His romantic verses are still taught in Spanish schools. The monument stands around the trunk of a huge old tree, a bald cypress. Below his bust, marble figures of young women sit together. They are often described as showing the stages of love — hope, joy, and loss. Couples still pause here. Some people leave flowers. It is a quiet place, even when the rest of the park is full.

Keep walking, and you will find that the park hides a few playful surprises. There is a small artificial hill, known locally as the Monte Gurugú, with a little waterfall and a winding path to the top. There is also a pond with a small island, often called the Island of the Ducks, with a pavilion and plenty of hungry birds. These were designed for wandering and getting slightly lost. Children run ahead. Adults follow more slowly, looking for the next patch of shade.

At the southern end of the park lies the Plaza de América. This open square is framed by grand pavilions built for the 1929 exposition. Their style is called Neo-Mudéjar, Neo-Gothic and Renaissance revival. Mudéjar, in short, is the old Spanish building style that mixed Christian architecture with Islamic craftsmanship, especially brick and tile. Today, two of these buildings hold museums, including the city's Archaeological Museum. The square is also famous for its pigeons. Families come to feed them, and they gather in white clouds.

On the park's edge, facing the city, stands the Plaza de España. It was the grandest building of the exposition, designed by the Sevillian architect Aníbal González. A vast half-circle of brick and tile wraps around a wide square, with a canal running along its curve. Small bridges cross the water, and you can often rent a rowing boat. Along the base, tiled alcoves each represent a Spanish province, with a map and a historic scene. Spanish visitors often search for their home province and take a photograph there.

Here is a second surprise for film lovers. The Plaza de España has appeared on screen more than once. It was used in Lawrence of Arabia, and much later in Star Wars: Episode Two, as part of a royal city on another planet. Standing on the bridges, it is easy to see why. The curving facade, the towers and the balustrades look almost unreal in strong sunlight. Yet everything here was built by local hands, with local brick and local ceramics, for a fair that lasted only months.

That is perhaps the most interesting thing about this whole place. The exposition was meant to be temporary. It was a moment of national pride, a celebration of the ties between Spain and the Americas. It came at a difficult time, just as the world economy began to fall into crisis. The fair closed. But the gardens and the buildings stayed. What was built for a few months of visitors became a public space that Sevillians have now used for close to a century.

And they use it every day. In the early morning, runners circle the paths. At midday, office workers eat lunch on the tiled benches. In the evening, grandparents walk slowly with grandchildren, and couples sit near the fountains. Horse-drawn carriages pass along the outer avenues, their hooves loud on the stone. In spring, the scent of orange blossom drifts in from the streets. In summer, the park empties in the afternoon heat, and fills again when the sun goes low.

Before you move on, find a bench in the shade and simply sit for a minute. Look up through the leaves. Notice how the light breaks into small moving patches on the sandy ground. Listen again for the water. A princess gave this land to her city, and a French designer shaped it with Moorish memory. But today, it belongs to the people walking past you. As you leave, look back once at the trees. The city's noise will return slowly, one step at a time.