Sevilla: Sixty and Passportless No More

I thought travel would open a window for anyone who had not yet seen the world. When my mother turned sixty, I surprised her and her husband with tickets to Seville. It was to be their first adventure abroad. Seville was on my list of places I want to visit, and it was the least expensive flight from Florida to Spain. I thought I could live vicariously through them and save some money at the same time. When he could not go, I became a travel companion instead. I assumed the journey would unlock in her that same sense of wonder that it does in me. Instead, I found that not everyone is waiting to be enchanted by the world.

We went to a flamenco show, and I found the performers so amazing that they gave me goosebumps. She was struggling to stay awake. Even so, there were moments my mother did appreciate. She had to have her photo taken in front of the restaurant Casa Ruiz because that’s her “appelido”. We happened to catch a religious procession through the streets of Seville, something I wasn’t even expecting. For my mother, who’s Catholic, seeing the crucifix carried through the streets and attending mass in the Seville Cathedral was a comfort. It wasn’t that she didn’t find joy there. It’s just that her joy came from the familiar, while mine came from the thrill of being somewhere new.

Yet there were small moments of harmony. After what was to me a thrill, sightseeing the Cathedral and Giralda, Alcázar, Archivo de Indias, and Plaza de España, we’d find a quiet, non-touristy corner and unwind over tapas, Tinto de Verano, and Cruzcampo. My mom seemed to enjoy those pauses. Maybe it was the pleasure of small, affordable, and delicious bites, or maybe it was the break from all the walking. It could’ve been that the paella gave her a culinary déjà vu.

I thought this trip would feel bigger to her. Her first passport. Sixty years old. Her first time leaving the country. Exposure to her Spanish ancestry. I expected excitement, maybe even elation. But it didn’t unfold that way. She wasn’t overwhelmed. She wasn’t… well, like me. I now realize that I can’t compel my wanderlust onto others. People will enjoy travel in their own way, and some may not enjoy it at all.

In the end, this trip became less about wanderlust and more about finding the courage to go beyond the familiar and bringing that context back home. My mom got her first passport at 60, her first stamp on that trip, and I wouldn’t be surprised if it’s her last. That’s okay. No two people ever really take the same trip. We each return with whatever we were open to receiving, probably influenced by our own history, our own desires, and the lessons we each need to learn. She took home what was hers. I took home what was mine.