SPANISH SPECTACLE : IT'S ALWAYS `FAIR' WEATHER IN SUNNY SEVILLE.

Byline: Jim Molnar Seattle Times

It was 3 a.m. on the banks of the Guadalquiver, where the river runs beneath the San Telmo bridge: a quiet spot, a mile away from the dancing, the singing, the relentless incandescence of feria.

Seville's April fair - the largest not only in Andalusia, but in all Spain - was at full tilt even at this hour. And the party would continue round-the-clock for a full week in the nearly 1,000 candy-striped pavilions - casetas - that Sevillano clans erect each spring on the city's 60-acre feria grounds.

I'd promised my friends Rafa and Marian I'd be back for at least one more round of sevillanas, the four-part Andalusian folk dance that sets the rhythm of feria, before heading off to my hostel for a couple hours of sleep. Rafa was adamant that I hold up under the pressure to make merry.

``There's no time to sleep, no resting, not for men like us,'' he'd counsel whenever he sensed me flagging. ``A man does not stop in the middle of a dance and say to the woman, `Excuse me while I sleep.'

``Look, my friend. You say you want to know Seville. Feria IS Seville, its soul. This music is its heartbeat. To understand this, you must be here, dancing and talking and being with your friends - not back in your bed asleep.''

Still, I needed at least a walk, the quiet on the bridge, a retreat - just for a while. In the riverbank underbrush a golden plover called from its nest. The cry trailed off through the amber halo of the bridge's lamps and into the dimmer nighttime downstream. As if in response, from the opposite bank came the sound of a guitar. It was faint, a flamenco melody.

The sound was Moorish and Jewish, Gitano (Gypsy) and Spanish. And blending those strains, as the city had, it became something altogether different. As the city had.

When I'd made plans to meet my son at the end of his monthlong student-exchange stay, I became determined to hear flamenco in Seville, where it had its roots. I had my tourist's fantasy of a smoky barroom sometime between midnight and dawn with a glass of wine and a platter of tapas on the table; of a spontaneous eruption of music.

It was in a setting like that, I imagined, that I'd most likely experience what all books and poems called ``duende'' - the flamenco passion that can make listeners' hearts beat faster and bring tears to their eyes.

Instead, there was this riverbank duet, the arpeggios exchanged by the bird and the guitar.

Even in spring, the midday heat in Seville can be oppressive, slowing even the tourists as they bounce between the cathedral and the Alcazar, the royal palace. When the sun's high, even the towering Giralda, the 14th-century minaret that became the cathedral's bell tower, casts no shadow on the plaza where peddlers hawk incense, postcards, cigarettes and warm bottles of water.

But the maze of Barrio Santa Cruz, the old Jewish Quarter around the cathedral, provides some relief. Only a couple of yards wide, the cobbled streets draw shade from the 500-year-old block houses they meander among. Above are cast-iron balconies where senoritas in lacy mantillas stood just a generation or two ago to accept the serenades of suitors. Through arched gateways, courtyard gardens are lush with ivy, bougainvillea and roses.

So especially at midday, the tourists fan off the plazas to walk the barrio, rifling through the shops for pottery, tile and lace; lounging at outdoor cafe tables with tinto con limon, a mixture of red wine and lemon soda.

Many of those who are out and about are at the feria grounds to watch the daily parade of horses. Men and women, formal and flamboyant in traditional dress and folk costumes, ride high-stepping Arabian and Andalusian mounts through the grounds, pausing occasionally in front of casetas to wait for someone to emerge with glasses of wine or beer, with compliments and conversation.

Providing the noontime color around the Santa Cruz cafes were young Gypsy men playing and singing flamenco tunes. The lunchtime crowd listened politely, smiled, nodded. I paused to listen, too, waiting for my pulse to quicken. Duende? But the time and place seemed all wrong - though perhaps I was missing something.

``La parte quatera,'' Marian whispered, facing me as we waited for the beat to begin the fourth and final cycle of the sevillanas. She was my teacher, coaching me through each step, pattern and flourish of the dance.

About 75 people were packed into the two 10-by-15-foot rooms of Rafa and Marian's caseta. Folding chairs and a few cafe tables lined the walls of the front room, church-basement style. People stood at the bar in the back, ordering and eating tapas - ham, olives, prawns, crayfish, croquettes - and sipping manzanilla from aperitif glasses. Delicate and tangy, the wine is a lot like fino, the driest type of sherry produced in Jerez de la Frontera. It is, Rafa said, ``the official wine of feria.''

``In order to last the week,'' Rafa counseled, ``you must never drink manzanilla without also eating something. And you must dance. Manzanilla, tapas, dancing - they must always be together or you will be finished in a day or two.''

On the walls were bullfight posters that proclaimed the elegant courage of toreros like El Cordobes, Joselito, Espartaco and Chamaco; and the nobility of the bulls they'd confront in feria week's corridas, regarded as the best bullfights in Spain.

As Marian and I stepped into the dance, I noticed how we moved like the bull and the torero, partners and opponents at the same time - passing close (``Pasa!'' she'd whisper), posing, parting, spinning (``Vuelta!''). Our arms upraised and outstretched, it was as if we were waving capes to attract each other's attention, teasing with each turn of our hands, stomping our feet (``Pateas!'') in fierce challenge.

On the last beat, the dancers simultaneously strike a final pose. Standing side by side, the man slides one arm gallantly around the woman's waist. Both partners raise their outside arms, palms turned back in a final flourish.

And the dance partners say together, ``Ole!''

Juan, a man I'd met through Rafa and Marian, clapped me on the shoulder. His compliment was clearly back-handed but good-natured. ``You dance like a Castilian,'' he said. In terms of Spanish stereotypes, that would mean stiff and sober, rather than colorful, playful and passionate as a Sevillano would be.

``Ole!'' I laughed.

Rafa is a short, bull-bodied man. His stare is always straight on, intense in a way that never betrays whether his next reaction will be a guffaw or a dangerous growl. When he dances, his movements are strong and precise, his poses dramatic and manly.

But there's a gentleness in him that he will release around his friends;I decided to ask his help in search for flamenco. ``Cante jondo . . . you know, deep song,'' I said. ``Duende.''

Rafa stared at me and shook his head. ``This is feria. The music is sevillanas. Enjoy what is here, now. Flamenco is like - what can I say? - classical music. For aficionados. Sevillanas is for everyone. To simply enjoy. To listen, to dance, to be happy.''

On Location

Seville, the capital of Spain's Andalusia province, reflects brilliantly the southern region's ancient roots, modern cosmopolitanism and overriding joie de vivre.

It offers the traveler reminders of a 2,200-year history, shopping, labyrinthine medieval neighborhoods to explore, beautiful parks and squares to relax in, and a great night life.

The heart of the old city is the mile-long area stretching from the Plaza Duque de la Victoria south to the cathedral and great castle and on to the sprawling Parque de Maria Luisa.

The Plaza Virgen de los Reyes, bounded by the cathedral, the Alcazar (castle) and the Barrio de Santa Cruz, is a good place to start a daylong walking tour.

The cathedral, which houses the tomb of Christopher Columbus, was built in the 15th century, when Seville was at the height of its prosperity. Only St. Peter's in Rome and St. Paul's in London are larger.

Visitors can enter the cathedral freely early in the morning, but at 10 a.m., everybody is ushered out, and admission is charged until evening.

The nearby Alcazar was built in the 14th century in the mudejar style, a combination of Moorish and Gothic architectures. It remains the official residence of the king and queen of Spain when they are in Seville.

From the alcazar, go south, across Calle San Fernando, to the Hotel Alfonzo XIII, the city's premier hotel, built in the 1920s in a beautiful mudejar-revival style. Although the rooms are pricey, you can stop in for a drink and some upscale tapas (appetizers) at the bar on the hotel's central courtyard.

Sightseers can go up Calle San Fernando and around the corner, past a statue of Spanish national hero El Cid, to the Parque de Maria Luisa and the Plaza de Espana.

The plaza, built as the centerpiece for the 1929 Hispanic-American Exposition, is a huge half-circle with a great fountain in the center. Around its edge is a moat; visitors can rent paddle boats.

Shoppers will want to head north from the Alfonzo XIII, along Avenida de la Constitucion to Plaza Nueva and then farther, on Calle Sierpes or calles Tetuan and Velazquez, to Plaza Duque de la Victoria. These main streets and their side alleys and byways are lined with shops and stores of all descriptions, from large department stores to tiny gift shops.

Sightseers and shoppers can meet again in the evening for a visit to the lively squares of the Barrio de Santa Cruz (the medieval Jewish Quarter) or the boardwalk restaurants, cafes and clubs along the Guadalquivir River. Have a good dinner or, better yet, dine as many Spaniards do, visiting several cafes and bars to sample the company and the tapas in each before moving on to the next.

CAPTION(S):

4 Photos, Box

Photo: (1--Color) Seville residents and tourists celebrate the Fiesta de Abril, one of the spring festivals that feature music, dancing and pageantry.

(2--Color) Dancers in regional costumes bring the passion of Spain to the country's springtime revelries. Visitors can get into the act by taking dancing lessons, then trying out their new skill.

(3--Color) At Seville's Plaza de Espana, built for the 1929 Hispanic-American Esposition, visitors can rent boats and paddle around the moat. The stone structure is trimmed with blue tiles and decorated with paintings in its 50 arches.

(4) Seeing a whale breech up close is a whale watcher's dream.

Tourist Office of Spain

Box: On Location (See Text)