The Long Trip Home.

Air Ports travel have changed.

In 2007, what has happened to air travel, makes the idea of the slow train and boat a little more attractive again. Unfortunately planes are still the faster way to go....so uncomfortable, exhausting, humiliating, and frustrating hours spent wondering what on earth good this new cockamamie rule and producer of longer line-ups is going to do... seems to be just part of the deal. Better just get over it. Buck up... unpack that bag, show your zip lock bag...and TAKE OFF THOSE SHOES.

The trip home from Spain was like a cold shower slapping me to my senses so that I would not be unrealistic and sentimental about leaving Seville. SNAP OUT OF IT GIRL - YOU GOTTA WORK ON MONDAY. GET REAL.

My intention was to spend my last day, dancing, sunning, and taking pictures...and generally savouring the last hours of what had become my Seville home. Unfortunately a traveling nightmare was ahead of me.

Or not ...apparently life's reality depends on how you look at it (the glossy wall adds along the moving sidewalk between terminals in the Heathrow airport reminded me of this, as I pushed the ridiculously heavy cart of bags between terminals with at that point having already waited all night in the Barcelona airport.)



Annoying wisdoms.




More annoying wisdoms.




Ok, ok already.



My tickets were from Seville to Barcelona to London to Toronto to Vancouver. Get the picture already? - Don't ask why...the possibility of error and screw up was enormous and well....I SCORED!!!! It was like a comedy of errors from start to finish.

The Trek back home began at 9 pm Saturday night with fond good-byes to Luna our new friend.....and a taxi to the Seville airport.



Waiting for a taxi outside our apartment.



Off to a flight to Barcelona where I would wait till morning early morning with my friend and Flamenco colleague's luggage and precious guitar, as his flight which left later in the day, was too close to the next flight for him to check baggage in and out.



Finding the cart with the good wheels.



Why I did not book a ticket straight from Seville to London, and turn the whole thing into a Fashion research trip is still a mystery to me, and I will try again next time to think straight.

So...I sat there, at midnight on a pile of bags...and thought, well girl...here you are in the middle of the Barcelona airport...known worldwide for it's pick-pockets and con-artists....with a huge pile of heavy bags , and an expensive Flamenco guitar...(I had to stay up all night guarding them till the ticket booth opened at 5:20 am.) Then get the bags all back in London...hump them across 3 terminals.....to check them in hopefully, in the most security paranoid airport currently in the world.

Oh goody.

Let's see, I thought ... how I can make this more fun....I can write, sort pictures
for my half written bogs...e-mail and connect with friends in Canada...drink wine.



3 am in the barcelona cafeteria.



And...I started making friends...Yolanda..a woman from Barcelona at 1:30 am
helped me figure out how to buy wireless internet access on my laptop because
I have such trouble reading forms, (it's almost impossible for me in English,
let alone Spanish. She also told me how to stay safe in the airport...not to trust
anybody who approaches.



Yolanda helping me buy wireless internet.



Then there was Rachael from the states, studying in Florence...who needed to
borrow my internet.



Rachael borrowing my new internet access.



And a lovely girl from Portugal.

Some how I made it through that night.

I ended up about fourth in the huge line up at 5 am to check in for the
London flight.



A new friend from Massachusettes.



Get to he counter...NO TICKET BOOKED. I can't believe it. I had to go to
another part of the terminal (pushing heavy cart with all the bags and a
knap-sack and guitar on my back) buy a ticket fast...then get back to the
end of the now VERY LONG line-up...barely get one of the last tickets.



Going back to the end of the line.


THEN RUN FOR THE GATE (which was not very close) and JUST make it.

I arrive London. I am calm because I have something like six hours.

Make my way to baggage claim, stack and balance weight all on one cart
(because actually I'm fairly short and it's hard work). I didn't find out this until later, but apparently there are porters for this kind of situation...DAH - makes COMPLETE sense now....no matter HOW much they would cost...and I have found out that in fact -it's not so expensive - that's why these services actually EXIST!



Joining the race for the bags.



So...the long trek to terminal 3.



A directional dyslexics nightmare.



Have a collision in the underground passage between terminals, with another cart piled high...and two of my nails ripp off at the nail bed and I am bleeding.

Get to terminal 3...line up...They won't let me check in Juan's guitar...So I have to carry it as well as my heavy knapsack. Remember...



Precious Cargo.



By now I have not slept all night, and the night before we had left Jesus and Luna's at 2 am or so...I am at this point feeling nauseas because I haven't had a chance to stop and eat since the cafeteria in the barcelona airport at around 3 am.

Get through the AMAZING securities checks...of which there are three separate ones that day. (must have been some sort of incident again in Iran.) IT WAS SOOOOOOOOO crowded on terminal 3. Thousands of people everywhere...all the line ups including bathrooms were long.



Line ups for everything were long.


After finally getting through security, and having my knap-sack up packed and searched THREE times - I'm not kidding...I'm standing in line and realize my PERIOD HAS STARTED and I have nothing with me to stop the flow...oh great I feel comfortable now...



I get to the place where they post the gates...




Heathrow gates at noon.



I find I have somehow been releived of my pouch with boardind pass, and some english pounds and stuff...for my Toronto/Vancouver flight. IT IS MISSING. Holy shit.

I try to find someone to tell me what to do now.

I am told to go to the supervisor deck at security...(this means by the way a half hour trek back through a different route...



Everyone is confused.



Find out it has not been turned in...have to go find an Air Canaada agent...far away
again...get another one issued.

Finally find Air Canada and get that done...and some bandaids for my bleeding fingers...and procede to the area that posts where the gates are.

The guitar strap on Juan's guitar case is faulty...and keeps unexpectedly unhooking....and my own knap-sack is sooooooo heavy that my balance is thrown every time it happens as I am trudging along in the crowds. I AM NOT HAPPY.

When I get to the board where hey post the gates, where they conveniently have the resturants right there by the table...I gratefully get a plate of spaghetti and some wine and eat.

When Juan arrives, it is time to check in. Which we do...and off to Toronto...
On the plane to Toronto, my legs and ankles swell up like one of those old ladies you see stuffed into their shoes (never happended to me before-even when I was pregnant!) I felt like someone had blown up my legs with a bicycle pump!

When we landed in Toroto, we had to get the bags, go through customs, and go to the next terminal (of course) and get on the next flight. MY legs were KILLING me....it was awfull! We JUST made it again.

Luckily when I got my seat on the plane from TO to VAN...I was at the emergency exit...and there was just enough room in front of my seat. That as soon as the lights were turned off...I snuck down onto the floor...and slept with my legs elevated on my knapsack..covered myself with my jacket..(told the guy sitting next to me not to tell)
and I was hidden from the flight attendants in the dark.

So I was able to sleep for about 3 hours and my legs reduced in size enough that they stopped being painful. IT WAS SOOOOOOO WEIRD!!!!!!!

Anyway....I got a GREAT sleep last night...everything looks kind of normal again.

I'M HOME !!!!
I will get into practicing my new dances (which ought to be only be about six months work or so...give or take a few months.)

I'm hitting the gym today...as well as anything I can book Spa/like....
And am starting a fat/free...fresh vegetable whole grain blessed diet...and am back getting into shape. WHEW!....

"Triana, Triana que bonita esta Triana..."

It's the morning March 15th, and I'm sitting in bed with my doors open to the sounds of Seville waking up. The sun is just starting to break over the rooftops, the doves are cooing, and my favourite pair are sitting together kissing on the ceramic spire of the building across the street.



The Ceramic Spires I see from my window


We really scored with this apartment. We’re able to use the roof as a practice studio, so don't have to rent, one. Other flamencos come and visit, eat dinner stay over and give private classes. It's been flamenco heaven.



The Roof a.k.a. The Studio


This morning Bonnie is going to run through with me what we did in my class yesterday with Juana Amaya. I think Juana has a
style that suits me, not the fashion in dancing right now that I'll describe as "Modern Curly Confusing Flamenco". My realistic and time limited 50 year old self, went to the general classes and realized if I was going to use anything that could be picked up in 3 weeks here I'd better be directed and focused about it...not be afraid of what anybody thought...(especially Juana Amaya) and figure out myself what I wanted to take back. I gathered my courage, and asked her to give a me simple Solea in which I can concentrate on the aire. I told her (through Bonnie) about my confusion with mirrors and unusual learning difficulties...other than her thinking me very very odd, I think I got my point across. She was very patient with me.



Juana Amaya and Edie


As for what I saw in the big classes...HOLY OLYMPIC FOOTWORK. These classes are not for the faint of heart or the untrained! Another trend or "fashion "(if you can describe learning trends that way) is super complicated footwork and heavy rhythm patterns. Hardly believable let alone achievable without devoting your entire existence to it. (and some people DO) There are girls that have been here in Seville studying for years. Amazing...but not very achievable, useable, or realistic for anybody in the world of Vancouver gigging.

Having said that...last night we saw a show of the MOST AMAZING musical rhythmical, IMPOSSIBLE footwork. Manuel Lina, Olga Pericet, and Marco Flores did a show with an amazing group of artists backing them. I swear...I saw last night the kind of work that has upped the bar here. It made me want to be 6 years old and starting out.



Esperanza Singing


Forget the nunnery, "GET THEE TO A FLAMENCO CLASS"!

It was the most spectacular display of human ability -

HOW CAN THEY DO THAT??????????



Tablao in Seville


The world of Flamenco inside Spain is a different reality than Flamenco in the rest of the world. Of course it couldn't or shouldn't be any other way. It is indeed the Mecca...the petri dish...the cradle...the grocery store of Flamenco to the world. The place where we all choose something to take away, and cook up our own things. It even isn't mainstream in Spain...the Flamenco Puro is still a specialized almost lost, and independent art form. People that we have met who live in Seville, for the most say they don't know much about Flamenco...but they are glad it exists. The young people are generally not so interested in the old stuff. There is much opinion here that it is in danger of being lost.

What I saw last night is only ONE company, ONE style...of the new evolving flamenco that is being performed. And it is nothing short of a an artistic miracle what is happening and originating here...and being shown in the rest of the world.



Looking into the alley way, one night later protesters filled the streets


The reality for these artists is that they have a very very hard time making a living as Flamenco artists in Spain. The professionals have to tour other countries like Germany, Japan etc etc. Teaching us junkies that come from all over the world is partly how the artform stays alive. And it is a constantly evolving artform...struggling to survive by some people's opinion.

You would think the average Spaniard would be knowlegable about the different forms of Flamenco...but
really...other than Sevillanas...(the folk dance that is the focal point of the huge city party here called Feria). Generally , ordinary people don't know much more about Flamenco than the tourists do. People that we have met who live in Seville, have told us that no-body is interested much that lives here. They say that don't know much about Flamenco...but they are glad it exists. The young people are generally not so interested in the old stuff. There is much opinion here that it is in danger of being lost.



The other end of the Alley


BUT once you are in these areas in Southern Spain that ARE the centres and you know where to go - it is a Flamenco junkies' heaven. The only problem is there is too much to choose from. Where do you start to observe and learn? Like any drug of choice - if there are unlimited amounts available, you could just gorge...spend a hedonistic month just plunging in - eating up as much as you can, without necessarily retaining anything...getting burnt out and mighty sick.

Hmmmm...sounds really, really tempting. YUM! GIMME!

Or...in my case (and like life in general for me.) I figure out painfully (for that entails being honest about what I am needing most, and capable of achieving), what my goal is...how much of a financial debt I can get away with racking up...and stick to the plan.



I'll miss the view from my apartment in Spain


And then (because I am a fashionista/performer/ex-costumer) I will search for the right dress and accessories to match the dance. Fashion as a way of life...and my business. Work research - REALLY !!!! (sigh...and yes...I do realize this is also a thinly disguised female justification to shop!)

Back at the ranch

It's the morning after arriving home. My life is waiting for me, starting with a big buy of some of next fall's hats. Max, wearing his signature beaver felt western hat (worth over a thousand dollars) backs his truck up to the back door, unloads piles of boxes filled with samples, and two of my staff and I start picking styles and colors. As I field phone calls, arrange more appointments, answer questions about everything from what kind of print advertising we want to be doing, what is the job list of the stage manager we are hiring for the next event., can my oldest son have some money, how to clean a white fedora that a customers' girlfriend has borrowed and spilt drinks on...excuse me where is the bank machine...



I am back into my world of a busy retail store owner/producer/promoter/mother/wife – and flamenco dancer. I am lucky enough to have a chance of a weekly gig with friends at a resturant in town.

I take a deep breath and look around.

My office is chaos... the phone seems not to stop ringing... I have family and staff who need attention... a "to do" pile that is not to be believed...

And I realize I am the luckiest woman in the world.

What a difference a flight makes

I chose to spread my plane tickets over two days going back to Vancouver. Jerez to Madrid, on to Frankfurt and an overnight stay, and a civilized afternoon flight to Vancouver. I needed an emotional decompression chamber between the two worlds.

The dream of me in Spain was now a reality. Or shall I say ONE of my realities. My others are very real responsibilities, waiting for me in Vancouver. I have a big show and benefit for my friend Ja to produce on the 29th of April, and there are many details that have to be seen to PRONTO.

(We are turning the whole building that the store is situated in into a performance venue - decorating, bringing in a stage to highlight the ten piece Latin jazz band that is being assembled for the occasion. The fall stock for the store is waiting to be bought...appointments backed up to three weeks solid. My husband needs a holiday as he looked after things whilst I took off to follow my dream. My sons are looking forward to some mother action. My sisters have been looking after my parents who are elderly and ill.

Turning my nose back takes some real focus and intention.

Most of me still just wants to just think Flamenco... my biggest concerns being "Can I get that choreography down well enough so that I could express the aire inside me?" "How can I remember those cool remates that Chacha taught us, and somehow take on some of her way of moving that pulls the juice right out of the cante - the way she curls around herself anticipating the next space or beat" ..then meet
someone at a cafe somewhere and talk about it..before going off to the next class to learn something new.

After saying goodbye to my freind Manolo - the night clerk in my hotel - I begin the transition by crying all the way from Jerez to Madrid. The now familiar Spanish baggage mixups keep me bussing back and forth between the Iberia airport and Lufthansa desk at the Madrid airport for about three hours. My sobbing changes to sign language once again and I almost break my back lugging the three heavy bags I actually DID locate back and forth. I have had no sleep, and whiplash and nose are hurting. I feel like I am stoned and on some kind of odyssey . If I get through this to the other side...somehow I will understand.

Finally, I find my bags back at the original place I looked for them hours earlier (of course) and go to my gate area. I am bedraggled....puffy and sad, little weeps still erupting once in awhile. I start buying goodies for my loved ones back home, at the duty free shop. I meet Antonio from Seville who works there...and he says I look like I'm from Seville and I have nice eyes - what happened to them?...he helps me find the favourite cheese I wanted to buy .....sigh...I will miss this kind of thing. At home this would be considered a come-on...here it's just a way of interacting. Kind of like social dancing.

I board, and fall asleep against my will on the flight to Frankfurt - the sounds of the activity in the plane like a weird background score to my dreams...

When I get off the plane in Frankfurt...It is so obviously a different place. Everything is shiny and clean, and very expensive. The signs all pretty well make sense, even if I can't read them...and all the German people are helpful and speak English. I feel a wave of efficiency and sensible thinking coming on...... AARGHH!!!!!

As I stand in line waiting to find out about a hotel for the night , I am aware that I am rocking slightly... and I can feel myself slowly sinking
backwards.... and a I notice the struts of the ceiling are painted a funny yellow... I realize I am dropping.

Moments later with a bump on the back of my head, I come to, with lots of people around me , a nice man in a very lovely suit and topcoat smelling of very expensive cologne is asking me questions in German, to see if I am lucid.

I'm given some water, sit and rest, get lots of kind attention from some of the airport people in blue and green suits... they help me get a hotel... and before I know it I'm on the shuttle bus to a hotel on the outskirts of town.

Vancouver is looking better and better.

A Day in Seville

I have one day left. I have not packed. It seems I am a slob...and even after all these years with husband and children, I have reverted to some kind of teenage slovenly chaos. It could take me five hours to pack. My hotel room is covered in piles of clothes... food... flowers... shoes... flamenco posters... camera batteries... malfunctioning equipment of all sorts... high heels... assorted tickets.. and spent phone cards.

I weigh the odds. Be responsible, pack, sort papers and bills, clean my filthy clothes, throw away garbage so that Maria (who cleans the room and has kids the same age as mine) doesn't have to deal with it... or GO TO SEVILLE FOR THE DAY - SHOP AND EXPLORE!!!!! No hard decision here! Maria will forgive me.

Whooo hooo - Pat arrives at 9 am, and we go to the train station full of plans. I need to connect with wholesalers...CORDOBEZ Hats... Montons...Basque Berets... Flamenco Posters for the Spanish cafés we do at the store.. flowers for my costumes... flamenco shoes... and I'm hoping to have a flamenco dress jump out at me for less than the price I know they really are.





Seville turns out to more beautiful than I could have imagined. It is, as Pat says, a Flamenco woman's paradise. Stores and stores and stores and stores of Flamenco EVERYTHING, every price ...every imaginable colour... it is absolutely the the most intoxicating and sensual experience EVER. The buildings are golden and close together. The ancient walls are covered in ironwork. Flowers spilling from ledges. Windows that make you think the lover of your dreams is standing under each one. Music and smells coming from everywhere. There are more tourists here - more languages - more non-flamencos. Different, and more fancy than Jerez. Jerez seems to me more "real" in some ways... But this is wonderful. Absolutely wonderful.



Pat takes me to what she thinks is the right hat shop for me to connect with. She is absolutely right. They have been in business forever. They make their own hats for the horse shows and racing, stock many of the traditional and classic hats I want, and are established wholesalers. Likewise, the Monton store and warehouse we visit also has beautiful stuff. I am thrilled! We celebrate by lunching in a courtyard with a fountain flanked by Seville Orange trees with birds singing in them. It SMELLS of oranges!!!! I want to die from the sheer beauty of it.

Hot, tired and burnt out, we make our way back to the train station. We have missed the 6 pm train . Do I care? Not enough, it seems. I'm going to have to stay up all night to pack - my flight leaves Jerez at 7am.

We roll in at 10-ish, meeting Sylvia on the train back. She is is staying another two weeks or so. She and Pat trade class info. I kiss her goodbye and tell her I'll see her next year.

I go to my hotel, climb the stairs to my room, and begin the transformation process...

Click here for more pics of Seville!