Night at a Pena
It's Sunday am - I think. Beautiful Chacha took Kasandra, Pat, Jill and I to a Pena (flamenco club) in her neighbourhood (Bario Santiago) after class in the early afternoon, and then we went back after a short break at 8 or 9 pm (us not them - they
would be there non-stop till 8am the next day) last night - At least I think.
Unless it was a dream that I imagined. (Because I have imagined this before.)
Last night I lived one of my dreams for real...if that's not true I don't want to know! Here are some moments for you.
It was a beautiful sunny day. Spring has arrived in Jerez, and it is warm in the streets, and cool and dark inside the Pena building, which is only open for these events. The walls are covered in pictures of Flamencos past and present. One of them looks like me! Pat is going to find out who she is for me.
This paticular church-like space is decorated, so that you feel like you've dropped into an article on Andalusia in a National Geographic magazine, only it's for real. These people and their life is real.
Chacha led us to this place through the maze of narrow passageways and introduced us to the people (some of whom are her in-laws) who had already gathered, and were preparing food, (seriously - the BEST fried fish I have EVER eaten and I come from the land of fish and chips!) Visiting, talking, and singing bulerias.
A man named Luis who brought us food, vino, and beer joked and made up bulerias as part of his converstaion... rapping in time on the table in front of us with his knuckles...joking constantly. He is obviously some kind of genius with verse. His twin brother and he are famous palmists apparently.
A little Arabic girl with beautiful dark eyes, about 7 years old, arrives, dances to the rhythm they provide with their hands and voices...and then she is encouraged to sing. She is precioso and a natural. Everyone is enchanted.
We drink, and joke, and I take pictures. My camera as usual is giving me problems and just as Luis, his brother and I get someone to take a picture of us... my battery runs out! I blurt out "Oh my God - oh my God!" in frustration - and Luis sings a perfectly rymed buleria letra about the Canadian lady whose batteries run out and the close is "Oh my God ". He is a flamenco rapper!!!!
After a while we decide to go home and shower , some are going to catch a show then come back at midnight or so when there is going to be a performance.
When we arrive back later that night, my "newbie" and uncynical eyes take in everything with joy and awe. It is a unique micro-world here that exists nowhere else other than in other gypsy neighbourhoods. These people are big in their tiny world... and the Flamenco life is what they do and think about. Flamenco is life. They develop, percolate (and preserve) the pure art within this tiny tiny place. It's not art to them - it's just like breathing, they are born into and live it. The community is all here tonight to celebrate.
There are children (I recognize the little girl from this afternoon), old people (unlike our world they are honored participants), young people that are present and really listening to the cante (because THAT"S really what everyone is focused on). It truly truly is, that everything else is just an interpretation of the cante. People come to try and get what they can from this place... to take away elsewhere... but the ones that live it experience flamenco within the cante.
Tonight my frigging camera screwed up again (this time the cf card says it's full....and I could NOT figure out how to clear it) so I missed pictures of a special event. Sometimes I could just scream with frustration over my lack of technical troubleshooting knowledge. I have vowed to change this!
This night was a gypsy reunion I think. Maybe there were Castinas there (this is an old gypsy caste that were roaming people, and still are in many of their ways). The Farruca family are of these people, and though they are rich, and own lots of things, they retain
a certain kind of behavior and attitude and are predisposed to dance and sing and be musicians. I learned about Tangos being a baskets weaver's song while sitting and drinking, listening to tidbits of history.
There is so much tradition that these people still live within. Some of them care really very little (as far as I can tell) of the outside world. The people that I saw and was with during the day today, that were in casual clothes, are all back here tonight dressed in their finery. The men (young and old) are in beautiful shirts, ties (pink is in right now), brocade and silk vests... gold chains and tie clips... freshly washed hair, incredible shoes... (lots of white ones). Much cologne and aftershave. The crowd is so thick that the chests of the men are RIGHT in your face when you are squeezing through either to get a better look, or on your way desperately to the servecio...(or conversely desperately on your way to the bar!) And the shorter women's hair (which is often tickling your nose in the crowd) smells like different shampoos, hairsprays, and gels... and then THEIR perfume.
Mix THAT with the cigarette smoke coming from the mouth of almost everyone (except the older women) and you have me with my inhaler more often than I would like to admit to a chest doctor in Vancouver! (One of the drugs I am going to kick the habit of is my trusty bronchial dialator! - never mind vino, coffee, mancheao and jamon.)
Some of the middle-aged couples had coordinated their outfits - for instance, the man's suit or tie might match the woman's dress. If the woman is past say 45 or 50, she is usually stout and sometimes has a reddish dyed bouffant kind of hairdo - unless she is still sporting a jet-black, fuzzy-hair look. Apparently some families have early grey hair so there's a lot of hair dying going on. This was a reunion of different families and it's so hard to keep it all straight... and everybody seems to be cousins, even if it is distant, and they all have several names - AND nicknames.
Honest to God - most of the time - I'm so disoriented, even if they WERE speaking English it wouldn't make any difference! There is so much to know that isn't obvious...I just go by feel now, and hope for the best when talking to people. They also speak a dialect here that even most people who have learned Spanish can't get most of, because they drop all their consonants and run everything together really fast. (Kind of like dancing bulerias with their mouth!)
When the show on stage started (as opposed to the show in front of the stage) people shoved together, and I had I stand on my toes and crane my neck to see anything... lot's of shushhhhhing... lot's of halaos. Tonight there is actually a blonde woman dancing named Rubia and she sweats like crazy while delivering her palos with furious energy. I like her ...she is kind of organic, extremely emotional, and not trying to be pretty at all, but is very womanly and beautiful. The singers (3 very different) are of course ALL wonderful, and the hard-working guitarist is nice to watch. It's so crowded that I don't really see anybody I know until the breaks or at the end, when the crowds spills out into the narrow street on either side of the pena, and we stumble home - coughing from the smoke, and trying not to get lost in the winding, empty passageways. My high heels clip-clop and echo against the the shuttered windows and closed courtyard doors.
As I write this, Kasandra calls. (She didn't go last night.) She's at the flea market and says it's a beautiful day... meet her there. Oh God - I'm not even out from under the covers yet! Jookoo wanted to make me curry today...and Merek wants me to go to a bullfight later. I said I'd only stay for one kill - they are going to fight six – I'm not up for that!
So much for lying in bed on Sunday! MY sore throat's just going to have to come along for the ride! So I'm going to throw whatever I can into my knapsack and run out of here.
Adthio Mi Amores!
would be there non-stop till 8am the next day) last night - At least I think.
Unless it was a dream that I imagined. (Because I have imagined this before.)
Last night I lived one of my dreams for real...if that's not true I don't want to know! Here are some moments for you.
It was a beautiful sunny day. Spring has arrived in Jerez, and it is warm in the streets, and cool and dark inside the Pena building, which is only open for these events. The walls are covered in pictures of Flamencos past and present. One of them looks like me! Pat is going to find out who she is for me.
This paticular church-like space is decorated, so that you feel like you've dropped into an article on Andalusia in a National Geographic magazine, only it's for real. These people and their life is real.
Chacha led us to this place through the maze of narrow passageways and introduced us to the people (some of whom are her in-laws) who had already gathered, and were preparing food, (seriously - the BEST fried fish I have EVER eaten and I come from the land of fish and chips!) Visiting, talking, and singing bulerias.
A man named Luis who brought us food, vino, and beer joked and made up bulerias as part of his converstaion... rapping in time on the table in front of us with his knuckles...joking constantly. He is obviously some kind of genius with verse. His twin brother and he are famous palmists apparently.
A little Arabic girl with beautiful dark eyes, about 7 years old, arrives, dances to the rhythm they provide with their hands and voices...and then she is encouraged to sing. She is precioso and a natural. Everyone is enchanted.
We drink, and joke, and I take pictures. My camera as usual is giving me problems and just as Luis, his brother and I get someone to take a picture of us... my battery runs out! I blurt out "Oh my God - oh my God!" in frustration - and Luis sings a perfectly rymed buleria letra about the Canadian lady whose batteries run out and the close is "Oh my God ". He is a flamenco rapper!!!!
After a while we decide to go home and shower , some are going to catch a show then come back at midnight or so when there is going to be a performance.
When we arrive back later that night, my "newbie" and uncynical eyes take in everything with joy and awe. It is a unique micro-world here that exists nowhere else other than in other gypsy neighbourhoods. These people are big in their tiny world... and the Flamenco life is what they do and think about. Flamenco is life. They develop, percolate (and preserve) the pure art within this tiny tiny place. It's not art to them - it's just like breathing, they are born into and live it. The community is all here tonight to celebrate.
There are children (I recognize the little girl from this afternoon), old people (unlike our world they are honored participants), young people that are present and really listening to the cante (because THAT"S really what everyone is focused on). It truly truly is, that everything else is just an interpretation of the cante. People come to try and get what they can from this place... to take away elsewhere... but the ones that live it experience flamenco within the cante.
Tonight my frigging camera screwed up again (this time the cf card says it's full....and I could NOT figure out how to clear it) so I missed pictures of a special event. Sometimes I could just scream with frustration over my lack of technical troubleshooting knowledge. I have vowed to change this!
This night was a gypsy reunion I think. Maybe there were Castinas there (this is an old gypsy caste that were roaming people, and still are in many of their ways). The Farruca family are of these people, and though they are rich, and own lots of things, they retain
a certain kind of behavior and attitude and are predisposed to dance and sing and be musicians. I learned about Tangos being a baskets weaver's song while sitting and drinking, listening to tidbits of history.
There is so much tradition that these people still live within. Some of them care really very little (as far as I can tell) of the outside world. The people that I saw and was with during the day today, that were in casual clothes, are all back here tonight dressed in their finery. The men (young and old) are in beautiful shirts, ties (pink is in right now), brocade and silk vests... gold chains and tie clips... freshly washed hair, incredible shoes... (lots of white ones). Much cologne and aftershave. The crowd is so thick that the chests of the men are RIGHT in your face when you are squeezing through either to get a better look, or on your way desperately to the servecio...(or conversely desperately on your way to the bar!) And the shorter women's hair (which is often tickling your nose in the crowd) smells like different shampoos, hairsprays, and gels... and then THEIR perfume.
Mix THAT with the cigarette smoke coming from the mouth of almost everyone (except the older women) and you have me with my inhaler more often than I would like to admit to a chest doctor in Vancouver! (One of the drugs I am going to kick the habit of is my trusty bronchial dialator! - never mind vino, coffee, mancheao and jamon.)
Some of the middle-aged couples had coordinated their outfits - for instance, the man's suit or tie might match the woman's dress. If the woman is past say 45 or 50, she is usually stout and sometimes has a reddish dyed bouffant kind of hairdo - unless she is still sporting a jet-black, fuzzy-hair look. Apparently some families have early grey hair so there's a lot of hair dying going on. This was a reunion of different families and it's so hard to keep it all straight... and everybody seems to be cousins, even if it is distant, and they all have several names - AND nicknames.
Honest to God - most of the time - I'm so disoriented, even if they WERE speaking English it wouldn't make any difference! There is so much to know that isn't obvious...I just go by feel now, and hope for the best when talking to people. They also speak a dialect here that even most people who have learned Spanish can't get most of, because they drop all their consonants and run everything together really fast. (Kind of like dancing bulerias with their mouth!)
When the show on stage started (as opposed to the show in front of the stage) people shoved together, and I had I stand on my toes and crane my neck to see anything... lot's of shushhhhhing... lot's of halaos. Tonight there is actually a blonde woman dancing named Rubia and she sweats like crazy while delivering her palos with furious energy. I like her ...she is kind of organic, extremely emotional, and not trying to be pretty at all, but is very womanly and beautiful. The singers (3 very different) are of course ALL wonderful, and the hard-working guitarist is nice to watch. It's so crowded that I don't really see anybody I know until the breaks or at the end, when the crowds spills out into the narrow street on either side of the pena, and we stumble home - coughing from the smoke, and trying not to get lost in the winding, empty passageways. My high heels clip-clop and echo against the the shuttered windows and closed courtyard doors.
As I write this, Kasandra calls. (She didn't go last night.) She's at the flea market and says it's a beautiful day... meet her there. Oh God - I'm not even out from under the covers yet! Jookoo wanted to make me curry today...and Merek wants me to go to a bullfight later. I said I'd only stay for one kill - they are going to fight six – I'm not up for that!
So much for lying in bed on Sunday! MY sore throat's just going to have to come along for the ride! So I'm going to throw whatever I can into my knapsack and run out of here.
Adthio Mi Amores!
posted by Edie at 10:15 AM
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