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.
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.
posted by Edie at 1:55 PM
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