Palomas, Rancapino, Rice

I am listening to a second hand CD of El Cigala that I got in Granada.

Things are more manageable this evening. I wear my red cashmere sweater every day now. I wear Gina's black jacket with shiny beads just about always too. Normally I have to wear my red canvas jacket over that, but today it was really sunny and warm enough to wear flats with no socks. After our class on simple marking steps, and shower and lunch, I went out. Before, with two classes, I would only be able to sleep immediately after lunch.

I went to Plaza San Marco, and got two large bizcochos. I ate them both, watching clouds go by. I didn't give the last bit to the pigeons, because it was too sugary for me to finish, and I figured it would be worse for their health than mine. There were a mixture of black/grey and white, and a lot of them. After a while hanging out in the square, they seemed to take to circling above it and over near the tower of the church at the front of the plaza. The tower is kind of a smaller, plainer, Giralda. There was another church just behind me, and orange trees, as well as some kind of red flowered tree budding just above my bench. It looked like hibiscus.

I got really tired and debated whether to read my book on the social history of flamenco, or go home and sleep. I really wanted to avoid the ladies, as I've been super uncomfortable there since Loli got after me, after repeated picking on small things, and constant giving of advice, and then freaking out when I arrived home on Monday – she was scared something terrible had happened to me, because I said I'd be gone for the weekend.

So I went and got a coffee and sat at one of the outdoor tables and read about Rancapino and Camaron hanging out in Chiclana as kids, and how ugly and like a “burnt pine” Rancapino looked, and how Camaron, even at 12 years old, would draw a crowd out into the street when they went to hang out at the barber shop and sing there.

This reading is awesome for my Spanish. I understand a lot of it, and the general gist of almost all of it, and look up the words I don't understand. I probably need to eventually put some serious effort into grammar like more verb tenses, but later... Speaking of which, a quote of Rancapino on the front of the book, is “Flamenco is sung with spelling mistakes”. That is why they say that it isn't a thing to be taught in an academy.

Watching TV and talking to the ladies, especially Marie Carmen, is also awesome for my Spanish. I really like her. (Loli goes from super sweet, to picky and inventing things to bug you about). When I got back this afternoon, I sat for a while and watched “Salvame”, a show where people call in or come in with personal problems, for advice. The main person was a woman called Mademoiselle so and so. “Me” is the same as English and salva is what it sounds like. One woman with lower lip quivering, was explaining that people gossip about her because her husband is a torero (bullfighter) and they say she only married him for the money, etc. I didn't understand the other stuff that was happening, but one heavily made-up woman was crying and there was a kind of panel of people on the show, who looked like public that had applied to be on the show, who also seemed to be able to call others on the phone. The funniest thing were the huge graphics on a screen at the back of the stage, with a freeze-framed comic strip figure of a woman in bright pink, that descended down the screen, in various poses, looking like she was running to save those poor crying souls.

I don't know how I ever survived without a siesta before. It is really stupid to try to stay awake in the afternoon, after lunch. There are only two choices here – sleep or hang out at a bar or cafe. Everything else is closed, and I mean everything. Grocery stores, even supermarkets. You really have to get everything done by 2:00, and plan to do nothing except sleep or have a beer, before 5:00. I woke up, wandered over to the studio, bought an empanada de atun (a square of pastry with tuna inside), and went to practice. I felt without hope, near the end of my practice, wondering what the hell I am even bothering for. Any of you that have seen me dance might think my footwork is kind of cool, but there is a big difference between being a trained monkey and knowing how to dance. I've learned a lot of moves, but I keep learning more and never keeping any of them up consistently so they are at my fingertips in a split second when I hear a change in the music. Part of the problem is the music. There is a rare class where I've managed to learn the steps as well as pay attention to what the heck the structure of the music is. There have been times when my buddies at home have told me to practice with Tangos de Triana, for example, if I didn't want to get confused, or Bulerias de Jerez, so I could at least keep trying to adjust my moves to the same kind of music, with a similar structure. That advice would be a start, but I still, after all these years, don't know how to recognise Tangos de Triana, unless it is the letra that actually says “Triana, Triana!” I feel like I am just too stupid to do this. I don't think any of my discs actually say what kind of tangos, alegrias, or bulerias things are. Perhaps the collection of Camaron that I left with Carol, but I bought that here last summer. Flamenco is practically unavailable in Vancouver. All my previous discs were copied by friends, without liner notes for dumb flamenco students explaining exactly what subset of each palo, each “song” is. So my method, so far, has been to just put on any old disc of any old tangos and attempt to dance.

I hate counting. Rhythm should be felt. Ocassionaly it is necessary, but not like some people do it. You need to let your subconscious do the work. Maybe that is the solution to my feeling of total stupidity. Part of it is practice though. The pasos have to be at the tips of your fingers and comfortable to do fast enough too.

I ended the evening by remembering an entrada I learned myself off Youtube for tangos, that I love, just before I came here. That's not solving the problems, but it made me feel better.

I bought a beer on the way home, and somehow managed to feel that the ladies are not so bad, and I can handle living here till the end of the month. I cooked the thing I always cook – rice.

Here is how you do it. The Ana Andalusia way to cook rice:

Cut up a whole onion and one or two other vegetables. Tonight I used calabacin (forgetting the normal name...zucchini) and a bit of cauliflower. Fry the onion, and dump in the other stuff. Put in some random spice, if you have it – paprika for example. When that is fried, up the fire and give it a splash of Jerez vinegar. When that is absorbed, pour in some rice. About two running over handfuls. Fry, add garlic (squish/crush/chop it). Then pour in chicken broth – an amount that looks about right. Cook till done. Oops – forgot, I often add some salami or chorizo. Onion really should be in it, but I didn't have any a couple nights ago and it didn't matter. Vegetables like eggplant, tomatoes, red peppers are also good. If I have it, I put in some wine or sherry. What a great way to cook rice. It tastes way better than plain, and you don't have to cook separate dishes. There is no measuring and you don't really need to stir, after you put the liquid in.