Things are not going all that good. Why don't I ever do anything that I am capable of? I went to the Chinese grocery store and now I am steeping some Hong Shao Niu Rou Mian, the same brand I got on the train in Western China. This makes me feel better. I also came back with a bag of black sesame wafers, a coconut drink, and some organic barbeque flavoured nachos (from the Chinese store too). I considered buying a package of hot pot flavour actually made in Chongqing, which means it is really authentic and not some Hong Kong company's imitation (or an Eastery style of hot pot). But I had no idea where I would get stuff to make hotpot here...
Well, it makes me feel a small bit better.
I didn't get a Chinese Spanish dictionary, although that was what I originally went to the store for, because they didn't have any left that were the good quality ones like mine, from the university in Beijing.

Watching your meat get butchered on a Sunday afternoon

In a very artistic way. With much aplomb and drama.

Only the Spanish could come up with something like this. There are so many titles I could start this off with: men with an attitude in tight pants and pink socks...blood, gore and danger, a terrible waste of embroidery...

Amanda's and my North American, sanitised outlook on life was challenged. She was the perfect person to go with as we both went in knowing that we certainly would be a little uncomfortable, but being willing to keep an open mind. For my part, I came out with a rather more positive view than most normal people of my milieu probably do. What I have to say is that killing an animal is not a pretty thing. There is some added cruelty here, I suppose, "playing" with the bull. But there are quite a few arguments for the devil, that I can give.

If you are going to eat meat... in my personal opinion you better be okay with the concept of killing an animal. Otherwise you really haven't thought about very much in life. North Americans are so completely cut off from where their food comes from. And nobody wants to eat anything other than a steak. If it looks like some part of the animal, woah! (Guilty, I admit) When all is said and done, I prefer the Spanish way of making a grand exhibition out of the killing of some grand animals, and putting the blood right in your face, than I do the sanitisation of killing that we do. In fact, hiding and sanitising the killing of animals for meat is a bit twisted. That is more likely to lead to problems.

The part that bothered both of us was the role of the horses. They were blindfolded and though they were protected with thick blankets (possibly armoured?) they were subject to direct impact from the angry bulls, while the humans constantly avoided that by distracting. The horses took the bulls horns on their sides and bellies, sometimes being lifted up by the bull. The horns couldn't puncture due to the protection, but I wonder about the damage due to impact. The purpose is to kill the bull. I eat meat so I don't have as big of a problem with the bull dying. Besides, he is not tied or controlled by a human sitting on him. He is free to strike back, if he can manage it. The horse has to bear this, and with his vocal chords cut so he can't make a noise.

In fact the whole bullfighting thing I could be a lot more okay with if it didn't involve horses. The role of the rider is to inflict some serious wounds on the bull with a huge pole with a dagger on the end. It can't go in very far because that is the job of the torero with his sword, near the end. But it makes some large wounds that blood gushes from. After the horseman does his bit, the bull's neck is basically dripping in blood and then the whole thing really begins.

Philosophically I prefer hunting to raising animals. (Practically of course, this is not ecologically feasible to feed nations). The animal has a good life, free. He stands a fair chance - kind of. Guns are kinder - they get it over with quicker. A huge question in killing of animals for food is how to do it with less cruelty. On the other hand, guns put humans at a great advantage - the animal doesn't stand much chance of fighting back. Today I saw one torero get stepped on by a bull. He was carried out and we will have to read the news tomorrow to know if he is fine, has internal organ damage, or died. I have no idea.

It's not that we shouldn't attempt to live better, but I find that after visiting various other countries and spending time in them, North Americans want to keep real life at bay. We want to hide everything and sanitise it. Real life is not pretty. The desire to strip life of everything painful or slightly distasteful leaves us more like robots, and distant from the baser instincts that make us who we are. If you are a vegetarian, fine, I understand your dissent. If you eat meat, you are killing and this is what it looked like before we got onto pretending that doing away with an animal's life quietly behind closed doors as if it really isn't happening at all. I don't really know but perhaps that is more disrespectful to the life of the animal than having a raging bull roaring around, a torero dressed in ornate clothing with a highly refined, ritualistic mode of taunting (gives the bull something to think about or concentrate on while dying - being encouraged to fight back, instead of being electrically prodded along an assembly line it has no chance to run anywhere), and his hand shaking after he's done stabbing the bull.

As for the other aspects... I saw a lot of flamenco happening and now I get it - the connection between flamenco and bullfighting. The way bullfighters move is flamenco. So many things I've been taught in dance classes come from this. Especially one move Rafael taught in January - pure torero. Then there's the Carmen Amaya arms - like bull horns or maybe like this guys holding the colourful spears above their head.
The very first thing that crossed my mind when the first bull came out was how I have stood in front of a group of running cows in a corral and intimidated them from coming in a certain direction, but a raging bull with horns is nothing like that.
There was a heck of a lot of colour in the Maestranza. The audience all fanning themselves with different coloured fans, then come the toreros all with different coloured costumes, covered in extremely ornate gold embroidery (some of which ended up with big blood stains, and others with holes). They all wear pink socks, no matter what colour their costume is. The bullfighter has a red cape with a sword, but initially they all have very large, hot pink capes, that are yellow on the back.

Anyways, this place I am in seems not to belong to the modern world. This place is unreal. That a city like this continues with traditions like this and the others, at this point in time, with interest practically undiminished, that is incredible.

Holy Spirit Street is short and crooked. It has some ferns growing out of one of its balconies, and vines and other plants on another balcony. There is a graffittied head of Bart Simpson on a wall, and of course, a church at the far end. I go down it when I leave the studio occasionally if I need to get bread or something.
Of course its real name is Espiritu Santu.

It's a holiday and no classes and I was out late so I'm not going to the studio. Eating pancakes on the balcony, which is fresquita this morning. Not hot yet. For a few days, Alicia's and Marta's mothers were both here. Alicia and her mother left yesterday. Marta is studying for her exams, and her mother is cleaning the entire house, much more thoroughly than we have. Both of them have been really sweet. They have their aprons, and cook dinner for the girls.

Today I have to decide for sure whether I am moving to Jerez July 1st or staying here another month. Probably August I should go. Jerez is super relaxing and I have a bunch of cool friends there. But there are no classes during July. I can find short courses put on specially, but they would be much more expensive. Jerez also doesn't have an incredibly cheap studio for practicing that I'm aware of... well except the casa de Manuel y Pati. I have to tell Esther whether I'm renting the studio for another month starting from today, or else pay more for only half a month or 10 days.
I also have to buy more tea, if the shop is even open. Then I have to go to Bar Sol to check out the practice schedule and get ahold of Antonio, a guy from my class who wants to practice together. Antonio is a funny sort. He came up and talked with me after class the other day. He isn't impressed with the chicas in the class at all. I've been thinking they're all pretty nice, though serious. He feels that they are looking down on him, are snobs and don't understand flamenco besides, because they have no pellizcos (umph, you could say). Antonio looks Indian. He tells me he is a gitano and his cousin sings for Eva Yerbabuena, a very well-known dancer. He says he used to dance professionally when he was young, but left flamenco and now he's lost his colocacion (posture) and stuff. I am not scared of him being pesado because I'm sure he's gay. I told myself I wanted to meet a gay flamenco guitarist, because after the one I recently met, I just wished for one that would genuinely want to play guitar for me, and I wouldn't have to fend off.

The other good thing about Sevilla is that it is easier to get to nature. I can take the bus to Sierra Norte and can also go to the Parque Alamillo or even the Alcazar. Yesterday I ran to my limit, and ended up at the Parque dying of thirst and overheated. I was scared I was going to get sick and not be able to go out that night. You'd think I would know by now. When I left the house after 7 pm, Marta's mom told me I was daring to go out running in this heat. It would have been fine if I had not been running to the 80s music on my ipod. And not had a ton of nervous energy. After wandering through the park for a bit with a red face and a worried expression, a man standing beside a model train (one for rides for kids) took one look at me and said - "there's a fuente de agua aqui", beside the train. He was really kindly, and talking in very fast and mumbled Spanish, I managed to catch that he helped a foreigner on the highway before, whose windows were either open or closed and he told him to do the opposite (suppose in a car, it would have to be better to open them, while they close all the windows in houses to keep the heat out. I am a bit confunded because closing windows at all, in heat, doesn't entra mi cabeza still.) I went and laid on a bench and watched birds, and then I walked under some trees and sat on another bench where I tried to bond with the particular kind of "forest" they have here (lots of pine trees and some low palms with fan leaves. I don't think you can live in a place, or try to make it your home, unless you can find some kind of connection with nature there.

There are smashed oranges here and there on the street where cars ran over them. The Down's Syndrome guy next door was yelling "EEEE-OOOOO-EEEEE-OOOO" in a falsetta voice, before 8:00 this morning. I laughed. That's better than wanting to murder him, which is how I feel sometimes, when he pounds on my and Marta's wall, at the slightest provocation. It's hard to remember that he has a valid excuse for doing that when you are stuck living with it.

I rode part way to the studio and dodged the crowd of parents, grandparents, Latina nannies and kids waiting to get into "Colegio" (primary school), then walked past the dog shit in the huge arched passageway through the building into the gravel lot behind. The whitewash and dirty electrical cords inside the arch framed blue sky and a huge palm tree sticking up beyond shack roofs. I open the garage door and leave it open, since no one except a lady who sweeps and washes the rough pavement, is around in the morning. I sweep out the dust made by many nailed toes and heels, in plywood, along with the mouse poop that is there in the morning. I cover my face with the wet towel that I then use to clean my feet before I put on my shoes. I use the same cloth to wipe my body down after, and hope to have a chance to wash it out before class, so I can do the same thing.

Esa era mi mañana.

Today I took a shower between practice and class, though I have very little time. I wanted to stop by where a chico guapo works, and didn't want to look "fatal" (in Spanish, that is a bad thing!) after sweating twice. We worked with baston today, a wooden cane that you can tap on the ground to add to the percussion already going on. During class I wear full length tights, the long skirt over top, and cualquier kind of top, but often one with long sleeves or a sweater over something. All dancers dress this way, no matter how hot the weather. When you sweat that much and then stand around, it's a bad idea. Even without air conditioning.

Yesterday I took three showers, though other times I just take a siesta all sweaty and then practice on the rooftop and get even more sweaty and only shower later. My room is the only one with light in the whole apartment. The rest of the blinds are pulled down and even the windows closed during the day. You'd think it was night time. I've had to deal with cockroaches a few times. There were a pile of them with their feet up in the lobby yesterday.

I am absolutely in love with Angel Atienza. Well, not literally, as they tell me he is gay, but as a teacher, as a person. His classes are the best I have ever taken, and he is a darling. I am taking the intermediate-advanced technique class at the school Ados, which he runs with Isabel Bayon. Angel explains the mechanics like no one else I have come across. I suppose I have not taken many technique classes, but other people tell me similar things.

BTW yes, Angél is a man's name here, and is pronounced "an - HELL", with a guttural, throaty "H" (that is how you pronounce "g").

It is no wonder I never felt like I could dance until now - I feel like I am only starting. I should have taken more technique classes at home, I suppose, but here in Spain, they all teach technique more than at home, even in my choreography classes, for example with Pilar, she would correct us.

Also, this is just as much work as studying classical piano. I think I never realised how much effort I would have to put in. I started putting in more last fall. I've been breaking down my own moves and trying to get technical, and it has gotten me farther than not doing that.

There are a few people that might truly be called advanced in this class. Too many of them have feet that are not good, and they can't stay in compas. That is my strong point, although I cannot pick up the feet fast and sometimes get confunded with easy things because of a massive confidence problem. There is a huge amount to absorb but I don't feel out of my depth. Every day practicing on my own, I am able to actually do (with a lot of effort, concentration, breaking things down slowly) the stuff taught, and to improve.

The amazing thing about Angel, besides his being an extremely good teacher, is that he pays attention to all the students, and calls individual people by name whenever they are missing something. That I find incredible. People here are not bad at doing that but I've never taken anyone's class where they were so careful to note where all their students were at.

Going to Jerez tomorrow because I have various friends who are converging there from various parts (or have recently gotten there). Yay. I have really only two friends here in Sevilla. Maybe two other half-friends (people i don't quite feel comfortable with yet to just call up for a beer on the spur of the moment).

I did have a woman invite me to go with her to Rocio today. I would if I weren't going to Jerez. She is great - she lives in France, but her family is in Huelva. I tarded mucho leaving school today because she was explaining all about Rocio to me - a magic time and place that is not part of this world.

llamadme al medico                             call me a doctor
Por dios llama al doctor                      Oh my God, call me a doctor
llamadme al medico                             call me a doctor
me se sale por la boca                         my heart is coming out of my mouth
de fatiguas el corazon                          because of pain/fatigue.



Y yo...                                                    And I...
Yo tengo perlitas porque tengo.           I have pearls... because I have them
Pena porque tengo,                              It's a pity, because I have
La camisa sin mangas,                         A shirt without sleeves
Sin cuello, y sin tela enterro                Without collar, and without "entire cloth"


Maria La Burra

Juana - as close to the heart and soul of flamenco as is danced on stage in a show
I am quickly becoming a big fan of her. I took her class yesterday, in my old shoes, cause the new ones were being reinforced in the toe. Alfonso Chaves is an expert craftsman/artesan but not a flamenco shoe maker. There are several details that should be different, but they are so minor compared to having shoes that do not cripple me that for the most part, I don't care at this point.

So the final verdict on my feet is obvious now: it was the shoes. It was not a pathology (though I do have mild supination or pronation or whatever, and high arches). It wasn't anything any of the medical people said, even though they were correct in their assessments. Those things were not the cause, and they all wanted to treat me for what they discovered, for their own interests. My feet have been basically back to normal - I have no problems doing all the footwork I did before. Until I put the old shoes back on for one day.

Juana, by the way has the worst bent in heel I've ever seen. I don't understand how she dances at a high level, let alone as a professional all her life, and has not had serious problems. Either that or her left shoe was broken, which I doubt would be possible to dance on.

Learning Spanish is kind of like falling over. Residencia Asistada. Tercer Edad. Gerontologia. I think the only words that aren't totally obvious there might be tercer edad. Then again, I don't know how useful these words are. I suppose there may be some kind of instance where it might be important to know the building you are passing is an old folks' home: "Please help me, I am OLD!"

I had to go back to the warehouse/hole in the wall behind the church tower, because the oranges I was getting elsewhere, even in the market, weren't as good. I could hardly deal with it today though. One woman took interminably long, and I wish so much that I could have recorded the interaction to be able to better describe to you just how weird it is. Senor cualquier is almost like some kind of entertainer. As he answers detailed questions regarding what exact kind of oranges or potatoes he's got, while jumping around the shop collecting the items, he also gives a little extra information just in case you need to be convinced, "these are buenisimo, put several on the grill and... uufff!" Or, "these avocados are perfect," (quickly slices one open to show the row of ladies waiting), "you can eat them today or leave them till domingo, martes and they'll still be good." To anyone from home this makes him sound like some kind of a bad salesperson, but the way he does it is completely honest, and it is always true, at least at his shop. It is the ladies that drive me nuts with the number of detailed questions, but I suppose when you are not picking the produce out for yourself, you need to know, somehow.

I made the mistake of eating one sitting here on my bed just now and got a little juice on the unnecessary "blanket" (more like a thick second sheet). I am just hoping that does not attract cocroaches. Last night I went to the pena that takes place from Wednesday to Friday right outside my studio. I managed to be friendly for once with a random stranger (actually my normal state). And then Esther, the English woman who rents me the studio, came along too. The singer had a letra that mentioned a cucaracha on the pared, and a paloma that ate it. That letra came right after one about how much he loves his gitana girl. Unfortunately I came home and found a cucaracha on my pared.
The pena takes place just outside my (or rather, Esther's) little garage practice space, on a concrete area, with a few wooden boards for benches and other random chairs and the rest stand. There are still a few oranges left on the trees above the garage, and during the siguiriyas two oranges came bouncing down off the tree. Fortunately, flamenco singers are used to stuff like that (normally just noisy dumb people in the audience). The singer was a tall and intimidating, very gitano looking guy, with his dark, curly hair in a pony tail, and wearing all black, though casual, unlike the other kinds of penas. When he sung, he didn't look at anyone, and his face turned sweet looking.

There was a wind blowing my white laundry on the rooftop, the sky was pink, and there were swarms of swallows. A wrought iron scrollwork thing on top of a church just across the opposite rooftops was tilting sideways. Some procession band's trumpets and drums were playing, and they would get a bit louder and then a bit quieter. I don't know if it was the wind, carrying the sound from the river, or if they were turning corners in the streets. Now inside I can of course still hear them.

I took a class today for the first time in months and watched the same one yesterday. Juana Amaya is awesome - a very highly regarded dancer of a traditional, gitano style (less perfectly sculpted stuff, more fire), and a really nice person. I wanted to try the advanced class because I really didn't want any more tangos for the time being, which was what the intermediate was doing. Watching yesterday, I knew I was capable of doing the footwork, but didn't know if I could follow along fast enough. If I'd been able to take the class yesterday I might have done better, but it is too fast for comfort to do the same all month. She told me it doesn't matter whether I've done too much tangos recently, I just need to dance really A LOT, to raise my level.

This is really true, but my aims are slightly different than most of the advanced girls. Some of them don't even have better arms than me, and she felt the need to stop them from coming in at the wrong spot when the singer changed her entrada. Basically what it amounts to is they are good sight readers, due to having taken many, many similar classes. I may or may not get to the level where I can quickly "sight read" complicated footwork (I already know I can do it if given time to learn it). I am still working with the tangos material I currently have. Learning more is not going to help me land anything in the right spot, when I am given something in an impromptu situation. My aim is to know what I already know so well that I can adapt my pasos to whatever music I'm given. I have my doubts that simply taking a million classes and being able to pick up more and more complicated stuff quickly is going to do that for me. Perhaps some of them manage that after a while, but I intend to do that first, and what they are doing later, or at least along with it. I intend to do the same thing with the other palos that I want to learn.

The other possibility is technique with Angel Atienza, and what I'd most love is some unknown, random class with Angelita Vargas, which is as of yet, unorganised.