5 people packed into tiny car, too much cigarette smoke, but I am happy to travel with anyone who listens to Fernanda de Utrera and Diego del Gastor during the entire trip, and breaks out into Ole! when the singing strikes them particularly. This was probably privately tape-recorded at a house party sometime before 1971, and possibly isn't even available anywhere.

Concurso de Fandangos. The judges are 3 little old guys in striped, short sleeved shirts. It is a hole in the wall place. At intermission the bar owner uses a deck of cards as raffle tickets for a leg of Iberian ham. People are spilling out onto the sidewalk, watching. A pot bellied grandfather that fits right into this seaside pueblo evidently full of motley fishermen and marinero types, is the most moving singer, with beautiful Fandangos. Another Curro Vargas, who has come from Lebrija and who is a friend of Concha (not her son), sings and is also very good. A young muscular guy with earrings does a very intense and skilled job of his set of Fandangos. Jesus, one of the gang from the gitano bar in Lebrija is the last to sing. During intermission he asks if I like Camaron and tells me he will dedicate the first one to me, and the second one to his friend who is there to film him. Jesus is a decent singer, but he appears really nervous and I guess he is either on drugs or medication. He seems like a really sweet soul, but isn't quite alright. I sit there fanning Mai and myself, while taking in all kinds of crazy letras. I wish I could remember them to tell. "I abandoned my mother for you. Then you didn't love me any more and I ended up with neither to love me, alone."

Afterwards, we waited while Rafael drove Jesus and Sebastian somewhere...  I didn't quite understand. 3 km distant from town, they walked in, something about someone driving them disappearing or maybe not finding their car, something about the police, and one officer related to somebody. We had the motley marineros (guy with a baseball cap, rough beard, and tank top, long haired dude in a striking red shirt of the kind that only Spanish men wear, old codger in a shirt and tie, and so on) to entertain while we waited. They were sitting around outside drinking and breaking out into flamenco cante and arguing about Agujetas versus Morente (very trad. vs. very cutting edge).