I love my neighbourhood. As I ride my not-so-magic-any-more bike (has seen some beatings, literally) into the Lola Flores square at Bar Maypa, I am liable to catch Antonio the butcher's eye, who is standing at the door visiting, and wave a quick "hola". Paco, at Bar Maypa always greets me if he on his way to or from work, and sometimes Antonio, a member of the Fajardo-Moneo clan (respected flamenco singers) will be sitting on the bench under the olive tree. I am continually surprised that he recognises me, as the times I've previously talked with him he seemed very drunk and is somewhat elderly. Then there is Pacquito, with his white spiky hair and moustache, who is often to be seen swaying his hips and twirling his hands. He calls out "¡hola Keen!" as a fellow owner of the name Kim told him this was my "real" name. Pacquito will say, "my wife walks like this...", and then doing roughly the same thing, adds, "and I walk like this...!" Some say he is not gay at all but this is the persona he has taken on. He loves to act the part, if indeed he is acting. You can guess the answer he gives when you ask him who walks better.
As I get closer to home, I might see Adela or occasionally Maria at the doorway. Adela loves to go for paseos, and always thinks that's what I'm doing too, even if I am going to work. Adela's son may be hanging out in the square with the other unemployed men. And if Mari-Carmen of the Coviran grocery shop is outside putting boxes out, I get a nod. Since the sidewalks are too narrow for two people to pass comfortably and not so convenient for anyone with a stroller, many people amble up the middle of the street, which is one way, like almost every street except for the major ones.
If I go down the next street over, and happen to see them, I'll greet the owners of Bar Porrón, and then Manuel who is always standing somewhere near Peña Buleria or the corner store across the street.
It is common to run into most of my friends or acquaintances in the streets around my home.

There is always something going on on Friday or Saturday night or both. Sometimes there are two events on the same night, that most people want to go to, like last night, so the second event just waits until the people arrive from the first one, and the concert might start 1-2 hours later than advertised.

Last night was the fin de curso of one of the dance teachers. After that Jose Mendez sang at a little bar recently re-opened, and a provider of excellent flamenco (which is almost always free everywhere). It was 11:00 already and Jose's girlfriend was in the Peña watching the dancing. Then Jose came in too, so we knew we didn't have to go over to the bar yet. Half an hour after he was due to start, we followed him over to the bar. On the way we ran into other friends who were going late to the dance show and who we told to come along cause Jose was singing. At the bar, we hung out and talked with Jose and his uncle (a friend of us girls, Pepe, el Zori) and various other people while the owner sang a letra of bulerias himself. Then he yelled, "let's start", so everyone crowded into the room where there are benches along each wall and a few tables and extra stools.
Jose is the nephew of the famous, now dead Paquera de Jerez, whose place of birth is next door. Jose has inherited powerful lungs from his family.
The girls and I squeezed in beside Ani (our teacher) who gave constant jaleo (yelling encouragement) while he sang. Jose is super down to earth and nice. Like most people here - flamenco or not - he remembered me and greeted me warmly, after being introduced only once quite some time before.

Jose sings with all his lungs and soul. At times his voice was almost ear-splitting. The best flamenco is heard without a microphone and this place certainly doesn't have one. Jose doesn't probably ever need one. Flamenco does not have to be sung loud, and those who sing shouldn't attempt to yell, but some people have strong lungs, like this man.

A few nights ago was the fin de curso of Ani, in which I danced a tiny piece of bulerias. I didn't do badly but I wasn't totally pleased. Ani was satisfied with me, which means a lot as if you don't live up to your standards, she can be tough on you. There were three excellent singers that you would not find in a show of this sort in a city like Sevilla. Three singers from old and respected flamenco families, who are steeped in it and continue to steep their children in it. Some of these children are students of Ani, and danced that night. In the audience are grandmothers and friends and cousins of everybody, and the family of Dolores Agujetas helping out with recording everything. This is something that I think does not exist in any other place. There are only a few extranjeros (people like me), surrounded by genuine Jerezanos with flamenco in their blood, just doing their thing, in their community, in the place where they grew up. In Seville it is the opposite way around, and the former communities where the gitanos once lived are no longer.


I went to practice the night before. It was the children's practice time - I could not come during the adult extranjeros time. While I waited, I went into the practice room with my friend Kim and a couple of little girls, probably about 7 years old. One of them is the daughter of a singer from a renowned family and the other was the daughter of a local girl who dances, presumably of gitano background. The girls took control. Their confidence was frightening. They were polite and nice to us, as if they were adults. They did palmas for us and told us we danced well. We did palmas for them. And what palmas they did! I have no idea how a child of that age, with tiny hands could make a sound so loud, so secure and so consistent. And their dancing and compas (rhythm) was so secure... they knew what they were doing better than 90% of adult foreigners. One of the girls had an attitude of utter fearless confidence of the kind that is unnerving, but I think natural for her. I think she could kick anyone's butt that got in her way.