The cuerda of my ordenador is not working. I will not be communicating much till I can fix it.
Quick overview:
Met Paula, a Mexicana living in Montreal, who speaks Spanish and French. Looked at the only big flamenco schools, with her. Both are in Sacromonte. The only one worth considering is Manolete, of course, where Hiroshi is studying. We wandered up to a bar, where we saw Manolete himself (older, quite famous in the past) sitting. He was much smaller than I expected, very friendly and personable. He bought us some beers and we sat and chatted, on the patio, looking across at the Alhambra, which for several reasons wouldn´t happen in Sevilla. The bar was a cave, by the way, as are many buildings in Sacromonte.
We saw his school, Paula talked about lessons, we went back to the patio at the bar, and hung out with a flamenco singer from the neighborhood, and several other guys that drifted in. Tapas are free with drinks in Granada, so we sat for hours and ate and drank. We kept getting served even without asking for more. It only cost us 5 Euros each in the end. The owner, Kiki, a grey haired man in a black jacket, a gitano brimmed hat, and a polkadot scarf, played all kinds of music on the patio and occassionally did a little dance, came along and played with my hair, and was generally a funny, sweet little old guy. Jesus, one of the guys, had a room in his house for rent for Paula and so we walked way down the road out into country with farmland below us, and the Sierra Nevada or whatever in the background. We sat there talking to his two other renters, one a girl involved in flamenco, and teaching. On the way back, Paula hitched us a ride with the first truck coming along. The man was Argentinian, and no sooner had we got in than he pulled off to the side and told us we had to see the cave house of a senora. So we went and met this lady and saw her spectacular house, a huge place with various cave rooms, all rough and cave looking on the ceiling, which has to be very regularly maintained and painted white. A patio with huge mirrors attached to the house, looked across the small valley and mirrored the opposing mountains back. The senora was wonderfully hospitable to two random strangers, but we left quickly and got dropped off at the Mirador de San Nicholas, with a sunset view across to the lit up Alhambra, with its snowy mountain backdrop.
I went to meet Dominic later, and the plan was to go back to Sacromonte late for some casual insider flamenco. I went but they still werençt there at 1 am. The only trouble in my flamenco life is that I not a late night partyer (like 3, 4, 5 am), especially after no siesta and an intense day of meeting people.
Must go as other hostellers are waiting for the only working computer.
Friday, January 20, 2012
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
(Last night)
"Destiny meant that we should meet", said a guy in a toque and sweater, that suddenly appeared in the stairway below me, at the intersection of two streets (both subiendo the hill in stairs and cobblestones).
Where are you going? I thought I would go to the Chien Andalou for a copita and some tapas. Oh, I thought I would go there too, I said. Well then let's go together. I am Miguel, kiss, kiss. Hello I am Ana, kiss, kiss.
Miguel was obviously gitano, and told me that he liked to compose his own lyrics and sing flamenco. So I went and hung out with Miguel at the Chien Andalou, and he introduced me to his tio Vitorio, who looked like a serious flamenco singer, which he apparently was. Fortunately for me, Miguel already had an English girlfriend, whose return from England he appeared to be struggling to wait for. This is one of the few times I've met gitanos that geniunely like payo girls (white, non-gitana). Miguel was harmless and sweet, despite touching my hair, telling me he would like to see me dressed in a traje de gitana (flamenco dress), and trying to kiss me directly on the mouth twice.
There are vast cultural differences, and one of my passions in life is exploring other cultures, so I am prepared to make allowances and give the benefit of the doubt when I do not fully understand the norms and rules. Basically to suspend my own rules at times and see what happens. Anyways, vibes are everything - some people are threatening, others are not. I have already gotten myself into trouble by giving too much benefit of the doubt, but that is what it takes to understand another culture, not just judge it by my own rules that to all my peers are just "right", no questions asked.
It was a relatively boring evening in the end, because Miguel suddenly decided he was going home, none of the gitanos were doing any after hours singing. I ended up talking to a Danish flamenco guitar student who was struggling with his Spanish.
"Destiny meant that we should meet", said a guy in a toque and sweater, that suddenly appeared in the stairway below me, at the intersection of two streets (both subiendo the hill in stairs and cobblestones).
Where are you going? I thought I would go to the Chien Andalou for a copita and some tapas. Oh, I thought I would go there too, I said. Well then let's go together. I am Miguel, kiss, kiss. Hello I am Ana, kiss, kiss.
Miguel was obviously gitano, and told me that he liked to compose his own lyrics and sing flamenco. So I went and hung out with Miguel at the Chien Andalou, and he introduced me to his tio Vitorio, who looked like a serious flamenco singer, which he apparently was. Fortunately for me, Miguel already had an English girlfriend, whose return from England he appeared to be struggling to wait for. This is one of the few times I've met gitanos that geniunely like payo girls (white, non-gitana). Miguel was harmless and sweet, despite touching my hair, telling me he would like to see me dressed in a traje de gitana (flamenco dress), and trying to kiss me directly on the mouth twice.
There are vast cultural differences, and one of my passions in life is exploring other cultures, so I am prepared to make allowances and give the benefit of the doubt when I do not fully understand the norms and rules. Basically to suspend my own rules at times and see what happens. Anyways, vibes are everything - some people are threatening, others are not. I have already gotten myself into trouble by giving too much benefit of the doubt, but that is what it takes to understand another culture, not just judge it by my own rules that to all my peers are just "right", no questions asked.
It was a relatively boring evening in the end, because Miguel suddenly decided he was going home, none of the gitanos were doing any after hours singing. I ended up talking to a Danish flamenco guitar student who was struggling with his Spanish.
Today I had a prescription filled that a doctor gave me about 10 years ago. Hammam Baths. I did not go in February last year with Sarah and Andrea because I didn't want to spend the money. But the night before I left home, I did my taxes and found out that I get some money back. So I decided to go. It was the top thing on Dr. Nguyen's list of treatments along with eating papaya and strawberries and then some other more boring health remedies. I never went to the Spa on 6th and Granville. Going in Granada may be better anyways.
I cannot think of anything more luxurious and beautiful. I think some salt water got added to the baths because I became a little emotional. Human beings need beauty and maybe even luxury sometimes. You get an hour and a half to wander between steam baths, warm pool, hot pool, cold pool, lounge on heated marble in little alcolves with candles burning and essential oil, and drink mint tea.
I travelled here yesterday with a German friend, and met another one (also German but really Russian) for tea this afternoon and wine tonight.
I cannot think of anything more luxurious and beautiful. I think some salt water got added to the baths because I became a little emotional. Human beings need beauty and maybe even luxury sometimes. You get an hour and a half to wander between steam baths, warm pool, hot pool, cold pool, lounge on heated marble in little alcolves with candles burning and essential oil, and drink mint tea.
I travelled here yesterday with a German friend, and met another one (also German but really Russian) for tea this afternoon and wine tonight.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Everyday life in temporary housing.
The simple act of coming across the ocean seems to by some ill magic, wreak havoc with the power cord of my computer, every time. Well, going in an East direction, that is. The new section of the cord suddenly wants to be randomly moved about until it gets itself comfortable enough to start conducting electricity to my portatil. Before that happens, though, my computer has to flash red pictures of batteries and shut down.
Looked for rain boots and umbrella this morning, but the rain wasn't bad enough to force me to buy them yet. Found a well stocked health food store and got myself some oats and almond milk, integral rice and lentils. Found the market and got awesome dates and mediocre tea. No matter how fancy they wrap it, or if it comes from a designed up shop, you're taking a gamble buying tea here. I have no desire for my usual breakfast favorite: molletes con tomate y aceite y cafe. Just crunched up some spirulina tablets and boiled my horsetail/oatbud tea, which along with quitting heavy metals from the body, will provide me with a large dose of Silicon, which is one of the best ways of getting Calcium, as necessary for extremely active women as for older ones.
Now I am attempting to plug out the noise from the top 40 radio station blasting in the outdoor section of the hostel. I did not have the energy yet to move on to Granada or Sevilla today. Tomorrow I will go. But I did happen to meet an English girl who is volunteering here in exchange for room and board and says that the other Oasis hostels do that in Granada and Sevilla. When asked why I was unsure about living in Granada, I told them I was interested in a line of work that I had more connections to in Sevilla. What kind of work? I hesitate to tell every random stranger because when you're doing something that weird, you have to go through a reaction every time; it is a type of career goal that people would tend to look down on, or at least wonder why a woman like me would want to do such a thing. But the Spanish guy at reception said he would like to do the same; he has a shoe obsession.
So now I am going to work on my English teaching certificate and then sleep. It is getting towards siesta time already.
P.S. Just a look in the door of an old farmacia makes me feel like it is worth the trip across the ocean: the beauty of just about anything made in times long past... the care and craftsmanship put into the curvy glass bottles on undoubtedly solid wood cabinetry with lines that would be considered frivolous now, in such a place.
Looked for rain boots and umbrella this morning, but the rain wasn't bad enough to force me to buy them yet. Found a well stocked health food store and got myself some oats and almond milk, integral rice and lentils. Found the market and got awesome dates and mediocre tea. No matter how fancy they wrap it, or if it comes from a designed up shop, you're taking a gamble buying tea here. I have no desire for my usual breakfast favorite: molletes con tomate y aceite y cafe. Just crunched up some spirulina tablets and boiled my horsetail/oatbud tea, which along with quitting heavy metals from the body, will provide me with a large dose of Silicon, which is one of the best ways of getting Calcium, as necessary for extremely active women as for older ones.
Now I am attempting to plug out the noise from the top 40 radio station blasting in the outdoor section of the hostel. I did not have the energy yet to move on to Granada or Sevilla today. Tomorrow I will go. But I did happen to meet an English girl who is volunteering here in exchange for room and board and says that the other Oasis hostels do that in Granada and Sevilla. When asked why I was unsure about living in Granada, I told them I was interested in a line of work that I had more connections to in Sevilla. What kind of work? I hesitate to tell every random stranger because when you're doing something that weird, you have to go through a reaction every time; it is a type of career goal that people would tend to look down on, or at least wonder why a woman like me would want to do such a thing. But the Spanish guy at reception said he would like to do the same; he has a shoe obsession.
So now I am going to work on my English teaching certificate and then sleep. It is getting towards siesta time already.
P.S. Just a look in the door of an old farmacia makes me feel like it is worth the trip across the ocean: the beauty of just about anything made in times long past... the care and craftsmanship put into the curvy glass bottles on undoubtedly solid wood cabinetry with lines that would be considered frivolous now, in such a place.
Sunday, January 15, 2012
Malaga de nuevo
I cried when the plane left Vancouver. It was a Dash-8, and the flight attendant (a guy) asked where I was going and what I was going there for. He said, too bad there were other people on board or he'd get me to teach him some flamenco on the way to Seattle.
I did not want the plane to land in Malaga. I was not very excited to see Spain again. I looked slightly disparagingly at the measly Cypress trees and longingly at one or two odd ones that looked like firs. My suitcase miraculously made the connection in Paris, and nobody hardly looked at the visa pages in my passport or asked for my residence card.
Due to the nature of Southern Spain, it is pretty impossible to be too unhappy about being here. Despite looking at out the plane window at grey skies in Vancouver and realising I liked distinctive seasons, and that a properly grey sky in Winter is somehow grounding.
What can I say? It was snowing last night and now it is 20 degrees and there are honeysuckle vines and some odd huge flowers on a hedge. It would be impossible to feel rotten when you land in a warm place in the winter.
Warm that is, until you take a siesta with wet hair.
I arrived in time for siesta. Well, I was in time for lunch but didn't get it, because I didn't make a reservation at my hostel, and finding it full, went to a new one in the center of the city and then was too exhausted for food.
How to explain this: it is warm here. But you live outside, partly. The hostel is no different from any other building - a modern courtyard apartment: there are stylish tarps across the parts of the building that are open to the rain, but it still wets the floor in certain spots, and there is nothing keeping the air out, which is no longer 20 degrees. I might just go back to the airport tomorrow and come home if there were not a warm inside area where I am currently sitting.
I managed to dance bulerias and some bad Sevillanas the first night here. The bar has tons of pictures of famous flamencos, and is a dedicated flamenco place (everyone in there seemed to know each other or were related, the waiter plays the counter like a cajon - a Latin American rhythm box used in modern flamenco). A local woman who dances professionally, approached me seeing that I was alone, and since all the music playing was flamenco, one thing led to another and of course we danced. Though I did so kind of badly, it is still fun to connect with people: probably the most satisfying was the pleasure/surprise they have at seeing some random Canadian who knows at least how to keep basic compas (rhythm) and when to do the bulerias llamada and all that. "You are a real artista, for a Canadian!" said the now drunk bartender/husband of the dancer.
Oh, and did I say Malaga is like some alternate relaxed universe?
I did not want the plane to land in Malaga. I was not very excited to see Spain again. I looked slightly disparagingly at the measly Cypress trees and longingly at one or two odd ones that looked like firs. My suitcase miraculously made the connection in Paris, and nobody hardly looked at the visa pages in my passport or asked for my residence card.
Due to the nature of Southern Spain, it is pretty impossible to be too unhappy about being here. Despite looking at out the plane window at grey skies in Vancouver and realising I liked distinctive seasons, and that a properly grey sky in Winter is somehow grounding.
What can I say? It was snowing last night and now it is 20 degrees and there are honeysuckle vines and some odd huge flowers on a hedge. It would be impossible to feel rotten when you land in a warm place in the winter.
Warm that is, until you take a siesta with wet hair.
I arrived in time for siesta. Well, I was in time for lunch but didn't get it, because I didn't make a reservation at my hostel, and finding it full, went to a new one in the center of the city and then was too exhausted for food.
How to explain this: it is warm here. But you live outside, partly. The hostel is no different from any other building - a modern courtyard apartment: there are stylish tarps across the parts of the building that are open to the rain, but it still wets the floor in certain spots, and there is nothing keeping the air out, which is no longer 20 degrees. I might just go back to the airport tomorrow and come home if there were not a warm inside area where I am currently sitting.
I managed to dance bulerias and some bad Sevillanas the first night here. The bar has tons of pictures of famous flamencos, and is a dedicated flamenco place (everyone in there seemed to know each other or were related, the waiter plays the counter like a cajon - a Latin American rhythm box used in modern flamenco). A local woman who dances professionally, approached me seeing that I was alone, and since all the music playing was flamenco, one thing led to another and of course we danced. Though I did so kind of badly, it is still fun to connect with people: probably the most satisfying was the pleasure/surprise they have at seeing some random Canadian who knows at least how to keep basic compas (rhythm) and when to do the bulerias llamada and all that. "You are a real artista, for a Canadian!" said the now drunk bartender/husband of the dancer.
Oh, and did I say Malaga is like some alternate relaxed universe?
Monday, December 5, 2011
Jerez for two days. Zambombas - Jerezano parties in the street, Christmas parties. 12 hours long. Saw one famous singer sing, in person (Juana la del Pipa). Saw my friend Kim from Toronto's teacher dance (in a tablao).
The 3rd night (second day) slept in an attic (nice) without running water inside. There was a kind of water source, you had to undo it from a tank and switch it on, then put a jug quite a ways away. Out on the rooftop. Boiled an egg Kim or somebody else had left in the fridge.
Sevilla. Stayed at Mara's place. She already had a guest on the couch, so gave me a mattress in her room on the floor. I walked Faro, my sheepdog friend, around Sevilla last night. Christmas lights were hanging between the buildings on the main shopping streets. Decorating the orange trees. Walked him in the morning again. It was warm enough to be in a t-shirt and the perfectly blue skies had returned.
Nearly missed the last possible train to Malaga before my flight out, this evening. I got on the train to Jerez/Cadiz. Someone had the same seat as me, and suggested we check the tickets to be sure everything was okay. Then noted that my ticket was to Malaga and told me I was not on the correct train. I thought I had missed all my flights home. I did not know that the two trains coincided at Dos Hermanas, the next station (after that they go separate routes). I got off and waited for my train, which was 2 minutes behind.
We'll see if I make it tomorrow.
The 3rd night (second day) slept in an attic (nice) without running water inside. There was a kind of water source, you had to undo it from a tank and switch it on, then put a jug quite a ways away. Out on the rooftop. Boiled an egg Kim or somebody else had left in the fridge.
Sevilla. Stayed at Mara's place. She already had a guest on the couch, so gave me a mattress in her room on the floor. I walked Faro, my sheepdog friend, around Sevilla last night. Christmas lights were hanging between the buildings on the main shopping streets. Decorating the orange trees. Walked him in the morning again. It was warm enough to be in a t-shirt and the perfectly blue skies had returned.
Nearly missed the last possible train to Malaga before my flight out, this evening. I got on the train to Jerez/Cadiz. Someone had the same seat as me, and suggested we check the tickets to be sure everything was okay. Then noted that my ticket was to Malaga and told me I was not on the correct train. I thought I had missed all my flights home. I did not know that the two trains coincided at Dos Hermanas, the next station (after that they go separate routes). I got off and waited for my train, which was 2 minutes behind.
We'll see if I make it tomorrow.
Thursday, December 1, 2011
Al
My uncle died. I am sorry for not contacting anyone in person.
I will hear the specific circumstances of his death soon enough. They don't matter. All that matters is that he is gone. The connection we had is what matters, and whether his spirit (if it still exists after death) is at peace.
Last night my heart was heavy and weak and breath came with less ease than normal. He was too young to die. I don't think he has been very happy.
What he told me before I left was some of the best and most incisive advice I've had - he had no patience for senseless suffering people inflict upon themselves or let be inflicted upon them. Across the table at the Peaceful Restaurant he passed me several hundred dollars to help with costs of my trip. In typical style, he tried to stop me thanking him excessively or making any fuss receiving it. An attitude that said, "just shut up and take it". He told me not to let anyone's choice as to how to live their life cause me to suffer. He knew why I was going on this trip. He told me he loved me - not an easy thing to say in a reserved family.
There are some people whose death feels wrong; untimely, and I feel the need to do something for myself, so that their death does not feel in vain. Last night half awake in the middle of the night something changed. I could carry a heavy weight on my heart (my literal, physical heart, problems with which run in the family), or I could remember what he was looking for and what he encouraged me to find.
This morning I told him he could come with me. In some cultures they believe in the presence of their ancestors. It's my opinion that we struggled with the same thing, from the same family background - I already know that same heavy baggage and I felt it physically last night. But what I came over here to do, and he knew that, was to leave it behind. So I will continue, not for his sake because I can only carry my own burden, but for mine, in his memory and with his memory.
I will hear the specific circumstances of his death soon enough. They don't matter. All that matters is that he is gone. The connection we had is what matters, and whether his spirit (if it still exists after death) is at peace.
Last night my heart was heavy and weak and breath came with less ease than normal. He was too young to die. I don't think he has been very happy.
What he told me before I left was some of the best and most incisive advice I've had - he had no patience for senseless suffering people inflict upon themselves or let be inflicted upon them. Across the table at the Peaceful Restaurant he passed me several hundred dollars to help with costs of my trip. In typical style, he tried to stop me thanking him excessively or making any fuss receiving it. An attitude that said, "just shut up and take it". He told me not to let anyone's choice as to how to live their life cause me to suffer. He knew why I was going on this trip. He told me he loved me - not an easy thing to say in a reserved family.
There are some people whose death feels wrong; untimely, and I feel the need to do something for myself, so that their death does not feel in vain. Last night half awake in the middle of the night something changed. I could carry a heavy weight on my heart (my literal, physical heart, problems with which run in the family), or I could remember what he was looking for and what he encouraged me to find.
This morning I told him he could come with me. In some cultures they believe in the presence of their ancestors. It's my opinion that we struggled with the same thing, from the same family background - I already know that same heavy baggage and I felt it physically last night. But what I came over here to do, and he knew that, was to leave it behind. So I will continue, not for his sake because I can only carry my own burden, but for mine, in his memory and with his memory.
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