Another weekend in the pueblo. My neighborhood and the crowds that hang out at the places I do are like a tiny village.
Tonight I sat beside Hagit from Israel and Linda from Vancouver Island. I went to the bar to get some Jerez with tonic and got talking to Norman, an American who bartends. He said Momo, aside from commenting on my hair being up, had told him that I was married to a Brazilian guitarist. Norman asked me hesitatingly if this was true.
Matteo Solea sang about little boys sitting at the door of the jail, and their father telling them his pain that the mother had found another man. And of little boys playing in the street, without mothers, and of mothers dying, and of not believing in anything or anyone, not even one's mother. That's flamenco.

Benji is trying to prepare himself for a trip to the west coast. Of Canada, that is. Victoria and Vancouver would do well to prepare themselves for Benji.
He is scared. He has rarely been as far as Sevilla, he doesn't speak English. He thinks it is terribly cold and doesn't know what kind of clothes he should bring. So far his preparation has consisted of trying to sing bulerias with an English sounding accent (Spanish or English sounding gibberish) and trying to get someone to translate various worries to Linda. After quite a bit of effort, Linda and I managed to get him to say, "where are you going?" Though he does know a lot of Pink Floyd, Deep Purple (which he calls peupa), Black Sabbath lyrics. We told him to bring jeans and he said he likes his suit with its vest, and his cravat. It has never been very certain that he would go, though he already has a ticket.

We shall see. I shall have to put the word out to Spanish speakers to look after him.

normal life

Today I feel very lucky. I rode back across the city on my magic bike and bought some stewing pork (cause they have that instead of stewing beef), and made myself some stew with vermouth out of a 2 liter jug that we got from some guys with their own bodega near Arcos.

This evening I realise how good English speakers have it. The priviledged position anyone with English speaking background has in the world.

In a place where there are fires on the street from garbage bins being burned in garbage strike protests, because there is not enough money to pay people and nobody has work, any English speaker can do okay.

My student who I saw tonight is a really wonderful girl, probably slightly younger than me. She has a music degree but has for some reason suddenly been thrust into the position of bilingual science teacher for 9-year olds. Her English pronunciation is excellent and her accuracy is impressive. I have not met anybody who thinks so carefully while speaking, in order to get the grammar right before it comes out her mouth. She is also really a great person - very warm, very funny.
But today she was in an awful state of mind, completely stressed and near collapse. She has an Australian as a helper in her class, and her students all are supposed to be bilingual. Some may even be English native speakers or have lived abroad or something. She is embarassed in front of them all to begin with, about her pronunciation, but next week there will be bilingual English teachers visiting from England and Italy, and she will have to play hostess both during school hours and in a range of activities outside. A law was passed recently that requires almost everybody (anyone who wants to have a Masters degree or teach in any school or university) to pass certain Cambridge English exams. On top of all this she thinks she will lose her job next year if she cannot get the certificate by May.

Anyways, I am feeling like I have it really easy, after talking to her tonight. (A few weeks ago we had to go through the entire teaching section on the reproductive system, and correct pronunciation of all the body parts and stuff like that. Funny enough for two mature women but much funnier for her 9-year olds). On the other hand, she and her boyfriend have at least one expensive car and a nice apartment whereas I have a well, a house that is interesting... and a rusty, magic bike.

I can't remember ever having a bike like this. It is old fashioned, painted black, and the struts holding the mud guard onto the wheel fork as well as a bunch of other bolts are totally rusty. We got it second hand, from a bike renovation guy with a warehouse outside of town. 90€ is a lot for a second hand bike but it has some kind of amazing bearings or something. There is only one gear, but I can't see the need for any more. The one gear is so perfectly balanced between getting uphill and going surprisingly fast on long stretches... I don't understand how it does it. You pedal a little bit and it just seems to keep rolling and rolling. It's very weird. It goes great but doesn't stop so well - the breaks leave a little to be desired. I think I've gotten used to them so it's not too dangerous. Other times people have to get out of my way or I have to weave around them.
In Andalucia people don't need to wear helmets. It's also not a problem to ride on the sidewalk, whereas I consider it rude at home. It's just the way things are here. Luckily there's a bike path down the most main road of the city, going from the center all the way out to the North edge, where most of my students are. It's lined with palm and orange trees. They're blooming right now, some of them. The dates have fallen off the palms back a while ago.

Things are getting interesting here in Jerez.

There have been several great weekends...This one started on Friday afternoon, when I went out for a walk and ran into the soundman who works at the penas. He recognised me and said, let's go for a beer at Pena Cernicalos. I went and there were a couple of old guys hanging out there. The father of Momito, who sang a few weeks ago, and brother in law to El Torta, another family member, (actually both related to the soundman - all with the family nickname of "Momo"). So I hung out drinking Jerez and having tapas. There was some singing, but most importantly connections made with people. The roof was leaking and Jesus, the president whom I met back in 2010, got Geoffrey to look at it.

Evening was Juan Villar of Cadiz, whose name is legendary - and Nino Jero. There was a huge fiesta afterwards, with a lot of old characters singing. 

Tonight was Paco Cepero in the Claustro de San Domingo... a gorgeously renovated building dating from 1200 or 1400. Then over to pena Cernicalos again where Carmen danced and Jose Carpio sang.

I am starting to not only get to know people, but to have an idea of the interweaving of the families, and who belongs to what family. 

Two weekends ago I met Dolores Agujetas, who invited me to her house. I haven't gone yet, because I'm just really intimidated, although she is completely down to earth. 

Well, that and my leatherwork class in the mornings... new students. That is my life.

Tomorrow a non-lethal bullfight, maybe, or a drive in the country or to Sanlucar, maybe with Benji and Linda. 

Last weekend was a party nearly all night with many many foreigners packed into Manu and Pati's house, and the night before that, an incredible concert of the Rubichis ... Tomas and Domingo. Uncle-nephew. 

That night I felt as though I were one of the sick being brought on a palette to be healed. Laying there lame and half dead, by the burning fire... the life energy in this place. There is nothing like it. Sevilla is a pale shadow compared to Jerez, where flamenco is concerned.

Manuela Carrasco dancing Solea

Very classic style which I prefer over most current stuff.

The kids are very funny.

It is exhausting, due to having to spend just a lot of energy to deal with jumping, bouncing, yelling, ball throwing, face painting with chalk kids. But other than that, it's fine.

The first group is really sweet. Ana, Poli and Rafael. They must be 8-10. Terrible... I can't tell how old kids are at all, I am so unfamiliar with them. At one point I had three kids happily jumping up and down over and over. My fault completely as I asked them to demonstrate the word "jumping" in my vocabulary review. They took the initiative themselves though, to throw the green orange around, that I brought in off the street as an aid to a game.

The next group is about 13 - that is a little more obvious. + or - a year though. I thought they might be difficult, judging from the first day. Well, they are all difficult, because they all just want to yack and yell and bounce around. But there were two in this class that seemed like they might be at the beginning of being tough or mean boys, but today I don't see that. I just see one very sweet kid who is a bit shy but has a very secure sense of himself, and another who is cocky but still a child. The former strikes me as actually wanting to learn English. The latter as being one of those boys who I either might have had a fascination for or been afraid of at the same age. Pepe skids in the door cause he's got on those runners with wheels in the heels, that when you lean your feet back, it's like being on roller skates. I'd seen those for 3 year olds before but not for a 13 year old. He then tells me he wants to be an architect and likes design. At a later point in the class after pretending with Jaime to kick each other in the balls and doing various other noisy stuff, he starts painting his face as a cat, with the chalk, and keeps just saying "cat... cat... cat" over and over again and giggling. Jaime paints his face and then Pepe paints the other Pepe's face.

Jolly good time... ha ha ha. Except for the 3 other students who are quieter, and one of whom is much more serious. Well, I am very amused by all of this. I think it is genius and this is the stuff I should still be able to do except someone told me not to, too many times, and then I became an adult. Unfortunately, I am being paid by their parents to teach them something, though today I got the distinct feeling of being a kind of babysitter. Anyways, I am not and I am 100% certain that these parents are serious and want their kids to learn. Don't think I'm really the one to discipline them.... God help me.

I must change the name of this blog...

I am planning lessons for classes I will start tomorrow. Hopefully I survive. They should be nice kids.

A moment ago I heard a mumble, "just a little hole..." and then a loud drilling sound in the kitchen. Geoffrey is sticking a piece of construction re-bar into the kitchen wall to hang more pots and implements off of.

Yesterday I put my hair in pigtails and had only a big tweed flower on an elastic for one side, so Geoffrey tied the other side with plumbing tape. We went out to see some live flamenco in the Tabanco and a bar. We ended up at Los Tres Reyes, where we ran into the king of palmas, or so Geoffrey says. He was really cool and invited us for drinks. Then to the Feria - they have a second Feria now. We hung out with some people that got progressively more drunk and then I was just tired of it.

Angel, who is the owner of the apartment next door helped Geoffrey throw the escombro (junk) off the roof into a cuba (skip) yesterday. Angel (whom Geoffrey calls "Ankle") has been itching to help out somehow. Maria laughed when I revealed to her what was in the new pots in the courtyard. "Ha ha ha, he brought them from Extremadura!" She thought it was hilarious that Geoffrey had dug up a bunch of oak trees and brought them all that way.

On Friday we met Nada and Charles on Calle Higueras, a few houses down from where I first lived when I came here in 2010. They were looking at a beauty of a horrible run down house and wanted Geoffrey's opinion or just our moral support. The house was huge, and would have been incredible once. Lots of amazing character - old tiles, archways, wooden doors and windows. Old ceiling beams, a place for a garden, currently inhabited by garbage and cats - dead and alive. We went up to the rooftop of the Palomas hotel where I stayed when I first came here, and looked down on it. My Dad would probably pronounce it fit for nothing other than a wrecking ball, but Europeans think differently. It was totally charming.

That evening we went to see Nada dance at a nice hotel on the rooftop. Clara, another friend of friends alternated with Nada: belly dancing and bollywood. I was completely blown away by Nada's dancing: have never seen anything like it. She is extremely good - nothing like the Greek restaurant performers in Canada. Hers is true art and has something profound about it despite being nearly erotic, I suppose. Anyways, it had class and elegance, something like good tango Argentino.

The night before that we had Manuel and Pati over for dinner: chicken with olives in a cazuela - a clay pot.

Geoffrey has been stewing figs that mostly he gathered off the ground in Montanchez - at his friend's finca in Extremadura. We managed to get two 5 liter plastic jugs of local wine, and a third 2 liter bottle. We discovered it last time. An "expensive" bottle at 4€, is something I would really have paid $25 for at home. (The 5 liter jugs are 6€ each). We missed the farmer's market where we previously got amazing cheese, 5€ for a kilo, and had to buy similar stuff for double the price.

I am starting on my flamenco shoes and have made a toe cap sucessfully. I don't know about the rest though. I may have to have wooden lasts. I'll see...

Here are the sandals I made a couple weeks ago.