I saw flamenco dancers in a cave. I say cave, it was more of a tunnel. Well I say tunnel, it was more of a room. But it was a long low roofed room which gave off a definite tunnely vibe. The rough, jagged ceiling was certainly reminiscent of a cave or possibly a poor stucco job. On balance though I’m going to go with cave partly because it’s cooler to say I saw flamenco dancers in a cave than to say I saw them in a room with a poor plastering job but also because what with all the stamping if it had been stucco the ceiling would have been all over the floor by the end of the night.
Chairs had been set up against the walls of the tunnel (or cave or whatever) leaving a narrow runway in the middle for impassioned stomping. It was advisable to keep your feet tucked as close to your chair as possible. Drinks were provided and a procession of brightly dressed people made their way to the end of the cave (or tunnel or whatever) and assembled in a semi circle looking back at us. There was a guy with a guitar whose sole purpose appeared to be getting drowned out by the dancers.
Once both artists and audience had been gathered together in roughly the same place the performance began. A woman detached herself from the semi circle of performers and took her place on the runway between the audience. The guitarist strummed a few notes relishing only moment when he could actually be heard and the performance began.
Describing the performance and doing it justice is difficult. Imagine a drag queen on meth tap dancing and then imagine they are doing it with furious energy, incredible grace and tremendous poise. Plus they’re doing it in a space where one false move will put them in the lap of an audience member. It was spectacular, dramatic and very loud. Grace and energy are difficult to combine effectively but here the two came together flawlessly. It was an amazing performance and quite made up for the lack of stalactites on offer.
The cave flamenco was Granada’s farewell performance and quite a performance it was. The next day a bus would perform its design function by transporting us to Seville in air conditioned semi discomfort. Given the anticipated temperature in Seville air conditioned anything is preferable to the alternative.
Our noble metal steed barreled down a highway with olive trees stretching into the distance on either side. From time to time a rock extrusion would rear up out of the olive tree covered earth and try unsuccessfully to assert the presence of other geographical features other than olive trees but sadly in vain. The only other plants in evidence were oleander. Our guide at the Alhambra the previous day had informed us that the Spanish line their highways with oleander. The reason? Oleander is incredibly poisonous and the mere smell dissuades wildlife from getting too close. As a result Spain has one of the lowest roadkill rates in Europe. This is good news for the wildlife (assuming they don’t need to cross the road) but it’s bad news for the desperate poor who are deprived of a vital source of protein and now have nothing to eat but oleander.
No comments:
Post a Comment