falling in love with flamenco

Her feet moved as fast as a typewriter, with her arms twisting like a matador's, first fast, then slow. She didn’t look at anyone in particular, but her gaze was confident, dramatic, sexual. Slapping her thighs and clapping her hands, the flamenco dancer held everyone’s attention at the Upsetter, a tiny club no larger than a bedroom. The singer and guitar player came on stage first, but when the dancer made her entrance and began to stomp and twirl, I think my eyes became as wide as saucers. You can’t possibly think of anything else when you hear the music. But it’s not just because the singer is shouting and the dancer is clapping. You would be foolish to let your mind wander to other things.

Julie and I had seen posters announcing tonight’s performance, and for 12 E and one free drink, we couldn’t resist even though it was a Sunday night. But I soon learned, just because it’s Sunday, doesn’t mean you start thinking about Monday. That will have to wait until Monday morning. When we left the club around midnight, there were still hundreds of people filling the outdoor cafes and even children were playing with puppies in the plazas, their parents smoking or finishing up their drinks. “Spanish people don’t sleep much,” Julie said.

I walked home with the breeze at my back, and marveled at my glorious weekend. I had my first taste of sangria today, at a small outdoor café at the top of a hill near the Albaicin. With our drinks, the camarero brought olives and some very salty pickles. We had just walked uphill for about 20 minutes, winding through the small, white washed homes I can see in the mountains from my window. So needless to say, we needed to rest. I finally saw the Alhambra palace. I think I will be going there on Tuesday with school…more photos on facebook later....