THE SOUL OF SPAIN

Sometimes in our travels we find ourselves in the right place at the right time.  (This more than makes up for those times we are in the wrong place at the wrong time)  Sometimes it is just dumb luck, but more often then not, a random conversation with a local,  a glimpse of a show card, or just stumbling into the midst of some festival, results in an  experience that reminds us why we travel. While in Seville, we asked our Airbnb host about a good place to see some Flamenco.  As luck would have it, a famous Spanish Flamenco dancer, Andres Pena, was performing that night.

The auditorium is buzzing with conversation.  I catch the odd word here and there but it is difficult to eavesdrop with my rusty Spanish.  The house lights dim as the stage lights come up. The unmistakable sound of a Spanish guitar catches the audience’s attention.  A black clothed figure is bent backwards over a wooden kitchen chair that is laying on the stage.  The music intensifies and a heavyset balding man enters stage right singing in alto range what sounds almost like a Muslim call to prayer.  The black clad figure slowly rises to perform a ballet with the chair as his partner.  While graceful, his movements are tortured, anguished and he appears troubled.  The stage lights brighten to reveal three more dark suited figures at the rear of the stage.  Each in turn sings haunting phrases that seem to entreat the dancer to  come alive;  to dance.  The dancer moves his whole body in a series mesmerizing arabesques, twists and turns and finally sinks to the floor while caressing a pair of flamenco boots.  He rises and delicately balances while slipping a boot on each foot.  He composes himself while the guitar and singers again seem to entreat him.  Tentatively at first he makes a few steps back and forth across the stage.  Seeming to find his muse, he begins to dance and dance he does.  I watch, totally enchanted by the control he has of every part of his body.  His sinuous movements slowly become more animated and soon he is in a full on, all out, stomping, twirling, flamenco dance as all four singers shout out in  accompaniment  to his dancing.  The crowd shouts out a chorus of “Oles” as the music and dancing crescendos into a chaotic yet fully controlled finale.  Suddenly the music and dancing stops and the crowd goes wild. 

The lights dim and a figure enter stages left.  As the stage lights come up the guitar starts again.  A woman is revealed dressed in classic flamenco garb with a bloused top and huge flouncy skirt that trails behind her.  A bright orange mantilla covers her shoulders and arms.  She delicately taps her way onto the stage. She reaches center stage and starts to twirl the mantilla up and around her head, shoulders and body in a delicate ballet of obvious mastery and grace.  I am mesmerized by the ability she demonstrates with this fringed piece of cloth.  The music intensifies.  The guitarist picks up the pace, plucking out notes so fast I can barely follow.  The woman’s feet keep pace with the guitar in a staccato beat. Her feet move so fast they blur in a frenzy of movement.  All the while she is twirling while swishing and kicking her skirt around and out of her way while continually swirling her mantilla up and around her head and torso.  The music starts to slow as do her feet and she ends with a flourish, with her chest heaving in exhaustion and lungs gasping for air.  Again the crowd goes wild with applause and a chorus of “Oles”.

The lights dim and then rise again The male dancer is on the stage lying  as if dead. The guitarist plucks out a mournful lament.  A singer raises his voice and others  join in as the dancer slowly rises. As before, he is tentative at first but soon he is dancing in wild abandon yet again completely in control of every movement of his body.  I admire how every line, every gesture and every movement of his body is perfect and a perfect expression of the music.  He stomps and  whirls  quickly and violently with passion and grace.  Streams of sweat fly in a halo about his head.  He dances beyond all human endurance and then keeps dancing.  After what seems to be an impossibly long time, the music and dancing again crescendos into a frantic finale.  The audience leaps to its feet shouting choruses of  “Ole” and “Bravo” over and over.  There is hooting and hollering accompanied by deafening endless applause. The crowd can not and will not stop.  They know they have witnessed something special.  Finally, after a fifteen minute standing ovation the crowd seems to take pity on the exhausted performers and the applause slowly, reluctantly, fades away. 

The house lights come up and the crowd chatters excitedly as they exit, knowing they have witnessed and been a part of  something exceptional;  something extraordinary.  As for me, I feel like I have gazed into the very soul of what is Spain.