Flamenco at RWCMD

After a night of rain, lower temperature and disturbed sleep, followed by sunny autumnal morning. We had waffles for breakfast and then I slept again for over an hour. Today is the St Catherine's Autumn Fayre, but we had to miss it due to an afternoon concert at the Royal Welsh College, so Clare took the jars of crab apple and grape jelly we made a couple of weeks ago to the church hall. Fascinating to think that the grapes came from the yard of the Robin Hood pub, and the crab apples from the tree in the churchyard garden, within a hundred yards of each other. Food with a provenance, and zero food miles!

After an early lunch, I completed tomorrow's sermon, then we walked to the Royal Welsh College for  matinée performance of a show called 'Art of Believing' presented by a young Flamenco guitar virtuoso Daniel Martinez with an ensemble which of two singers, a dancer, a violinist, another guitarist and a cajón percussionist. It was an astounding performance mixing traditional forms and measures with compositions by Martinez himself, delivered with energy, embracing the joy and agony of cante jondo. 

The Dora Stutzker auditorium was almost full with a noticeably ageing audience expressing enthusiasm and delight for the music, with two standing ovations at the end. What a treat! On our way out we bought a CD of the music performed. Pleased to know they'll be returning with a new show next March. It seems the group are living and touring in Britain at the moment. This experience certainly awakened in me a sense of hiraeth - but for Spain, rather than my motherland. I do hope I get another opportunity for locum duty in Spain next year. I could do with a change of scene after such a long spell of vacancy duties here.

We returned home on the bus, and after a drink and a piece of choccy cake, I went for a walk in the park as the sun was setting. It's chilly tonight, seven degrees. So far the ambient temperature of the house hasn't dropped enough for us to need to use the central heating - thanks to the longer spell of warm weather since the end of August. 

After supper I watched another slow moving episode of 'The Fall', then printed tomorrow's sermon and headed for bed early. I've not had much of a reaction to yesterday's 'flu jab, except for feeling the need for more sleep, even though I'm not physically tired.

A flamenco day to remember

I said Morning Prayer in St George's at the appointed hour, as nobody came for the Eucharist. There were signs the church yard hadn't been opened to the public yesterday or today. Once duty was done, Clare and I walked into the Old Town to visit the Flamenco Museum just around the corner from the Museum of Interactive Music we went to yesterday. 

The museum occupies the second and third floors of the Casa de la Peña Juan Breva. The word peña translates as 'rock' or 'crag' in English as in the dedication Nuestra Señora de la Peña, which shows up in Marian mountain sanctuaries. I came across this first in the parish of Mijas, not too far from Malaga. The word is, however, also used to describe a circle of friends who form an association, so, peña flamenca, are to be found all over Spain. These are associations of people who sing, play or dance flamenco, and enthusiastic supporters and promoters who want not just to preserve but also to promote this performing art.

The ground floor of the Casa de la Peña is a clubroom bar and restaurant. I think the courtyard area is a performance space., but we didn't see that. We paid one euro each and were taken upstairs and shown around by one of the peña stalwarts, a man about our age. He spoke some English, perhaps an assortment of other European language phrases as well, but was pleased that we made an effort not just to listen but to converse with him about every aspect of the material on display. He spent an hour with us, explaining, telling stories at a pace we could manage, with such enthusiasm, it was a real delight, and not difficult to keep up with him either, when he speeded up.

The museum has artifacts belonging to the history of 19th-20th century Malaguenian flamenco heroes - photos, portraits, sketches, engravings, publicity posters, clothing, flamenco dancers' shoes, percussion instruments, and best of all, a dozen well worn twentieth century guitars, played by one or other of los maestros. The one that caught my attention quickly was a 1930s Valencian guitar, by Vicente Tatay. My first Spanish guitar was a 1960's instrument by the same luthier, so it thrilled me to observe the likeness, although worn and aged, I think mine is more worn, given so much less than expert use over the past 54 years. 

Enthusing about this in Spanish with our guide at the start really boosted my confidence for this little extra curricular learning exercise. I learned, however, that for the past 54 years I have been pronouncing the maker's name incorrectly. 'Tatay', sounds like Tat-ae (as in och'ae). I never knew, but won't forget what I've discovered in this amazing encounter.

We left the peña and went for a drink on one of the nearby plazas, discussing what we should do next. Clare was keen to see a flamenco show, and regretted that tonight's performance at the peña would start too late for it to be possible to attend with an airport departure at four in the morning. On our Museum of Interactive Music visit yesterday, people were queuing as we departed for an in house flamenco show. Clare thought it was a one-off show, but agreed we should return and check. Happily, we discovered it happens most days, and seems to make use of performers from an escuela flamenca in the city, and, the show was just about to start. Well, after fifteen minutes waiting in a chilly air conditioned performance studio, along with a couple of dozen others.

The forty minute show featured three high quality artists; a virtuoso guitarist, a singer, and a dancer. The studio has room for about thirty, so everyone sits close to the performers. It must be quite hard for them, as it's hard to draw in a formal audience of inhibited strangers, conditioned to watch, and not to join in, with no alcohol or camaraderie to help generate an atmosphere. I noticed advertising for the evening show at Peña Juan Breva, stated that the price included tapas and a glass of vino malagueño. That would do the trick for sure. Still, the lunchtime performance was excellent, well worthwhile, and it put us in the mood for lunching while we were out.

Just off the east side of the Plaza de la Constitución is a famous alley - paisaje de Chinitas, where there was once a coffee house frequented by artists and intellectuals, among them, the poet Federico Garcia Lorca. He immortalised the place with a verse which is displayed on a panel of tiles high above the fish restuarant which now occupies the buildings. Here we dined well, with fresh fired berenjenas Andalusian style with cane sugar garnish, a marvellous sopa de mariscos, followed by pascadito and salmonillas. It was quite hot in the alley, although we were shielded from the sun by a toldo, but we ate unhurriedly and made the most of this last opportunity to feast together.

We returned at tea time so Clare could pack her case, then walked to the cemetery to check that the church car parked there hadn't been blocked in by some unannounced vehicle arrival. Then we went to the beach, so she could have a paddle in the sea at sunset, before retiring early to bed, before the inevitable three thirty wake up call, heading for a six forty Vueling flight back to Cardiff. Once more my life will change its pace tomorrow, returning to solitude for the last eleven days of my sojourn in the wonderful city. 

Flamenco de noche

Another hot sunny day today, and a busy day at the office back in Cardiff, with the arrival of news confirming the next stage in our developing work. There were things for me to do here as well, a sermon to write, a document to prepare for the board meeting.  Where work is concerned, I'm still hindered by the limitations imposed on roaming network connection by Orange ES, despite promises made by BT back home. My workaround solutions don't always succeed, being very much depended on local phone network traffic.

Also, for reasons I don't understand , a Blackberry update a while back killed my Skype app, and when I needed it lately, it wasn't there. After a web search, I found the free app on Amazon web store, which I'd never used before. When I downloaded it, I got a message to say it was already installed, and was able to log into my account and use it, although with on Skype icon. I returned to AWS and was offered a Skype update and this restored the necessary icon. It's taken me ages to get around to doing this, but it's invaluable for staying in touch with home.

Something I am grateful for and that's the internet radio site and app 'rad.io', which works on Andriod and Blackberry. Is there a Windows app? I've not got around to checking yet. It sometimes stutters if the Blackberry network attachment is busy, but gets there eventually. It's been invaluable for following the twists and turns of Helen's trial on the Archers this week. And I understand there's an hour long edition in with the jury this Sunday night. Can it be true? It's certainly been attracting a lot of attention recently.

It was late when I finally took my daily paseo, walking along the coast path as far as Benagalbón. This stretch of beach has fewer hotels, fewer beach restaurants or chirungitos and many more private houses. At the point when I turned around to walk back, there was a restaurant with bar, hosting a flamenco guitarist and singer, and they were in the midst of a performance. I had to resist the impulse to enter an spend an hour or so listening, as I knew I needed sleep before an early start to get to Fuengirola to take the funeral.

There were few street lights in this locality, so the half moon shone  brightly and was reflected in the sea. The beach was shrouded in darkness, save for the tell-tale blue lights atop fishing rods along the shore. Some stars were visible, and on the horizon were the lights of a cruise liner, probably sailing up the coast from Málaga to Valencia overnight. The singer's powerful voice in lamentful nocturnal mood was audible for two hundred metres, as I walked away. Flamenco singing truly is the original european blues music. It was a delightful moment after a busy day of brain work. No fear of insomnia after a 5km walk before bed.