Our
flamenco night in
The day started well enough. Brilliant sunshine streaming in through the hotel window, the
rather inadequate curtains failing miserably to keep out the scorching rays of
the Spanish sun. Excellent! I love the sun & all it’s
glorious heat! “Come on Jo, let’s eat & hit the streets!” Joanna’s appreciation of my early morning rush to
experience the first sun of the day was…a little slow at appearing, especially
following a nights heavy drinking & partying outside
Anyway, as the day went on we found a nice “Irish
pub” just off the main square near the cathedral. “Flaherty the Irish
bar!” it was packed out with Spaniards!! I guess it’s like when we go
to a Tapas bar here in rainy
First off we went to a Tabloa behind the bullring.
A place called “El Arenal” this was obviously set up for tourists, however, the
quality of the artists on was exceptional. A nicely fitted
out restaurant in the traditional Spanish /flamenco style. 2 shows per evening. You have to pay to either just watch
the show or have a meal and watch the show. We had the meal. The food was great
but you’re not left to relax. As soon as we were finished the bill
arrived…without us asking for it!! Allowing us to get out before the next group
of flamenco loving tourists took their seats. Anyway, back to the show. Three
guitarists slowly walked out to the chairs arranged at the rear of the stage.
Tuned their guitars, & started to play an earthy Soleá, all the guitarists
were of a pretty high standard. 4 or 5 minutes into this out stepped the
singers! One short & “portly” the other, tall & slim, greying hair
slicked back.
“Isn’t that Juan Martin’s old singer?” Joanna
asked.
“Yea! I think it’s Jarillo! He’s lost a lot of weight if
it is him.”
The show was great even if it was a little
touristy; guitarists, singers & dancers were all excellent. A few of the
ladies dancing upon that stage were VERY attractive!! Ding dong!!
11.30 and we were out,
into the warm Sevilla evening air.
Tablao el Arenal
We then walked through the whitewashed back
streets, towards the “Genuine” flamenco bar. The one the local flamencos go to.
The “Adriano.” On the way, we heard a lot of
commotion, clapping, banging, laughing & cheers of “Olé” echoing off the walls. Turning the corner we saw a
group of Spanish teenagers, 18 – 19 years old - or there abouts – they were
dancing “flamenco” in the street. One of the lads was smacking out rhythms on a
box, rhythms that sounded to me like a Tangos. The other three were clapping to
the rhythm. On the floor we could see “A few” empty bottles of vino
tinto & Spanish beer. Two of the girls were dancing with one of the guys.
Heads up, their arms moving like a swans neck dipping in & out of water
& looking around. Very beautiful, very graceful.
One of the girls had the tightest pair of red jeans on I’d ever seen!
Excellent! &
Fantastic she looked in
them too…”Hellowww, Ding Dong!” (Leslie Philips eat
your heart out, ha!). We stopped to watch, as the guy “Killing” the box looked
at us & shouted “Hola”. Smiles all around while they danced & we
watched trying to follow the rhythms with our clapping as best we could. When
they finished dancing we all started cheering &
clapping. Then, guess whom the dancers pulled into the middle of the street to
dance!!! Me! AARRRGHH! They were TOTALLY deaf to my frightened yells of protest
“No, No, mi no bailar!! I can’t dance!” The rhythm & yelling, clapping & laughing
started again as I was forced to make a total pillock of myself. Jo was crying
with laughter. I felt a prize pratt! Even so, we had a
scream! My legs started flailing around like they had a life of their own. I
looked like some kind of demented lobster frantically trying to avoid being
lowered into boiling water. What a plonka ha! The locals seemed happy enough
with my efforts…well, they laughed a lot anyway! God, it was funny (although I
didn’t think so at the time, well, maybe I did…just a little bit.) 10 minutes
later, we arrived at the bar, 15 minutes past midnight, yes, we
got lost again!! WE HAD BEEN DRINKING for goodness sake…a-hem!! Turning the
corner we could hear a cheap but loud stereo system blasting out the familiar
sound of a Cameron de la Isla & Tomatito bulerias. “Ahhh,
sounds like this is it Jo!”
“Good, my feet
are killin’ me!”
So we walked into Adriano’s. The walls
were littered with bullfighting memorabilia, matadors “Suits of lights,” signed
photos of matadors past & present. Photos of the flamenco greats peppered
the wall behind the bar. We approached the bar man who looked at us like we had
both grown a third eye or something.
“Tardes!” he growled.
We ordered a couple of whiskies & asked our
gypsy looking barman when his place starts to get busy.
“Tres!” he again growled. Hmmm, three am! We walked through into the back of the club whilst
Cameron & Tomatito, now magically played a Fandangos
(I think). As we looked around. Joanna, & I, the
barman & one portly Spaniard in a flat cap, with a rather tiered looking
dog asleep at his feet were the only people in the place. So, we had a nice
tour around the club. Guitars hanging on the walls next to signed photo’s of
Cameron along with various “Juerga” photographs of the local flamenco’s enjoying
themselves.
Anyway,
we finished our drinks & left the bar. “We’ll go back to Flaherty’s &
come back around 2 ish.” Jo said. So off we went.
Two o clock arrived, & we were back at Adriano’s with two
rather attractive, if a little loud, American girls we’d met in Flahherty’s.
Adriano’s
was now smoke filled & starting to “Buzz.”
The
front bar was packed so we walked into the rear bar area. The air was hot,
smoky & pulsing with “flamenco” atmosphere, was this “Duende” The magic
feeling one gets when flamenco moves ones soul? No! This was just atmosphere,
smoky atmosphere! The stereo was getting a well deserved rest, while around
the tables groups of “Flamencos” rapped
out tangos rhythms as a loan, young guitarist accompanied his table (& the
rest of the place!) through an amazing Tangos.
At the
bar we ordered “La
jarra grandé” of their “Special flamenco” Sangrias.
“What’s
special about it?” asked our new American friends.
I
thought a little as I watched the barman mix the lethal concoction. “I think
it’s supposed to knock out tourists like us!” On the bar our “growling” barman
was filling a huge glass jug.
v
1
bottle of red wine. Glug glug!
v
½
a bottle of orange liqueur. Glug glug!
v
1
carton of fruit juice. Glug glug! (Healthy!!)
v
½
a bottle of Brandy. Bloody hell!
v
A
whisky glass full of vodka!
v
&
the same again of water.
v
1
lemon, slaughtered with
what looked like a sword!
v
&
lastly a fistful of Ice.
Hmmmm!
For
the next hour we attacked the Sangria & listened to the party at the table
next to us as they went through a Tangos. The young guitarist playing the rhythms & firing out some very
tasty thumb & arpeggio falsetas Inbetween the singing. Six friends around a table, enjoying their flamenco. Their
ages must’ve ranged from 20 ish for the guitarist, to 70 for one of the
singers. It was pretty magical! Where could one find this in
“AMIGO!!” A loud shout came from the front
of the club. We looked over, focused through the haze & saw that, to my/our
surprise, the singer from “El Arenal”
was pointing at us & dragging a lady friend over to meet us. We Looked at each other…er! It turned out that he saw me from
the stage & now recognized me because of my long “Gitano” (Gypsy like) dark curly hair.
Anyway, I spoke to him as best I could in my Spanish, he couldn’t speak a word
of English. I asked him if he was “Jarillo” the singer who toured with the
flamenco guitarist Juan Martin. “Ahhh, Si!! Juan Martin, Barbican!” He
smacked me on the back spilling my “Sangria” on the floor.
I looked down at the spillage as he threw his
arm around me to drag me off to meet his friends. Did I see smoke rising from
the spill??? Hmmm! Something to think about.
In the
club’s front bar I was loudly introduced to a couple of his friends as “Mi
amigo, Juan Martin Barbican!” Jarillo reached over to the growling
barman yanked him from the customer he was pouring a drink for, smiled into his
confused face, pointed at me & yelled “Mi amigo, Juan Martin Barbican
Whisky! Whisky!!” A whisky was thrust into my hand. Jarillo was
in fine form, drunk sweaty & very “Smack on the back drink spillin’”
friendly. We were just stood there smiling at each other,
taking gulps of the foulest whisky I’d ever tasted (His private stash!! Lucky
Jarillo…NOT!), & grinning again he kept laughing as he mumbled “Juan
Martin, Barbican.”
Suddenly he spun me around, walking through the door came a smiling short haired
Spanish woman in a flowing green blouse. “Ahhh! Mujer!” He pushed me towards her yelling something, pointing
at me & shouted “Mi amigo….Barbican...Juan Martin!” &
prompting me to tell her all about it. I spluttered & bumbled in my
attempts to inform her, with my amazing blend of sign language & pigeon
Spanish, that I had indeed seen her fella when he toured
Oh dear! Jarillo had gone, leaving
me stranded with a total stranger who looked like she would rather be smelling his feet than “Talking” with me. Then the sound of
a lone guitar, talking to us with the haunting chords of a soleares, demanded our attention. The
club turned silent & all eyes looked behind me. I turned to see Jarillo sat
on a table with a short, brown polyester clad, greasy haired guitarist, who was
squinting through a pair of the thickest milk bottom glasses I had ever seen.
The guitar sounded beautiful, Jarillo cleared his throat & started to sing.
That
was one of those moments that we wished would never end. Jarillo had
transformed himself from a loud happy drunk, into a soulful proclaimer of
flamenco “Duende!” All of us, casually stood around in
total silence but for the appreciative grumbles of “Olé!” &
the slow clicking of fingers.
When
they finished every one started murmuring their appreciation, Jarillo stood up
from the table, grabbed Joanna & motioned for her to take a photo of him
self, his lady friend & me.
The
evening carried on until
We
left, three attractive women & myself feeling…A little worse for wear,
suffering the early effects of the sangria!. Certainly
a night I’ll never forget.
Dan.