The date was October 20th. It was a Wednesday. One of the scheduled trips that CEA provides for us is a trip to a Flamenco show. I remembered that I RSVPed ‘yes’ to the e-mail about going, but I wasn’t sure if I was actually going to attend or not. I am not really a huge follower of dance; no matter what culture it comes from. But then I decided to not be lazy and to go. I will only be in Catalunya one time in my life with the chance to see a free Flamenco show; so I went.
My roommate Kevin and I took the metro to the theater, and as we were walking towards it, he was asking me how much I knew about the famous cultural dance. I told him that I really knew nothing about it. I knew that it originated in Andalucia, and that it was a very emotional, almost angry dance. But that was all that I knew.
When we got the theater I learned a little bit more about it. We made our way into the lobby of the theater. I was surrounded by about 60 American kids from the program. I did not see a single Catalan in the audience. It was then that I realized that we were at a show aimed for tourists and people visiting from out of town. I wondered if anyone performed Flamenco shows in town for the locals. But I guess that they have all seen it before. The MC came out and gave a nice little introduction in English, so that all of us Americans could understand. He told us that Flamenco is thought to have originated in Andalucia around the 15th century, near the end of the Reconquista, by gypsies. The dance is said to have Muslim, Jewish, Gitano, and Byzantine influences. It is a very important part of Spanish culture, but it is also used often in stereotyping Spaniards (along with bullfighting and siesta napping).
Once the show began, I immediately recognized the style of dance from videos that I had seen in Spanish class in high school. It is a very rapid dance. The feet don’t stop stomping, and the hands continue to wave around. It is not a happy dance. The performers don’t have smiles on their faces. They stomp their feet at blinding speed, wave their arms, and it seems to all be building up until the final stomp and a yell of “Oley”. The singing was very distinctive as well. A rather fat, bald man seemed to be yelling at the top of his lungs, but from the bottom of his throat. It was a very loud, low, and raspy sound. It goes well with the over-all angry mood of the show.
Although it would have been cooler to see Flamenco performed in a little pueblo in the Andalucian countryside, without microphones or stage lighting; I am glad that I decided to go to the show. I am only here for 3 months, and I don’t want to miss out on any cultural experience. It would just be a waste.
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