Learning Flamenco

I always thought that Flamenco was a lot of bluster.  You know, Gypsies acting proud and angry, clapping and stomping around the stage with lots of head tosses.  Other than the fabulous ruffles, it seemed overly masculine to me.  Well, there is a lot of clapping and stomping, and the posture is very straight and proud.  But when we visited Andalucia (in southern Spain), the home of Flamenco, I learned that there is a lot more to it.

In Seville there is an excellent Museum of Flamenco Dance   It is hard to find in the warren of narrow stone streets that meet at crazy angles and all look the same.  Zoe and I got lost one night in the pouring rain trying to find it.  That was fun.  But the museum is very modern and informative, with lots of video displays, which is so important when you are talking about dance and music.  I learned that there are many different rhythms and styles of dance (called Palos) within the umbrella of flamenco, including Bulerías, Alegrías, Tango (no, not the Argentine one.  Completely different.), Soleás, Tarantas, Sevillanas and more. Some are slow and mournful, others fast and intense, some playful and happy. The museum also has performances and lessons.  I highly recommend it if you are in Seville.  It also explains the origins of Flamenco, which came from the Roma (Gypsy) people who originally came from India.  Here is the wikipedia article on Flamenco.

The Roma have a long history of being poor migrant outcasts (and they still are stereotyped in Spain and Italy at least as people most likely to be begging or pickpocketing on the street).  Their music, even when upbeat, has a touch of melancholy, like the Blues.  Flamenco is tragic and (perhaps sometimes overly) dramatic and soulful.  It must be danced with guitar and singer.  There is improvisation.  The dancing is usually done solo.

The rhythms are very complicated, with lots of syncopation.  Many songs are based on twelve counts, but they are not evenly divided into three sets of four like the most western music.  My teachers count to ten, and then to two, before beginning the cycle again.

Like so:   1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 1, 2.    1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 1, 2.

and the accents are irregularly spaced, for example:  1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12.

I am not used to this, so I often kind of lose the beat and have a hard time knowing when to start.  And often songs are fast-paced, which makes counting even harder.  And the songs have llamadas, or standardized breaks in the songs, which have a different rhythmic patterns.

There is a lot of footwork, similar to tap dancing.  Stomps (golpes), toes (plantas), heels (tacones), and complicated combinations of these performed at lightening speed.  Instead of Tap's bouncy feel, Flamenco footwork is grounded in the earth.  You POUND the floor, but your ankles and knees absorb all the impact so that your torso remains still, which means a lot of abdominal and glute control.  Your feet should be kept very close together, almost touching.  My shoes are low-heeled character shoes with nails pounded into the soles at the toes and heels.

In my class we drill simple step combos for almost half the class time, starting slowly and increasing tempo.  It can be exhausting to concentrate on keeping a steady beat while holding our shoulders down, back straight, tummy tight, etc.  My teacher, Laura, at the Jose de la Vega dance studio, is a drill sergeant.  She has a stick that she pounds on the floor and she yells at us not the rush, to keep our feet together, to lift our heels higher, to keep our spines up to the sky, etc.  

The arms are relatively simple, the key being that the elbows are always lifted up and pulled back for that classic Spanish line.  One must lift one's chest up, but push shoulders and lats down, to create a long neck.  We spend fifteen minutes just holding our arms out like Spanish scarecrows while rotating our wrists in the most exaggerated fashion, first circling towards the inside, then towards the outside.  It makes my deltoids scream.  I kind of like it.  The pain.  The suffering.  It makes me feel powerful, like a bullfighter (without the killing).

I am reminded of the dance school in Cambodia which Mark and I visited, where the children were contorting their hands and feet in the most unnatural positions-- hands flexed with fingers curving backwards, feet flexed on legs lifted just so.  Older students were correcting younger ones-- tilting their heads to just the right angle.  It's amazing how training to perfect a particular aesthetic requires so much repetition and intense concentration.  When I was a child taking ballet lessons, I never understood this, and I found the repetition and striving for perfection tiring and boring.  Now I revel in it.

After an hour of very rigid technique, we have an hour of choreography where we have to put arms and feet and rhythm together with the music, and make it live and breathe.  My teacher is wise to advise us to relax and dance from our bellies.  It is here where we let our hips move and one can articulate through the ribcage so that we do not look overly uptight, and we let sensuality enter in.  It's an interesting mix of graceful hands, strong and forceful arms and shoulders, undulating feminine hips and skirts, but controlled and powerful, slightly masculine footwork.

To be a soloist, one must have the utmost confidence, because all eyes are on you.  I read that female flamenco dancers often peak in their 40s, when they have the maturity and the experience to really dance with passion and soul.  Since I will be forty this year, I decided that this is the dance for me.  I've done the sexy salsa thing and the graceful, happy hula thing.  Now it's time to get tough.  To get serious.  To dig deep and dance from the gut.  To embrace the sadness of life and summon the power and the passion within me.  I am too old to be shy or embarrassed.  I know who I am and how to use my body.  That is what dancing flamenco is to me.

This is the one-hour intro to flamenco class that Zoe & I took in Sevilla in November 2011 at the Museum of Flamenco Dance.

This is a short choreography we learned at the end of my class.  It's a Tango, which is one of the easier dances because it is in 4/4 time.

Complaints, Whines, Rants

It's winter.  It's colder and grayer and windier.  I caught a cold which lasted for three solid weeks, and the snot and the cough are still lingering.  After four months of being tough, adventurous, and positive, I'm going to let myself wallow in the negatives today.   Here are a few things I don't like about Barcelona...

Business Hours

I hate the fact that most stores are closed on Sunday.  Clothing shops, bookstores, sporting goods shops, fruit and vegetable stands-- even most supermarkets are closed on Sundays!  Only the Pakistani mini-markets are open 24 hrs, 7 days a week.  I was surprised to find that even the Chinese-run bazaars are closed on Sundays.  Maybe my immigrant brethren tried opening on Sundays, but when no one showed up, they gave up and "did as the Romans..." Even during the prime Christmas shopping weekends in December, the department stores and entire shopping malls were closed on Sundays.  If there is such a financial crisis going on, you'd think the businesses might try a little harder to sell their stuff!?  It always seems like I wake up on Sunday mornings and realize that my refrigerator is empty...

During the week it doesn't get much better.  The nearest supermarket doesn't open until 9:15am, and it closes by 9:15pm, Monday - Saturday.  The majority of stores and small businesses close between 2pm-4:30pm every day, so if I don't shop and run my errands before lunch, it's all over.  Banks and most government agencies close promptly at 2pm, and they are closed on weekends.

Only restaurants and bakeries are open on Sundays, because people can't live without fresh bread and a place on the sidewalk to lounge, smoke, talk, and eat.  So what do most Barcelonans DO on Sundays?  Apparently brunch is very popular.  It's a time to visit relatives. But for us non-church-going, relative-less expats, who find it too cold in the winter to go outside, there is nothing to do except go to the movies or to a museum.  When the weather gets better, I'm sure we'll be heading to the beach or biking or hiking or traveling and I won't be such a grump about it.

Even the nearest ski hill in Spain during peak season weekends is only open from 10a - 2pm.  Four hours is considered a full day lift ticket?!  I guess if you eat lunch from 2-4pm, then it's too late the ski after lunch, and you might as well quit at 2.  And if you didn't eat dinner until 10pm the night before, you can't possibly be on the slopes before 10am the next day!  It's all so logical.

Smokers Everywhere

Everyone smokes.  It's impossible to walk one block without getting a lungful of cigarette smoke.  Little old ladies, old men in berets, attractive young women, middle-aged men, moms and dads, taxi drivers, and most disconcertingly, the entire crowd of high-schoolers who blockade the sidewalk during lunchtime and turn it into a gas chamber.   With everyone whining about the crisis and high unemployment, how are they all managing to watch 3,50 Euros (almost $5) per pack go up in smoke?  Every pack is  clearly emblazoned with SMOKING KILLS (FUMAR MATA) and other dire pronouncements.  I am a little afraid that if we stay here too long, when Zoe gets to middle school she might succumb to peer pressure and start lighting up.  

Thank goodness since January 2011 it has been against the law to smoke inside restaurants and clubs, and on public transportation.  Still, it's allowed to smoke outside at the sidewalk cafe tables, so those areas are not as pleasant as they should be.

I am curious to know how much this addiction to tobacco is costing the Spanish government in health care costs, and why there does not seem to be much impetus to break the habit.  It's not as if Spain is a big tobacco-growing country, so I am sure this addiction has a negative impact on Spain's trade balance.  (At least in the case of China, which grows a ton of tobacco, I can understand the economic incentive to keep up demand for the product).

Dog Bombs

Living without a car in the city center means walking a lot, which is great.  I am surrounded by amazing architecture, and I'd love to just look up at the blue sky and the ornate balconies, but alas, I walk with my head down, eyes fixed on the grey sidewalk, because I'm afraid I might step on a pile of dog poop!  There are a lot of dog owners in this city, and despite the fact that there is a large and active army of street cleaners with brooms and power washers that work very hard every day to keep the place tidy, they are outnumbered by dog owners who do not pick up after their animals.  I thought Paris streets were even worse in this regard.  But after months of scanning the pavement, avoiding the patches of dirt that surround the little street trees, and observing the pee stains on the walls where the buildings meet the sidewalk, I'm just a little bit disgusted.  I can't imagine NOT removing my shoes at the door of our apartment. 

Websites

Coming from Silicon Valley, where every business that exists has a website, and online registration and payment is de riguer, this place is baffling.  There are so many awfully designed websites!  They are not clearly laid out, and they are very short on information.  They basically just tell you to stop by or call during their limited working hours.  The whole point of a website is to give information!  To save time so their staff doesn't have to repeat themselves over and over.  To explain who and what you are so people will know whether it's worth their while to find out more.  What's even more galling, is that often the information posted on the website is inaccurate.  When I show up to take a class, they tell me, "No, the website is wrong.  Here is the paper schedule."  

The Tyranny of the NIE

It is relatively easy for a citizen of country within the European Union to move here.  They can easily get a NIE, which is a number kind of like a social security number and ID card in one.  This 9 digit collection of letters and numbers is the key to happiness.  Without it you cannot open a bank account (Unless you know the right person at the right bank to talk to.  It took me a month of head-bashing to find a way).  You cannot get internet service, or even a customer loyalty card at stores.  You need that damn number for everything.  And for Americans, it's very hard to get one.

I Miss Grass

They do not believe in grass here.  There are no lawns.  I'm sure this is much more water efficient, but it makes me sad.  The parks are full of packed sand and pavement.  There are trees and bushes, but very little grass.  No sprinkler systems.  School playgrounds are basically paved areas (patios) where kids play ball and tag.  If they fall, they get scraped and bruised.  No jungle gyms, swings, or playstructures here.  The fancier private schools have soccer fields which are generally made of artificial turf.  It is hard to find a place to go out on a Saturday morning to kick a soccer ball around except in the paved plaza.  

Last minute planning

People here are great.  But they don't tend to like to plan things ahead of time (other than birthday parties).  I like to set a time and a place a week or two in advance, and then I show up.  But that is not the culture here.  It's more like, "Call me on Saturday morning and we'll figure it out then,"  or, "I'll see you at school and we can talk about it."  Of course not everyone is like that, but in general, it's very different from the SF Bay Area where things are scheduled months in advance.  

Minor Annoyances

1.  How much is 10 degrees Celsius???
2.  My recipes are in cups and teaspoons, but my measuring spoons and cups are in mg and ml.
3.  Here, today is 30/01/2013
4.  One and one-half is 1,5
5.  One thousand five hundred is 1.500

Learning Spanish

I am enrolled in the Official Language School of Barcelona (Escola Oficial d'Idiomes Barcelona Drassanes or www.eoibd.cat) which is run by the Catalan Government (Generalitat de Catalunya).  My friend Gina, who has lived here for 7 years and had taken classes at the school, recommended it to us.  Mark is taking classes in Catalan two nights a week at the same school.  The school offers very well-priced intensive courses in many different languages, and it can be hard to get a spot since it is quite popular.  I guess we both got lucky.  The registration process included online registration, standing in line for over an hour, taking a placement test, then showing up again to pay and register, again standing in line and not having a lot of choice.  But I am happy to say that it was worth it, because I just completed my level 2 exams, and I feel like I have learned a ton in the past four months.  

My teacher was excellent, the textbook was good, and we did a variety of activities which encouraged us to practice speaking, reading, and writing.  We didn't have much homework-- just enough, really.  In addition to the almost daily immersion which is critical to language learning, I got to meet a nice assortment of people from around the world and make some good friends.  My exams included a written test with listening and reading comprehension, and an oral test where we were paired up with another student and had to describe a photo and talk about it, relating it to our lives.  The exams are pass/fail, and if one fails, you can repeat the same course.  If you pass, you can register for the next level,  and I think the process is much easier for continuing students.  The facilites are nothing special-- a slightly run-down building in a slightly grungy part of town, but close to the main tourist area and completely adequate, with projectors in every classroom connected to a computer, and a big old-fashioned chalkboard. 

My classes were Monday-Thursday 9:30am -12pm right off La Rambla near where Mark works.  So usually the four of us left the house together, we dropped the kids off at school, and continued walking downhill for 20 minutes to Mark's workplace, and then I would continue another 5 mins to my class.  It was great to have a routine that got me out of the house daily.  Also Mark and I could meet for lunch once a week. 

A lot of people here have commented that I can speak very well for only having lived here for four months.  Comparing myself to my classmates, most of whom have already lived here for 2-3 years and still are having a hard time expressing themselves, I have to agree.  I ROCK.  And I owe it all to Mark. His Spanish is excellent by all accounts but his own.  He studied it in middle and high school, he dated a Mexican-American in college, he worked in Argentina for a few months, and he did a research project in the Dominican Republic one summer.  But really, he has a facility for languages and a passion for Spanish, so he has spent a lifetime listening to Spanish music, watching movies, and improving. I took two quarters of Spanish thru Stanford Continuing Studies back in 1996, which I really enjoyed, but it was once or twice a week.  Ok, I got an A+, so obviously I have a decent ear for languages as well, but I didn't learn much more than a bunch of nouns and adjectives and some familiarity with the present tense.  

When we were expecting Zoë, we decided that from the get-go I would speak to her in my limited Mandarin, Mark would speak to her in Spanish, and the rest of the world would speak to her in English.  It was a grand experiment.  We even started in utero with a pair of speakers that we would place on my belly and sing and talk to her before she was born.  Crazy overachiever parents.  It is not easy to speak to your child in what is not your mother tongue.  Mark and I learned a lot ourselves just trying to stay one step ahead of our kids.  We learned children's songs in Mandarin and Spanish.  We read books to them, and we attended music classes in Spanish with them.  And I listened to him every day telling the kids to wash their hands and talking about clothing and whatever else people talk about in daily living.  I rarely spoke a word of Spanish, but I could read kid's books just fine.  In a way, I have been studying Spanish for the past ten years. 

So when I got here, I realized that I could understand a great deal (not TV shows because they speak really quickly, but at least 60% of conversations with people) but I couldn't form a grammatical sentence.  I have a large vocabulary, but I did not remember the rules for conjugating verbs.  In the last three months I have learned the simple past and the continuing past, as well as the present and future tenses.  And with that, I am functional.  I can go out alone and buy things, make bank deposits, go to the post office, and I have no fear of getting lost.  Spanish feels really easy, in comparison to Mandarin.  My pronunciation is pretty darn good if I say so myself, and now I have to work on increasing my vocabulary beyond the basic, commonly used verbs and add some more tenses, and  I need to watch more movies and TV so I can train my ear.  

Zoe's Spanish has always been very good.  She has a knack for languages and as often happens, parents are more strict with the first child than the second.  Before Trevor was born, she always spoke to Mark in Spanish.  But once Trevor became verbal, the two of them were all-English, all the time.  In addition, Trevor was slower to speak any language, and he had some speech issues, so we let him speak English to us just so that he would express himself.  He's kind of a quiet guy anyway.  Before we came here he had no desire to speak Spanish, and I was certain that my Spanish was much better than his.  I could recall a lot more words.  

BUT within one month of moving here, because he attends school from 9a-5pm immersed in Catalan and Spanish, and all of his friends here speak Spanish, now he corrects me all the time.  "Mom, you said X when you meant Y;"  or "You forgot the LO."  It's AMAZING.  We had him repeat second grade here, since he is already on the young side, and we weren't sure about the new languages, but in the first semester he got very high marks, and was even outperforming native Catalan speakers on some spelling tests, so starting in January he moved up to third grade and seems to be doing great.  The first month we were here, before my classes started, I was already trying to think and talk in Spanish. Zoë was so embarrassed and annoyed by my butchering the language that she told me, "Mom, I would prefer if you would not speak to me in Spanish until AFTER you have taken classes."  OUCH.

For the first month or two, when picking up the kids from school, I didn't really know any of the other parents, and I felt shy about striking up conversations in Spanish.  It was kind of hard.  Luckily some wonderful parents were friendly to me and they are patient with me when I take a bit longer to express myself.  And now I feel much more socially comfortable, although there still is a language barrier. Spending the day with some local families is wonderful and exhausting for me, as my brain is working overtime to keep up with the conversation for hours on end.  But I feel great satisfaction that I am learning and growing even in my middle age.  :)  

I have met some other Americans who have lived here for quite a few years already, but whose kids attend International School in English, or who work in an English environment, and thus have mostly expat friends, and they regret not having learned much Spanish at all.  It certainly is possible to live in an expat bubble, since there is such a large community of expats here.  I am glad that we did not choose to go that route, and we are integrating here.  

I actually think learning Spanish is helping Trevor and Zoe with their English vocabulary because so many of the Latin roots are similar, so many words which are higher level vocabulary in English have a commonly-used cognate in Spanish.  The kids still prefer to read in English, but they will read Spanish graphic novels and magazines willingly.  

We haven't spoken or read in Mandarin for the last six months, since we got back from Taiwan.  We were busy moving, and then we wanted to let the kids settle in with Catalan and Spanish.  I was worried that they would forget the Mandarin which we have invested in for so many years.  So we just started with once-a-week Mandarin tutoring for them, just to maintain what they have learned.  Writing characters was the first thing to go.  Yet I was pleasantly surprised that the kids did well in their first class, and even seemed to enjoy it.  One benefit of living in a place where everyone is trilingual is that it just seems normal and expected.  So different from the U.S.