Flamenco and Mountain Villages
Just outside Seville are the Roman ruins of Italica. Worth a visit, we thought. Signage was pitifully lacking and when eventually located, everything was behind barricades … seemingly stopped mid restoration. With a bit of careful aiming between the chain link fence, we managed a few photos.
There was plenty of time before our check-in at Jerez, so with Cadiz quite close, we took a run down to the coast. The white, sandy beaches, pale blue ocean and palm trees looked very tropical … there were a few people swimming, but a toe dip determined it to be far too chilly to be enjoyable. For us anyway.
A late lunch overlooking the ocean seemed like a good idea … tall glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice and a flame-charred pizza straight from the oven, covered with peppers, black olives and an exceptionally good salami.
Parking is possibly going to be an issue in Jerez. Maria met us as we drove up the insanely narrow lane outside the apartment. There was no stopping of any kind here, but by scrunching the car hard against the opposite wall, we could quickly unload our bags and stuff, and with Maria’s and her friend’s help, lug them up three flights of stairs (there was no elevator) before Glen had to move the car. He was able to find parking a ten minute walk away, beside the Harvey’s Bristol Cream bodega. Lovely apartment with views of the town from the balcony … a picturesque church next door … and a pastry shop –Pastelaria Jesus – right downstairs! Hopefully the church’s blessing removes some of the calories.
The next morning was wash day … we were running out of clothes! There were washing lines inside the patio, and things soon dried in the sun and breeze.
That evening we booked a flamenco show at Tablao Puro Arte, purported to be the best in Jerez — the place where flamenco is said to have originated (although hotly disputed by Seville and Granada). The show was to begin at ten pm — we could have gone for the ‘tapas and wine’ deal beforehand, but as we had already eaten ours was a ‘drinks only’ ticket. People were just finishing up their food when we arrived but we were shown in, and wine was poured. Our table had a clear view of the stage . . . and there was an open space directly in front, with four chairs placed in a square, facing each other.
Lit candles for each table … the lights were dimmed … four darkened figures filed in, and sat in the chairs — two of them just inches from our table. A spotlight on the Cantao (singer) Luis Varga El Mono who threw out a raspy impassioned invitation with his voice … one of the dancers stood up with a toss of her head and responded with a stamp and rapid staccato of heels .. turning suddenly and staring disdainfully — apparently right through us! The other two dancers (male and female) responded in kind … each performance more emotional and intricate than the last. All this just feet from us – so close you could feel every stomp and breath. Incredible! Here’s a short video with some of the people we saw: https://hi-in.facebook.com/puroarteflamencojerez/videos/tablao-flamenco-puro-arte-seguimos-disfrutando-de-visitas-muy-ilustres-y-el-fin-/1743403579254969/
Action now moved to the stage. This time with a remarkable guitarist … the singer … and two dancers, who did the hand clapping and Oles of encouragement. The side curtains opened, and a Flamenca paused in the spotlight, then slowly and deliberately dragged her chair behind her across to the other side of the stage … staring at the audience all the while. A dramatic entry indeed! Her dance had a raw, gypsy edge to it … wild and abandoned one moment … controlled and precise the next.
The next dancer’s face and movements were so expressive you could read them like a book … lithe, flamboyant, cheeky. An amazing range. She had complete control of the long ruffled train on her dress.
The male dancer, though, was the true essence of Flamenco. His outfit made quite the statement … black pants, white jacket, long red scarf and white shoes with red toes and heels … but it was his performance which moved him to the next level. Every head movement, twist of the hand, click of the heel was a joy to watch. His feet a blur as he drifted across the stage, the beats ever changing . A true master. (He’s the younger man on the far left, with Luis Varga beside him)
Some of the nearby pueblos blancos are recommended as ‘must see’ … however pretty much ALL towns here are white, however some have obtained a reputation for being slightly more attractive. Of course this means busier with tourists too! We selected three which could be visited in a sort of loop. Arcos was first … spread along a high cliff, similar to Ronda, with quite a spectacular church and fortress on the hilltop. As expected it was busy, and the only parking was at the bottom of town — still we’re used to hills by now. Met two nuns on their way down from the convent — one with a guitar case like a backpack. The fortress was closed, but there was a good view over the fields and valley. One enterprising gentleman had a row of owls and raptors on a perch inside a kiosk-like tent. You could have your photograph taken with the bird of your choice sitting on your hand . . . only 10 euros. Poor birds looked fed up, and the Peregrine Falcon kept looking up longingly at the free birds wheeling overhead.
Ubrique had long been on my list, and it was not a disappointment. A high winding mountain road to get there — then around one corner — the whole town clustered brilliant white way down at the foot of the mountains. Here in Andalucia, Sundays are for the family … multi-generations gather for late lunch, taking up several tables.
Grandmothers with wheelies had pride of place … dogs lurked expectantly under tables .. kids played ball in the plaza … and everyone talked at once. Ubrique was no different. The whole centre street had become a pedestrian plaza with families and friends sitting at tables or on high stools around tall upright barrels used as tables. We nabbed a couple of chairs at a small Peruvian family restaurant down one side street, the owner rustled up a table. While we waited for our order (the poor kitchen staff were rushed off their feet) we sipped fresh, ice cold limeade, and people watched. The Peruvian stirfry was delicious, by the way. Ubrique is renowned for its leatherwork — apparently places like Gucci and Luis Vuitton source their leather from there … but being Sunday, the shops we saw were all closed.
It was gone four when we left and drove towards Grazalema on its mountain-face overlooking a deep wide valley . . . the ribbon of road looking tiny from up there. Not as crowded this late in the day. This is a big cheese making region – sheep and goat’s milk … so yes . . . . there was a Cheese Shop … or rather a queso tienda! Customers lined up three deep at the counter and out into the street.
We sat admiring the view and munching some crema-filled donuts (a kind of pattisserie cream) which turned out to be very tasty.
The sun was getting lower as we looped down hairpin bend after hairpin bend, and then up and over the next mountain ridge … in the distance you could see yet more mountain ranges disappearing into the darkening haze.
