WHO NEEDS A DRYER WHEN YOU HAVE CLOTHES PINS?

LIKE THE TITLE SAYS, WHO NEEDS A DRYER, WHEN YOU HAVE A BALCONY AND CLOTHES PINS? For some reason. I find hanging my laundry from a cord that I've tied to each end of my tiny balcony, very satisfying. And I have neon clothes pins, which are cool, because they appeal to the little kid in me. Colours! Sky blue, neon green, hot pink and yellow. I had the same thrill from coloured pencils in a new pencil box when I was eight. (Which is probably why I like soft pastels to do some art when I find the time.)  I suspect hanging my laundry reminds me of my childhood, when my mother used to hang our laundry on our clothesline in the back yard, and everything froze into place in January. I still remember sheets hanging like plates of shaved ice and towels at attention like rectangular flags. They had a solidity to them that meant Canada, and January, and playing outside making snowmen, and home.

Of course, there's no snow here. There hasn't been any rain either. If you've been watching the Spanish news, you'll know the rest of the country has suffered. It's 30 degrees and things are dry in an hour instead of taking all day. But I do love hanging my laundry. If truth be told, I was a bit worried about not having a dryer when we moved here. But no hay problema.

On the other hand, maybe we're just the dumb Canucks of the neighborhood, hanging our laundry across our balcony. Nobody else seems to do that, and we do have a clothesline on the roof of our building. (We went up there to do our sheets, and the sun nearly blinded me. It was so bright it gave me a headache.) But the balcony is so convenient. And we don't do a lot of laundry.

The other great thing here is the groceries. The major supermarkets in Sevilla put ours to shame. There's so much to choose from in terms of cheeses, meats (can you say 20 different kinds of jamon?) and produce, some of which I've never seen. The fish is fantastic. All fresh, and the flavours are amazing. AND THE WINE. We bought a respectable bottle of chardonnay for one and a half Euros (or about $2.25 Canadian). The stuff was on sale for 70% off. We plan to go back and stock up. :-)

I've also discovered the delights of salmoreo, which is like a gazpacho but much creamier and smoother. We ordered some the other night, thinking it was a salmon thingee. (I know, don't laugh. We're learning.) It turned out to be this fantastic cold tomato soup, served with bits of shaved ham and cheese. We loved it. So when we saw it in the store at Corte Inglais, we bought it. I never thought I'd be an afficionada of cold soup, but in hot weather, there's nothing better.

What else? We walked around today, trying to find Mike a pair of summer shorts, and nada. The stores are already displaying fall fashions. Also, 5:00 p.m. is about the perfect time for a sangria. :-)

More mañana. Olé! - Susan.

AN HOUR OF BRUISED EGO or LIVING THE LIFE?

I HAVE A 10:00 BULERIAS CLASS EVERY MORNING THIS WEEK, with Ramon Martínez at the Alicia Marquez' School of Flamenco Baile. Yesterday was great, but difficult - first days always are. You're faced with learning combinations of steps you've never done before (or have never put together in quite the same way). In a class full of regular students, you're going to stand out because you're making mistakes and trying to catch on as fast as you can. As I headed for my class this morning, it was with some worry. I'd been thinking about what I'd learned the day before, I'd gone over it all night in my head, knowing I hadn't retained everything (but then, I rarely do). No one had taken videos of the class yesterday, so I felt awkward about doing that. I hoped today would be better. There was no guarantee it would.

It takes me about fifteen minutes to walk from our apartment to the school. As I went, I considered - what's an hour of bruised ego? No one's really paying attention to you, or if they are, it's only fleetingly. Everybody's focused on their own growth. So really, Susan, you're lucky to be here, even if it means dealing with a bit of embarrassment and wearing a silly grimace when you mess up. You're living the life.

I suppose I am. But pride has a way of pooping on the experience. (Yes, I joke. But what else can you do, when you mess up? You may as well laugh at yourself.) It's best to take yourself seriously, and at the same time, not so seriously. There's irony in that.

Today was better, thank God. I did get lost on the way to the school once, so thank heaven for on-line maps, because they got me turned around. Luckily, I wasn't late, and we went over the same choreography, with minor changes. I'm getting it. I've always considered myself a bit of a slow learner when it comes to flamenco, mostly because I don't grab it immediately, but perhaps that's too much to expect. I need a lot of repetition, with lots of practice. And once the steps come without thinking, then it's about laying on the style. But maybe I'm not so different from anybody else who dances. Maybe that's just the way it is for most of us. My advice to any beginner out there? Keep at it, have faith in yourself, and eventually you'll get it. Keep going, don't give up, and don't let pride get in your way.  I suppose you could apply that advice to any creative endeavour. It certainly applies to writing.

And speaking of beginners, Ramon's class is advertised as for 'all levels'. Um, no. Not in the least. If you're a beginner, this class would be way over your head. I'm not a beginner, and I'm just keeping up.

But I do love it. I'm hoping tomorrow will be even better than today. We shall see what tomorrow brings.

Until then, olé! - Susan.

SEVILLA SORPRESAS (or surprises.)...

 LOTS OF SURPRISES SINCE WE ARRIVED. For one, the first flamenco workshop I wanted to take yesterday was cancelled, as there was only me and another student enrolled. Which changed my class plans a bit, but in hindsight, it's all for the better. I took my first class in Seville with Ramon Martínez

 today, and it was fantastic. It was challenging, but he's a wonderful teacher. There are dancers here who are better than me, and a few who dance at my level. I expect I'll learn a lot more about Bulerias over the next couple of months. Even today, I can see a difference in my style, although I still have a lot to fix with the footwork. So it goes. I'm definitely in the right place.

Mike's found a gym, and while he went to work out, I spent the time roaming around Plaza Alfalfa, which is a great area for bars, restaurants, and shopping. It's not too far from our apartment, either. My Canadian teacher, Jane, had mentioned to me a couple of flamenco shops (Senovilla for shoes) and Flamenco Pasión (for skirts, shawls, etc.). I stumbled upon them both, quite by accident. I also discovered a number of other flamenco stores, all catering to La Feria (which occurs in May), with some stunning dresses in their windows (at half price). Not sure I'll bring one of these home to Canada, but shoes are definitely on the list, and maybe, if I can afford it, a new manton (a large piano shawl). The one I like is silk and embroidered beautifully, but it's expensive. I will definitely buy fans and other paraphernalia for myself and friends. But mostly, I want to concentrate and spend my money on flamenco classes.

Another surprise - I'm actually managing with my faltering Spanish. Hopefully, getting better at it. I had a Spanish couple stop me today, to ask where Las Setas were. They were from out of town, with their child in tow. I was able to tell them, first explaining that my Spanish wasn't great. The husband corrected me a few times, but that's fine. I don't mind, and it will only make me better. They understood me, and I understood them. All good.

The photo in the upper left-hand corner is of La Catedral, a world heritage site. It was completed in the 16th century. A bishopric seat, it's considered the largest cathedral in the world. We spent last night strolling around it, and it was impressive.

I love Sevilla. Have I mentioned that?

Until mañana, olé! - Susan.

SEVILLA...

Las Setas

FLAMENCO IS A CONVOLUTED DANCE FORM. SEVILLA REFLECTS IT IN MANY WAYS. The photo to the left is of the Metropol Parasol,or as it's commonly known, Las Setas (in English - The Mushrooms). It's the largest wooden structure in the world and was finished construction in 2011. After managing to make our flight connections with only a hour to spare between London and Brussels, and then Brussels and Seville, we managed to get settled into our apartment. Afterwards, we went for a stroll and discovered Las Setas, a five-minute walk away. The photo here is borrowed and copyright-free. Unlike the day view, which is shown here, we saw Las Setas at night.

Complex and complicated. Las Setas is also a perfect metaphor for Seville.

I start my first flamenco workshop later today. The studio is located about a fifteen minute walk away from our apartment. Mike and I went to find it yesterday. On the map, the roads look fairly straight-forward, but not so in reality. It's going to take me a while to find my way without getting lost. The streets here are winding and narrow, with many a side lane intersected by buildings that offer two divergent ways that seem equally plausible (in fact, most of the streets here are what we'd consider a tight cobble stoned back alley.)

This, of course, is all part of Seville's charm. I do love it here. In fact, we are living across the way from what is now a boutique hotel, but was once the home of a famous flamenco guitarist who went by the name of Niño Ricardo. There's a plaque on the wall, commemorating him. When I saw it, I was moved to tears. I know - a little melodramatic, but Seville feels like home. I feel as if I've come back, but...from where? Maybe there is something to past lives. Maybe I was here. Not as the 'me' I am now, but a 'me' who may have lived and died in Spain. How else to explain these strange, complex connections I feel?

Unlike the lanes, the heat isn't subtle. The second you step from your apartment, it hits you like a furnace. The first day we were here, the temperature was 38 degrees. A little shocking for a poor cold-weathered Canadian. Today, it's only 29. We're getting used to the heat. Last night, the AC was set to 26, and it felt cool.

Speaking of last night, we visited the Museo del Baile Flamenco, or the Flamenco Museum of Dance (which is also only about five minutes away), and took in the museum and a show. We sat is the front row and were 'wowed'. My God. It will take me several lifetimes to learn to dance like that. But it was wonderful, a gift from the dancers, singers, and guitarist to the audience. Which, in its essence, is what the best flamenco is. A gift to those who are fortunate enough to witness it, from those who have learned to perform flawlessly and powerfully. An experience, shared by both artist and viewer. We are taken on a journey of both genius and passion.

More mañana. Olé! - Susan.

A SLIGHT CHANGE FROM WRITING to FLAMENCO

Carmen Linares

AS I WRITE THIS, I AM ON MY WAY TO SEVILLE, SPAIN, to study flamenco baile (dance) and cante (song). I say 'on my way', because there was a slight hitch in our travel plans. I've been in Calgary since yesterday morning. Mike and I were going to travel with Swiss Air (Calgary/Zurich/Seville), but after several delays, we were informed the flight was cancelled due to engine troubles. So here we are, in an airport hotel in Calgary waiting for our new flight, which (fingers crossed) should leave around 6:00 p.m. tonight. Swiss Air accommodated about 300 of us by covering our hotel and meal costs. Fortunately, our apartment owners in Seville are understanding and will hold our apartment until we arrive, which should be Saturday night. We've been rerouted through London, then Brussels, and then we'll be on our way to Seville.

I could complain about this, but I won't. Far better to be delayed, than to fall from the sky over the Atlantic.

Over the next while, I hope to blog about my experiences in Seville as I learn about the city and the people I meet, as well as flamenco dance and song. A good friend of mine wrote on my Facebook page that I should enter my classes with an open heart and no ego. It's good advice. Flamenco is very humbling. For my part, I've often felt like a beginner, no matter what level I reach. This is the way flamenco is. There's no end to getting better, stronger, faster, and exerting greater control, while at the same time appearing fluid, natural, potent, and expressive. Flamenco isn't for the weak of ego or faint of heart. It demands humility and passion in equal measures. I love it for all of this - it's a difficult form, mentally and physically, but it's worth it.

But any creative endeavour is like that, don't you think? Writing is exactly so. When we succeed in any degree, the sweetness of those accomplishments makes them worth whatever they demand of us.

The photo above is of the great Carmen Linares, a cantaora (flamenco singer), whom I greatly admire. She'll be performing in Seville during the Bienal, which is held every second year in Seville in September, and which is one of the reasons we are going to Seville now. I start my first workshop on September 3rd, a demanding mix of baile and cante. Hopefully, I'll be over my jet-lag by then. Wish me buena suerte (good luck). I have a feeling I'll need it.

Until next time, olé! - Susan.

ISTANBUL....

I'M BACK FROM ISTANBUL. It's a great city but in many ways, not what I expected. The photo on the left is from the Basilica Cistern. Before I left, a friend pointed out that the cistern was one of the settings found in Dan Brown's Inferno. So this post is about Istanbul, and the next one will be about Inferno (which I've started to read), as well as other 'i' things (like imagination), as they strike me.

I went to Istanbul expecting to be steeped in its history, thinking on some level that I'd be dropped into the middle of Byzantium or onto a caravan heading for its final destination on the Silk Road. This is one of the reasons I write. Part of me believes that I really want to experience these things. In truth, I prefer modern plumbing and the Executive Lounge at the Hilton where I can drink and eat all I want. Istanbul is a crossroads between continents, people, and time. It's also a place where one can indulge one's imagination, as well as have all of one's practicalities met.

Here are a few things that struck me about Istanbul:

• Swarthy men, stocky and a little imposing, but who didn't hesitate to give up their seats for me on the tram. For them, it wasn't about being chauvinistic: it was about being polite.
• Veiled women, who covered their faces whenever their scarves slipped. I often wondered what  they thought of naked-cheeked me and what their lives were like.
• Other veiled women, who talked in cafes, drank coffee, and smoked cigarettes as if foreigners, husbands, and time didn't exist.
• Gypsies on the sidewalks, selling Kleenex packets (while talking on their cell phones), or setting up balloon shooting galleries, or waiting uncomplainingly to shine someone's shoes. One dropped a brush as he walked past us. Mike returned the brush, which ended up with him getting his shoes cleaned, which made me wonder if the brush was a ploy, which didn't matter, because the gypsy's smile was so genuine.
• The gypsy boy who played a squeeze box on the tram for coin.
• The crazy traffic, with taxis making up every fourth car, and learning to jaywalk like a local.
• The Hagia Sophia, which, in spite her mosaics, made me sad. She felt old, tired, and desecrated.
• The Blue Mosque which was quite the opposite, full of spirit, and sweet with incense. I loved hearing the call to prayers sung five times a day.
• The Basilica Cistern, dark, ethereal, and hidden beneath the cobbles, where carp swim among the columns and have done so for centuries.
• Baklava, dusted with green pistachio, honey-steeped, and pomegranate drizzled. The ex-croupier/turned waiter who served us, with a story of his own which I never learned. He recognized our Canadian accents. Talk about your cultural savvy at a global crossroads.
• Feral cats, some friendly, some aloof - yowling in the rain, tip-toeing along fences, or snoozing on graveyard posts.
• Rivers of tulips - red, violet, yellow, rose, white, pink, orange - voluptuous, in waves, flowing along boulevards, running down hillsides, filling the parks. Pansies of every mix, spilling about them like foam. 
• The Grand Bazaar, where, once the business is done, becomes apple tea hospitality served in a dainty glass.
• And ships on the Bosphorus, zigging between Asia and Europe as if it's no big thing, while hillside minarets rise golden in the sun.

- Susan.

WHAT I DID ON MY VACATION

AS MANY OF YOU KNOW, I recently got back from a destination wedding in Cancún. My son and daughter-in-law had their dream wedding, and lucky me, I was able to be there with them and our families to celebrate. The setting, the El Dorado Royale was beautiful, and the wedding was wonderful, but by the end of the week, I was glad to get home.

I was never completely comfortable in Mexico. 

When you come from a land of plenty like Canada, it’s hard to realize that you are viewed as one of a rich and bloated crowd who line up for food and drinks while your hosts do what they must to serve you. Some see you as part of a herd, an opportunity to get ahead. In Playa del Carmen, the locals were predatory. People called to us from either side of 5^th Avenue – ‘You want a massage? A manicure?' Even, 'Hey, baby, you want to get high?’ I had one guy grab my hand to take a look at the small ring I bought after I came out of a jewelry shop. He was very friendly, but I suspect he wanted to see how much I’d spent, to decide whether the ring was worth taking. (It wasn’t. I only spent $35.00 US on it). In Playa del Carmen, they pay attention. It felt like a hustle.

Of course, there’s another side to all of this. At the resort, my daughter-in-law’s father managed to coax some details out of the staff. Here are some interesting facts: it would take most people who work there six months to earn enough money for one night at the resort. After a guest says ‘thank you’, the management requires all workers to say ‘a pleasure’ instead of ‘de nada’ or ‘you’re welcome’, because to say those things puts them on an equal footing with the guests. If they’re caught saying ‘de nada’, they're fined $20.00. They earn next to nothing, work hard, and many of the guests don’t tip. Staying at an all-inclusive shouldn’t remove anyone from doing what they normally would in their home city or elsewhere. Finally, the resort hired 1800 new workers a month ago to deal with the high season. I suspect these same 1800 are let go, once the season is over. For me, there was an overall sense of  'maintaining appearances'. Most of the staff were friendly, but not all. I spoke Spanish whenever I could, but I’m not fluent. I met a fellow writer, our concierge, and I bought his book of poetry. Because of that, maybe there was a connection. Maybe once I read his book, I’ll understand him better. I hope so. 

So the vacation was good, and not so good. The resort was beautiful, the food and drink plentiful, the wedding terrific, but I wasn’t so happy finding most of my face cream missing once I got home. I don’t appreciate the theft, but I get it. There are have and have-nots. I'm in the former group.

What's my point in bringing all this up? Only that I wish the world were a place of greater equality and trust. That we would stop seeing each other as faceless entities, no matter what our situation, but as people with differing talents, needs, and wants. That those of us who 'have' do more to help those who 'don't'. Until both poverty and entitlement are addressed, these things aren't likely to happen anytime soon. 

- Susan.

TO ALL OF YOU WHO HAVE BEEN CHECKING IN...

THANKS SO MUCH! I can see from my stats that you have been. I've been away on vacation in Cancun and I didn't have a chance to post about it before leaving. I'm back now and will post more vacation pix here, as well as additional posts about writing, editing, etc. Still unpacking, trying to catch up with e-mails, etc., so it'll be a couple of days. In the meantime, here's a photo of my favorite watering hole - the bar next to Joe Joe's Grill, at The Eldorado Royale, an all-inclusive on the Mayan Riviera, Cancun. That's the sea, just beyond it.

And yes, I actually did get tired of drinking the piña coladas there. (It's a hard life, I know.)

- Susan.