July 1, 1999

We got up early and went to the police station which is not air conditioned. We waited in line for nearly three hours only to find out that we had filled out unnecessary forms, that we needed two copies of our complete passports, two photos, a bank statement (which we had), and international health insurance (which we didn’t have)! But we did find out that we could go to Morocco instead and get our passports stamped again, so we could stay another three months if we wanted to (and could). So one of these weekends in July, before the 28th we will take the ferry to Morocco. It will be more fun than waiting in line after we spend a bunch of money for unnecessary services. It was 46 degrees centigrade today, probably hotter than the 21st. I don’t know the exact translation, but I do know that it was over 100 degrees Fahrenheit. Both my legs and knees ached from standing in line and it was hard to walk. We stumbled back to the Carboneria around two thirty and Paco, Maribel (a young Spanish dance student of Concha’s, pronounced Mari-bay), and Luis were sitting at a table outside on the patio while Concha was teaching another private class. (Concha seems to have no trouble filling all her days with private classes and I can see why. She is a phenomenal teacher). Luis mentioned going to the beach and Maribel had a car. Paco couldn’t get away but we could. Freddie canceled his class with Carlos and within half an hour we were driving to the beach in Chipiona, about an hour and a half away. Actually it was after five PM when we finally arrived. It was much cooler there and the water felt great. It was the first time I had been in the ocean here, the Atlantic. The waves are not too strong and the beach is shallow for quite a ways out. There were some large, sharp rocks but we made it in twice without injuring ourselves. How quickly I forgot how hot Sevilla was until we arrived back about midnight and it was still sticky hot. Freddie and I took a shower and I started to do laundry. Yes things get going late here. Now it is one thirty AM and we are still too hot. Yesterday, on a whim, I had asked Luis about the possibility of Concha giving me classes, if she wanted to work, at his house in the campo when Concha spends August in Chipiona (which is very near Luis’s house). He said that he didn’t want other people at his house, only Freddie and me, Paco, and a few assorted other friends. And there is really no place for a dance class. So I stopped thinking of that idea. Sometimes I forget that Luis is a very private person. He routinely turns off his telephone during the day and never checks his messages. He prefers the country to any city and periodically must return to the country to recharge himself, to get his head back together. Then today, to my surprise, on the way to the beach, he said that he had talked to Concha and that she was willing to give me lessons at the Pea in Chipiona when she is there in August if they are agreeable! What a wonderful surprise. Then Freddie and I could spend time at Luis’s house in the campo away from the August heat of Sevilla and I could have more classes from Concha. It sure was hot here today, and muggy. The sky looked all overcast instead of blue. Freddie thinks air conditioning would help. He’s probably very right!

Hopefully my legs will be better by tomorrow as I plan to continue my practicing tomorrow morning and my class at one. For sure I will wear the knee brace and try not to pli so much. I think it is my knotted thigh muscle that is pulling the ligament around my knee. I got carried away in my last class with Concha. I love the styling that she is showing me. About our web pages, I now have help. Margaret Campo, a friend of Gloria and Jim PeQueen, has taken over doing our web site. All I have to do is to send her the updates and load the photos (which I haven’t done yet) and she will do the rest. She has already redone some of our pages and created other new ones with the more recent writing that load much more quickly than the ones I did. She has placed thumbnails of the photos with the text which are linked to the larger photos. This speeds up the loading time considerably. Now, with Margaret doing a lot of this work, I will have more time to dance and to write while we are here.

July 3, 1999

It is so hot here we can hardly stand it. We didn’t see the degrees yesterday but people from here were sure it was 50 C. Today there is not as much humidity and it is a little better. But it is still very hot. Last night we were drenched in sweat as we slept with the fan on us. Our foam mattress was soaked with our sweat. And now for the last two days I have lost my voice. People here think it is drinking cold water and sleeping with the fan on, but the water is never cold up here, and even the water from the refrigerator is just barely less than warm. My scratchy throat actually started the evening we returned from the beach and may have been caused by the significant change in degrees we experienced. Freddie and I think we have a little bug of sickness. My bowels have not been right for almost two weeks. Is it the heat? This is when we feel our age. But I did manage to practice for an hour and a half this morning and I think I have a hard step relatively mastered, with the proper body and arms, that Concha worked with me on on Friday. She taught a private today, Saturday, at two PM, for an hour and a half. I don’t know how she does it. She has such energy. I don’t have another class until Monday so I can just practice once a day and still have time. It is just too hot in the evenings to practice right now. Even this morning I was drenched in sweat. Last night, after a light dinner, I just slept and didn’t go downstairs once. I think it is because I am fighting this sickness. It is my first sickness here, so that is pretty good.

July 4, 1999, Sunday

It is so hot. Freddie and I are both sick but I think we are now on the mend. I did practice for an hour today in the heat and it felt good. My leg and knee are getting much better. Then Juan Camas and Ana invited us to eat when their food was ready. I was hot and sweaty and my voice was still hoarse. People say I should sing with my voice like this, but I can’t hit very many notes! Juan Camas gave me a lecture about slowing down which I didn’t want to hear. Everyone has advice for us for getting well. I do appreciate their concern. A little while later, I ate the food that Juan and Ana had prepared, some rice with calamari and fish that was delicious and felt very healthy. Freddie wasn’t hungry yet but will eat some later. I have been asking people about gazpacho, since we have become gazpacho fanatics. Juan del Gastor was here today practicing his guitar and when he came to the patio where we were sitting in the shade of the trees, there was a food discussion going on between Juan Camas, Ana, Luis, Freddie and me which Juan del Gastor joined. I asked Juan del Gastor about gazpacho and he told me his recipe. A little later I started to write it down, because I had decided to compile a list of everyone’s gazpacho recipes. They all seem to differ, so I asked Juan again as I was writing and Luis jumped in with his version. Voices were raised, Spanish style, and Juan almost left. My voice was too hoarse to explain but Freddie managed to stop this escalation of differing opinions. However, Juan’s explanation this time was much shorter. He and Concha have both said that you have to see it being made to understand how to make it. People get very riled up about their gazpacho recipes and each one has a different twist. We did learn that the type of olive oil used is of extreme importance. Both Juans said that the olive oil from the first pressing from Moron (Juan del Gastor’s “pueblo”, home town), which can only be bought in the factories, is the best. It is still green. I forgot to ask what kind of olives are best! Apparently Moron has a reputation for producing magnificent olive oil as well as being the place where Diego del Gastor, the legendary guitar player, (Juan’s uncle) lived. Luis says that we can buy good oil in the US because he and Freddie found some there in Santa Cruz, so that it is not necessary to bring any back. Bring back saffron instead. Juan Camas says that the Italian olive oil that we buy in the States is originally from Spain and then is sent to Italy to be processed. Spaniards are very passionate about a lot of things.

Last night, after quietly uploading more photos for Margaret to put on our web site, we went to Modesto’s at about eleven PM for a late dinner. There were people eating out everywhere and we were lucky to find a small table outside. I felt like I could hardly move. On our way back we passed by the Alta Mira and saw Paco, May, Nacha, Jose Luis, and a naturopath doctor friend of Paco’s eating a small dinner at one of the outside tables. Paco said that Luis had sung just before they left and that he had sung beautifully because the people were quiet. When it is noisy, of course, the musicians have a hard time. When we arrived back at the Carboneria Concha was there, as she had said she would be, looking beautiful and fresh. She said she would bring us some gazpacho for sure on Monday. She makes great gazpacho. Soon Luis sang again and he did sing beautifully. Afterwards, I was still so tired I could hardly move so we said good bye and headed upstairs. Concha said not to set my clock to practice early and that I didn’t need to practice on Sunday, only to rest so I could get better. I took her advice about not setting the clock and Freddie and I both slept nine and a half hours.

It was late and hot when we awoke. Luis called from downstairs and he and Freddie decided to go to the Alameda “rastro” flea market which happens on Sundays and Thursdays. I felt too sick to go so I stayed here and practiced. Afterwards, Juan Camas and Ana said that they had been to the rastro for two hours in the heat and had not seen Luis and Freddie. When Freddie and Luis came back a short time later they said that they had arrived too late and that everyone had been packing up. But they didn’t seem to mind. They had a nice time getting out, and before heading for the Alameda had had gazpacho and coffee at the Alta Mira with Paco. After their Alameda adventure, they had gone to the bar across the street where Carlos Robles usually hangs out every day, but he was not there today. Carlos Robles is the dancer who came to the US with Luis last fall. He and Luis both spent several weeks at our home in Paradiso (Soquel “de la Frontera”, California).

July 6, 1999, Tuesday

I am so tired I do not know how I will continue, but I will. At least the weather has cooled off a little. Concha is giving me so much styling that I have to practice twice a day to get it all. I am now half way though the second letra of the Siguiriya and I am looking much better. But it is so hard. I am always bathed in sweat and my thighs and knees ache from the deep plis and holding the tension of the dance. This morning I tried having my class at twelve, instead of one so I wouldn’t have to run out and eat and rush right back. I practiced first, as usual, from quarter to eleven until twelve and was dripping wet and my thighs were already aching and weak when Concha showed up for my class. Because I had practiced last night and this morning I had learned what she had showed me yesterday so she gave me a lot more. She pushed me hard, encouraging me to dance with force and strength, which I did although I was exhausted. At the end of my class she asked me if I would like to perform at the Carboneria in September before I leave. It would be the three of us, Freddie playing, Concha singing, and me dancing. She asked Paco after she asked me and he said yes. She said we would invite friends and that I would learn to block out everybody but her and Freddie. It will be a good experience. It is interesting that I can’t push myself any more because I will perform this dance. I am already pushing myself as much as I can. It is a good feeling to know that there is nothing I can change in what I am already doing. The performance will be a culmination of what I have learned. I will not gear up to it because I am already gearing up to my maximum right now! I can’t even worry about it. An interesting predicament. Luis might be in France when this happens. He is waiting for a contract and a man from Madrid who will come this week. They want him and Carlos in France for August and September. They also want Luis in Japan, I think also in September, or perhaps a little later. He will work into the contract a ticket to the US. He is thinking that he will come to the US from France, and that if they want him in Japan they will have to give him a round trip ticket from US to Japan and back to the US. That way we will have him in California!

Miguel Alcala, the artist from France who draws Flamenco singers, guitarists and dancers just sent Luis a book of his drawings with a drawing of Luis in it. (Miguel was here for about a week producing a CD with Pepa Vargas singing. He also produced the four CD’s made with Pedro Bacan before he died. Concha danced on two of the cuts). Luis seems to be more and more in demand. And I can see why. He is a powerful and sincere singer. We go to Tangiers, Morocco on Friday so we can get our passports stamped and return to Spain. That way the time we are here will conform to Spain’s rules. It is hard here to even get a bus schedule but we have the times that the bus leaves now. The next question is whether we can just go to Tarifa and take the hydrofoil or do we go to Ajeciras and take the slower ferry. The hydrofoil option will depend on how rough the ocean is that day. Jose Luis says that now a lot of Arabs are going to France for summer vacation so the ferry will be very crowded. (Freddie says it is David Jones who said that. And I read in a guide book that the Arabs come from France and other countries in Europe where they work. They go home to Morocco for the summer vacations. I guess we’ll learn more when we go). We tried calling a travel agency today but the line was always busy. Arrangements seem so difficult and time consuming here. I was lucky that Jose Luis helped me call and I didn’t have to hope that the person on the other end of the telephone would talk slowly enough for me to understand. Yesterday I called about flying but the times we wanted were already booked up and it was very expensive and not that much faster. We are hoping this trip will be restful and that we can get in some beach time in a climate that is a little cooler than Sevilla.

We plan to return on Monday and resume our lessons on Tuesday. I am hoping to finish the Siguiriyas soon so I can start on Buleras and learn some of that from Concha before we have to return home. Our time here feels so limited. It is! Concha talked again of wanting to come to California for our wedding and to be the Madrina. That would be fun. She also gave me the names of two costume makers whom we can interview about making my wedding dress. Concha is thinking of designs! She called one seamstress today and set up an appointment for me on Tuesday afternoon. That woman makes costumes for Aurora Vargas and Esperanza Fernandez. The other costume maker hasn’t answered the telephone and may be on vacation. Concha will try again tonight for me. She said that if I tried and got an answer to have her call Concha. I really appreciate that. Concha talked again of how important the understanding and communication is between teacher and student and how much she enjoys teaching me. I feel so lucky. Of course, I totally enjoy her too. Despite my aches and pains, my knee seems to be healing. I am still using the knee brace and of course the oils which help immensely. I am also taking anti-inflamatories. But with the amount I am stressing my knees and legs I am feel that I am healing phenomenally.

July 8, 1999, Thursday

We leave for Tangiers, Morocco tomorrow morning and will be off-line (no e-mail) until Tuesday evening. It is hot hot hot again today and we are glad to be getting out of Sevilla. We even sweat in the air conditioned restaurants. It will be good also to take a rest from our lessons. My thighs need a rest.

We have been putting towels on the bed at night, over the sheet, and they absorb our sweat and it feels much better. We are both almost completely well. I am up to the second escobilla in the polishing of the Siguiriyas. It is starting to look good. I have been working on my posture more and it is starting to show.

I have also been missing my mother, Virginia, lately. Perhaps it started when we went to the ocean, her favorite place in the world, any ocean where she could swim. I have been wearing her diamond wedding band since shortly before we left for Spain and when I emerged from the sea the other day the tiny diamonds encircling my finger seemed to shine more, as if acknowledging my mother’s passion. Although I had the ring fixed and the settings redone after her husband, Jack’s, death, the diamonds (or their settings) are still a little rough and the stones on the inside of my hand have made marks on my thighs where I do the step where I hit my legs in comps in the Siguiriyas. I remember dancing for my mother before she died. I think she would have liked the Siguiriyas. When I look down at my subtly sparkling finger I think of her and I miss her. I keep wanting to tell her all my news.

I also think of my step mother, Elena, who died a year and a half before my mother. I have been wearing an old watch of hers which also has tiny diamonds in it. I never had diamonds before and I have always wanted them. Now I have them and in their reflection of the light I am reminded of the mothers who have passed on.

July 12, Tangiers, Morocco

It’s just past seven AM and we are preparing to leave this magical city. The noises in the harbor below us have begun. I see small boats rowing on the flat water and the bigger boats are just starting their motors. The relaxed hustle and bustle of this fabled port town is starting up again. As I watch, more and more boats join the movement. People walk along the dock to the one row of sail boats moored in the harbor. To the far left is the ferry we will take later this morning back to Algeciras, Spain. To our right front is the Medina, that ancient, mythical neighborhood inside the walled old city. Our hotel, the elegant one hundred and twenty year old Victorian Hotel Continental, is perched on the side of a hill on the edge of the Medina next to the harbor. As I write, I am sitting now on the verandah that opens from our room to this wonderful view. Here I feel like I am in another century; I am certainly in another world.

Yesterday, as I wore my new green velvet jalaba through the maze of the Medina, the people smiled at me and many commented on my beautiful jalaba. I loved wearing it and I am glad that the people here liked that I would adopt their dress. The loose fitting, hooded garment was not too hot, as I had feared, but let the breezes in and it felt cool and comfortable, graceful and flowing as I walked the narrow cobble stone streets, streets that people have walked throughout history, for many, many years. Freddie and I have been fortunate enough to learn some important customs here and it has made our stay in Tangiers a total delight. Tangiers is a city of arches and intricate design; birds in palm trees; spices and leather; beautiful colors.

On the Ferry

Last Friday we took a plush ferry from Algeciras to Tangiers (much more plush than the ferry on which we are currently returning.) At the port in Tangiers we were greeted by the proverbial taxi hustlers. We had read that a taxi only costs a dollar in Tangiers so when they said ten and later seven dollars we said, “No,” that we would walk. But finally we took one for two dollars because it is true that the taxis have to pay an extra tariff when going to and from the harbor.

Fortunately for us, we had packed extremely lightly for this trip. I carried a tiny fanny pack purse and a small day pack. Freddie carried my large purple shoulder bag back-saver purse and a bottle of water and two bananas. We were quite contained and self sufficient and could have easily walked to our hotel or anywhere else. Family members who have traveled with me in the past would be amazed! And Freddie and I both love the freedom that our light load gave us.

We spent our first night, Friday, at the Almohad, a fancy hotel that overlooked the beach and had a view of Spain on a clear day. Carlos Heredia (Freddie’s guitar teacher) had stayed here for two weeks when he came on tour with Farruco. The hotel was beautiful and geared to getting money from its visitors. The hotel staff shooed away the would-be guide who had hopped into our taxi when we left the port. The hotel then offered their guide who was official and fairly expensive which we also declined. Our room had a small ugly balcony which faced the ocean. The light above the toilet was out when we arrived and another by the bed blew and flipped the circuits, but that was much later that evening. Morocco is two hours earlier than Spain so even though we had left Sevilla early that morning and traveled all day, we still had time that evening to start to explore Tangiers. First we took showers and then decided to look up Marc Silber’s old friend, Majid, who lives in the old city. Both the would-be guide and the hotel staff assured us that because it was Friday, the Moslem Sabbath (like Sunday in the Christian world), that nothing would be open. They all wanted us to wait until Saturday to do anything. But we said that we just wanted to walk and asked the hotel staff where rue de Chretiens was and were directed there, totally incorrectly as we later found out.

We walked and walked down a busy street with many open stores, asking directions along the way, discovering that the address we wanted was in the old city but being told again that things there would definitely be closed there!

Finally we turned toward the old city and walked up the hill towards the major square from which there are many streets leading to the Medina and the Kasbah. We entered different streets and asked our way, finding many people not knowing the street and others directing us to no avail. The streets were mobbed with Moroccans walking and shopping. All the stores were open and were doing a lively business. We saw no tourists. As we made our way, searching continually for rue de Chretiens, we experienced the Moroccan hustle. Everyone wanted to show us everything but what we wanted. Finally we started speaking in a combination of “G” language and gibberish and it worked. We even spoke gibberish to the hustlers and then they stayed away, not knowing what language to speak to us. We heard someone say, “gitanos”. But we couldn’t find rue de Chretiens and it was dark so we decided to head back, acknowledging the fact that maybe we did need a guide after all so we could find Majid. We started back down the hill and Freddie got a cramp in his leg so we went back to the square where I was able to massage it out. As we again headed “home” we asked in one more store and were directed again to the old city and told to go to Cafe Central and to ask again. So we decided to go for it and walked much deeper into the Medina than before. We finally found Cafe Central and asked again for rue de Chretiens and Majid. “Majid”, a young man said, “come this way.” We told him that we were friends of a good friend of Majid’s (which I am sure helped us to actually get there). We went through a small, dark L shaped alley to another street and there was a nice shop with “Boutique Majid” in big letters on the front. We found out later that many of the old French street names had been changed to Arabic names and his street, the former rue de Chretiens, is now called Zankat el Mouahidine.

The shop was open and Majid was there. He had just returned that day from a two week buying and site seeing trip in the Sahara desert in Morocco. He does a lively business of selling beautiful, fine quality Moroccan antiques at his store to customers all over the world. He has been written up in Leisure World, Moroccan Interiors, and some other magazines whose names I don’t remember. He has known Marc Silber for over thirty years, even coming to the US for Christmas dinner with Marc and his family. When Marc met Majid in Tangiers in the early sixties, they had both been “hippies”, Marc with long, long hair and Majid with big, wide, curly Jimmy Hendrix style hair. Now Majid has short hair and is starting to bald. He has been married to his third wife, a Dane, for eighteen years and has six children, two grown ones from two previous wives, and the rest with his current wife. She and the younger children were in Denmark visiting her family. That evening we had mint tea and coffee in Majid’s shop as we talked. Before we left, he invited us for lunch the next day. When he learned that we were staying at the Almohad, Majid recommended that we move to the Continental Hotel in the Medina because it was much cheaper and nicer than the Almohad and it was in the Medina, in the middle of everything. He sent us there with a guide to see if we liked it. Seeing Hotel Continental was like stepping into another century or into a page of a romantic novel. After we had looked at a room and made arrangements with Absalam, the owner, Majid’s guide walked us down the hill to the beach and stopped a taxi for us. It did only cost us one dollar to get back to the Almohad. And we discovered that this way was much faster and more direct than the way the hotel staff had directed us earlier that evening.

Once in our room again, we heard wonderful Arabic music from across the street and so we ran down and had a snack in a little outdoor restaurant on the beach, called Sheharazad, where the band was playing. It was so loud that we had to stuff pieces of a paper napkin in our ears. But the music was good.

When we again returned to our room, exhausted and ready to fall asleep, all the lights in our bedroom blew out and the night clerk didn’t want to fix it. We insisted, as we were paying one hundred dollars a night (a lot for Morocco). Freddie had to yell at him but it did get fixed, finally. And we got to bed a lot later than we had wanted! The next morning we awoke to find that we had missed breakfast. I was feeling more and more upset and frustrated with the service and the attitude at the hotel. I had not slept well the night before so I didn’t have much patience with the continued inconvenience and poor service. Freddie, on the other hand, was enjoying the luxury and comparing it to his other two trips to Morocco where the bathrooms were just holes in the floor and the living conditions squalid. He was reluctant to move from this insulated beach front upscale hotel to the elegant but much older and perhaps less comfortable and luxurious Hotel Continental. I didn’t know what to do but was increasingly uncomfortable with the Almohad. I called the Continental to see if we were able to have the better room that might have become available and Absalam, the owner, said yes, he had been able to reserve it for us. Freddie and I agreed that if we didn’t like the Hotel Continental we would return to the Almohad and spend our last night there. So we had a plan and we took our bags and walked along the beach and then up the hill to the old city and to the Hotel Continental.

Our room there opened to a balcony that overlooked the harbor and the Medina. The small staff was gracious and friendly. The continental breakfast was served any time and was included in our thirty five dollar a night price. We had a comfortable double bed and the toilet flushed more easily than at the Almohad. Our small room was furnished simply but nicely. Small oriental rugs covered the wooden floor. Two small cabinets with lamps and drawers were on either side of the bed and a small folding writing desk was in one corner. Two chairs and a small round table were opposite the bed. Another chair and table were on the balcony. The bathroom didn’t have soap but I had brought some with me. The shower hanger was broken but they graciously fixed it the next day and we loved the hotel.

After checking in we called Majid who immediately sent some one over to guide us back to his store. After more coffee and tea we went with Majid to his home where a fabulous lunch was delivered from a nearby restaurant. We talked and relaxed, exchanged stories, and got to know each other. Later we went back to the shop and after carefully looking at everything Freddie and I made some purchases that Majid will mail to California for us. Now we will have a few beautiful things from Morocco to remind us of this magical trip. Majid will be getting e-mail Monday or Tuesday and then we will give him Marc’s e-mail address and of course will stay in touch with him ourselves. He is a genuine heart person and we are so glad to have met him. It was dark by the time we had finished in the store. I had seen women wearing simple and elegant jalabas and I wanted one for myself. The night before I had found a store selling just the kind I wanted. I asked Majid what the price should be and then Freddie and I left and walked back to that store on rue Libertad, just outside the Medina. But the store did not have any small enough for me and because they would be closed the next day, Sunday, they wouldn’t have the time to alter one for me. I had not seen that exact style in any of the other stores and that was the exact style that I wanted. So I gave up the idea of getting my jalaba. Freddie and I ate dinner that night at the little restaurant, Restaurant Andaluz, where Majid had ordered our lunch. The place looked like a hole in the wall and the food was exquisite. From there we returned to our hotel, in the heart of Tangiers. We both slept wonderfully that night. The next morning, after our continental breakfast, we walked back through the Medina to meet Majid for coffee and tea. On the way there we looked at the beautiful embroidered Berber slippers for sale in the shops here, but we did not find the right ones to buy. When we arrived at Majid’s I asked him about the slippers and told him that I hadn’t been able to get my jalaba.

Majid immediately took me a few doors down to a store that sold embroidered slippers and I chose the styles we wanted and then the store owner brought us many pairs to try on in the comfort of Majid’s store. Then Majid left and returned shortly with a man with a tape measure who measured me and returned again with just the green velvet jalaba I had wanted. He had to take it back once to shorten it. And then I had it! Freddie found two pairs of the perfect (plain) men’s slippers and I found some beautiful embroidered women’s slippers. We will wear these inside our shoe-less house in Soquel. We also bought some Moroccan leather glasses cases because we both use glasses to read up close now. Majid will include these purchases in the three packages he will be mailing to the US for us. I am amazed. We got everything we asked for and with no hassle. Saturday at lunch Majid explained the Moroccan system to us. First he told us that when someone tries to hustle us, to stop and look that person in the eyes, acknowledging him as a person, and say “no thank you,” or “I beg your pardon,” or whatever we want to say to him, and not to move until the other person moves first. It works like magic. But, you have to stop and wait for them to move first or it won’t work because they will chase you. Ignoring them never works, nor does walking faster. But, he said, the Medina is very small and is divided into territories. Now that we are associated with him, at least in his territory, they won’t bother us. And they did know and we felt very safe and cared for in the streets of the Medina. Word spreads very quickly and people watch and know everything that goes on there.

On Sunday afternoon when Freddie and I walked to the Kasbah we were out of Majid’s territory but all we had to do was to stop and communicate with anyone who tried to hustle us, looking them straight in the eyes, and we were respected and left alone. All of Sunday I wore my new jalaba and the women smiled at me and the men were respectful. Wherever we walked now we walked un-bothered, hassle free. In this way we felt that we had been given “the keys to the city”.

Our trip has indeed been magical, with doors opening up so easily and naturally that we merely had to walk through, from one wonderful adventure to the next. Again, I thank the spirits whom I had asked to guide us and to help us. This trip has been incredible and Freddie and I both would like to return to Morocco for more time.

When I was seventeen, in 1962, I was traveling in Europe. My older and wiser friend who was nineteen, Penny Gorshoff, traveled with me after we met in the Soviet Union, through Czechoslovakia and Vienna to Barcelona. When we had met we discovered that we were both reading Lawrence Durell’s Alexandria Quartet on this trip. Penny and I had wanted to go to Tangiers but the ferry in those days only left two times a week and we heard that we had just missed it. That meant that we wouldn’t have time to wait for the next ferry, go, and return in time to catch our return flights home to the US. So instead we went to Ibiza and swam and drank wine in the hot Spanish sun by a road named Figaretas. Tangiers remained a dream. So now, in 1999, I have finally made it to Tangiers and the dream has become the very welcome reality.

July 15, 1999, Thursday

I feel discouraged and exhausted. The heat is so debilitating and my technique isn’t good enough. This polishing is much harder than learning steps. If I worked hard before I could learn the steps in a day, but learning to do the steps well seems almost impossible. I am at the end of the second escobilla and it just seems to be getting harder. I know I am better than I was when I started, but I feel impatient with myself. Am I at the end of my rope? Freddie feels this way a lot lately, full of material that he can’t quite yet master. And now I am feeling this way. I have a headache and I didn’t sleep well last night. I have not been getting enough sleep because I can’t seem to get to bed early enough and I have to get up early to practice before my class in the morning at twelve. I would practice now at seven PM, but it is still too hot and I plan to wait until eight. That means that we don’t have time to eat before Freddie’s lesson at nine thirty. Tonight Luis will come and sing for Freddie’s lesson so that Freddie can learn how to accompany him. When I didn’t practice at night I had more time, but now I have to practice twice a day or I can’t even half master this material. And even twice a day feels like too little. I want to leave and go to the sea shore but I want to finish this Siguiriyas more and I want my buleras, so I will stay. I have two more weeks until Concha goes to Chipiona. No one has called the Pea there to see if we can use it and if we can’t, we will have to pick up Concha and take her to Luis’ house and then back which will add an extra hour or hour and a half onto the day. Already I don’t have time for anything. How am I going to do it in August? And Concha wants me to pick up a second hand mirror, which makes sense. But when am I going to do this? Concha doesn’t know that we will need wood to dance on too, at Luis’ house. His floors are tile. And everything closes during the hottest part of the day and when they open up again I have to practice, so when am I going to get a mirror and find out about wood to dance on? Tuesday instead of practicing in the morning I went to Menkes to get the second fitting for my new dance shoes. They will be ready a week from Friday. Then Tuesday evening, instead of practicing, I had an appointment (which Concha made for me) to meet one of the costume makers, to look at her ideas for a wedding dress. I am still unsure of what I want or whom I want to make it. Salao, the major costume maker here, is out of town. Concha has tried to call a number of times and only gets an answering machine. Will I even get a wedding dress here? Will we find rings here? We are too busy learning and practicing to do anything else. Freddie says that the important thing is that we are getting married, not what we wear. He is right, but still I want to wear something special and beautiful for this wedding celebration. Freddie hasn’t found a traje (wedding suit) either. He hasn’t looked much either. It’s been too hot and besides we’re almost always practicing. That is really what we are here for, but it is grueling. Johnny and Celeste Chesko, our good friends, caretakers and neighbors, sent us a turquoise and purple plastic water bottle with a battery operated fan on it which we received also on Tuesday. Freddie has already used up the batteries today but it did help cool him. Freddie’s blood pressure is up in this heat. As he pointed out, many people here have high blood pressure, including Luis, Carlos, and Juan Camas. But that doesn’t mean that Freddie’s should stay high. I don’t want anything to happen to him. It is stressful to do this learning in this intense manner, but I know that we’ll be glad when we return. Next time we’ll remember not to come in the middle of summer. Maybe we’ll come again some September for two months. I need to keep remembering that we are both assimilating a lot of material and that in itself is stressful. I might be able to force myself to do our dishes now before I practice. Maybe I’ll make more of our green drink and some power meal. I don’t know if I’m hungry but the thought of food makes me sick. I can’t decide what I want to eat and I’ve missed the hours for the “mercado” which carries the zero percent yogurt. I am also struggling with my weight here. It was finally down before we went to Morocco but I gained some of it back in Tangiers because the food was so good. And I thought I was staying away from fattening foods. This is one of the things I don’t like about aging, about being in my middle fifties I gain weight so easily now. I guess I didn’t realize how lucky I was the rest of my life. I used to be able to eat anything and not gain weight. I try to eat non fat here but it is difficult. Many of the Spanish women in their forties and older are very fat. I look thin next to them, but in America I would look a little heavy, mainly my stomach and thighs. I would think that with all this dancing that I would be thinner. And maybe the dancing is saving me from gaining more weight. I guess I do have to remember that, as my mother would have said, I am no “spring chicken”. I have to remember that I am almost fifty five and I am pushing my body as if I were twenty five. I am glad that I did not wait until sixty! (like Freddie, Freddie says.) But he’s not dancing, only trying to have fingers as agile as a twenty year old. But we both have the wisdom of age and the knowledge of what we want to accomplish and what is important in our lives.

I just practiced and I felt so spastic. I practiced my contras without moving my other foot and it felt right but I had no way of telling whether it was or not and that felt frustrating too. But I know that it is good that I practiced and I probably didn’t make myself worse. This stuff is just hard and I am being very critical of myself. I wish I could believe in myself more. If I could learn that here in Spain I would have accomplished a lot. I am still amazed when people like my dancing, when they like what I am doing here. Why is it so hard to accept being good? Even writing “good” is hard. Am I good or am I just fooling myself? And what is good? I will never be as good as I want to be. Good is relative, but to what? People in this culture, at least the Spanish gypsy culture, do believe in themselves and will tell you how good they are or how wonderful their choreography is, their singing, their guitar playing. All I see in my dance is what I have not yet accomplished, what I don’t do well. I am still surprised when people like it. I haven’t looked at my first video tape yet, but I should, to see how far I’ve come. But I don’t want to take the time right now to look back. I know that I have learned a lot, both in choreography and in styling. Sometimes I forget that I have only had less than two months of classes here because Concha was away in May and I only had six classes before she left. And it is my styling that I want so much to get right and that is what is so very difficult. Right now Freddie is having a lesson with Carlos and Luis is here singing so Freddie can learn how to accompany him correctly. How fortunate we are. I was about to write “lucky” but people here object to that word when we use it, I think perhaps because luck is associated with gambling. Fortunate is what I mean, fortunate to have the opportunity to work and study with such great artists. I know that we have to put in the work and dedication and so that part is not luck but obsession. And I feel fortunate to have Luis singing right here in our room. I also look forward to the time when I can work out more with Freddie again. Now he has so much to practice on his own that I practice on my own too. That is good for the body styling. I need to work on a lot of this part by myself, over and over again. But I need to polish to the music as well and I miss working out with him more. But this too shall pass and Freddie’s guitar playing is already better and much more clean than before.

Sometimes it feels as if we have almost no time left here although we have two more months. It’s like aging. Usually until sometime in the forties people look at their lives in terms of how much they have lived, how long they have lived. Around the forties things change and people start to look at time left to live. It is like this here in Spain for us too. We have been here just over a two and a half months, a little more than half way through our stay, and already we are looking at time left to be here. I am hoping I get to learn enough buleras in my time left and I am feeling the pressure of our limited stay. I know that also at some point I will want to see a few other cities as we have planned to do in August. That will take time away from learning and practicing. I will also want to do a little shopping, at least for gifts. That too will take time. We had also wanted to return to Morocco in August but I don’t think we will make it this time. We’re just too busy, but Freddie doesn’t think so. He wants to eat more lamb brains (which he ate fried in tomato sauce in Morocco). Juan Camas says they are very good for you, very nourishing.

July 16, 1999

Today in class I was dripping sweat, even more than usual. I did well and surprised myself and Freddie and Concha by getting that contra step I couldn’t get yesterday. After class I commented to Concha about how weak my body felt and she said, “You’re not twenty! I feel the same way!” So I guess I expect my body to be immortal and I know that it isn’t. I think I am feeling weaker because I am pushing my body more and more, as I learn how the steps should be done. And, I am not twenty. But I can do it. Concha is figuring out more details of our performance in September. She wants Luis to practice singing with us next week and we will start working away from the mirror and in the direction of the audience. Can I do it? Will I be good enough? The same old thoughts keep coming. I will just be as good as I can be, as I am at the moment. And it will certainly be better than I was in May, when I started here.

Yesterday as we were walking outside two people told us that they had seen us on TV. Then that evening a waiter at Modesto’s told us he had seen us on TV too. The day before a Cuban group, Los Jubilados, was playing at the Carboneria in a special performance during the day, just toward the end of my lesson. They were being televised here at the Carboneria in conjunction with a show that several Cuban groups are doing with Flamenco groups, a Cuban and Flamenco fusion, here in Sevilla in the next few days. Hot and sweaty at the end of my class, I sat down with Freddie to listen to their wonderful music. Concha had earlier shooed away the photographers and television cameras from our lesson. I had been working so hard in class that I hadn’t been paying attention to what was going on in the patio. But as we later sat watching the music, one wonderful singer, a delightful old man, kept singing to me and smiling. I found out later that he had been watching my class and he had loved my dancing. Several of the Cubans came up to me later to comment on my dancing. What a nice surprise. Concha got inspired during the music and got up and danced there in the patio. She reminds me of me, of the way I used to be, always inspired to dance. The next day there was a wonderful photo of her dancing to the Cubans, in the ABC newspaper. Apparently, that same day, the television had also videoed Freddie and me watching the show because people said they saw us on the twelve noon TV. So, we made the Spanish TV, even if it was just as an audience at a private show.

July 18, 1999, Sunday

Today we went to Carlos’ house to celebrate the birthdays of his two youngest daughters. Sarai turned eight and Fti (Ftima) turned two. (We have a photo on our web page of Ftima dancing buleras in her diapers at Concha’s party.) Carlos and his wife Pili live in a Gitano (gypsy) barrio (neighborhood) that Paco says has three thousand gypsies. The apartment buildings look like project housing but Carlos has bought his apartment and has remodeled a lot of the inside of it, adding walls and mirrored doors. In one room he now has a recording studio.

Outside there is a large walkway that faces a little cafe and a shabby mall of small stores, closed on Sunday. Families as well as the little cafe place chairs and tables outside and the children run around and play on the pavement. Occasionally motor scooters pass through so it is not as safe as it seems. But, there is a nice sense of community. The guests at party were mainly relatives except for Freddie and me, Paco, Luis, Concha and Rafael and their two youngest children, Curro and Carmen. During the party many people moved outside to sit and talk. One man, a brother-in-law, borrowed Carlos’ guitar and started to play and then he handed it to a boy who was learning and who also played some. Sarai and her cousin danced. Her cousin, a little girl about Sarai’s age, also sang and Pili got me to dance a little bit of buleras. Later the little cousin asked me if I would dance again while she sang, which I did. I wish I had already learned a buleras from Concha because I felt awkward. But Freddie said I looked OK and Carlos’ mother, the classic picture of an older Gitana woman (dressed in black, hair pulled back in a bun, dark skin and an eagle beaked nose), told me, as I was leaving, that I danced very well. That was nice. But what struck me at that party was the way the adults encourage the children so positively to dance, sing, and play guitar. A little deaf boy danced too and he was so happy. The adults actively prod the children to sing more, to dance more and the interaction is beautiful. We didn’t bring the camera so there will be no pictures of this one.

Later that evening, at the Carboneria, I asked Concha when and how she had started to dance. She learned her dance in the academy, from Pepe Rios, Agustine Rios’ brother who passed away a number of years ago. They are nephews of Diego del Gastor of Moron and cousins of Juan del Gastor. Concha started to study dance at eleven or twelve when she had gone to the academy with her sister who was studying there. Pepe told her how to place a hand in a certain position and when she did he said to her mother that she should study dance and so she did.

After the party Concha brought her two children, Carmen who is eight and likes to sing and dance, and Curro, a handsome boy of twelve, back to the Carboneria. Rafael had already left the party earlier because he had to be at work here. Concha and I and the kids sat at a table and talked and then Concha started to teach me some more words of Siguiriyas letras and so we started to sing them. That was fun. Tomorrow I will write them down. I have learned one letra already but I want more. She will teach me three more and a salida.

Concha also told me that her plans to go to Chipiona have changed because the place they were going to stay in suddenly became unavailable due to some family politics (not hers). So they are going to Huelva to the beach instead. I said that I still might want to come for some lessons if possible and so Concha is going to ask a friend about a cheap apartment for us there. It would be fun to live by the beach for a little while. Huelva is about a hundred kilometers from Sevilla, which means about an hour and a half by car. Luis will try to get insurance for Paco’s car tomorrow (another on-going saga) and then we will be able to borrow it. The car has just been sitting here since we have been here because it needed to have the ownership transferred before it could get insurance. Jose Luis was supposed to do it and he just came back into town and said that the transference had already happened, which Luis hadn’t known. So Luis and Freddie will try to get insurance tomorrow. Luis knows of a cheap place in Triana. Nothing seems to happen quickly here in Spain.

Luis said today that the worst of the summer heat here in Sevilla has passed. Today there was a nice breeze although it was still hot. But Sevillanos still talk of the great heat. When you greet someone, they say, “Que hay?” (pronounced “k” “i”) which means “what’s happening?” or “how’s it going?” The answer these days is always, “Que calor!”, which is “what heat!” Even today, which was much cooler, people still said, “Que calor, que calor!”, the Sevillano lament in summertime. No one seems to ever have gotten used to it. But for us there is hope, if the heat is decreasing. That means that we have survived. We are still alive! I have very recently lost a lot of the weight I gained in Cuba and when first here in Spain. It seemed to finally drop off suddenly, a day or two ago, (after over a month of watching my diet) and people are just starting to comment on it. Although I have a little more to go, I am happy that it is finally happening. I had gained back some of the weight in Tangiers, but that is off now after a week of paying attention. I remember how horrified I was when we finally got a mirror for our room in late May and I was able to see my thighs. I had thought they would be in good shape because of all our walking and also climbing the stairs, but they were awful, wide and fully of fatty cellulite. And it has taken a long time to lose the weight, longer than I ever remember in my life. But now they look good again, trim and strong with very little cellulite left. And my stomach is not so fat either. That is a good feeling.

This morning I was feeling awful, I am not sure why, and I pushed myself to practice anyway. Freddie had gone out with Luis but I hadn’t felt up to joining them. After my practice, Juan Camas came up to me and asked if I had eaten. I had eaten a little gazpacho and some orange juice at the Alta Mira in the morning, I told him. He invited me to eat with he and Ana and asked me what was wrong. He said my face had a “darkness” (“obscura”) to it, he could see it. He could see into my face, in the forehead between the eyes and see the darkness. I told him he was perceptive and that I didn’t know why I felt sad and grumpy. He told me that he didn’t want me to be sad and to tell him why. Again I said that I didn’t know. Then I went upstairs and took a shower and washed my hair. A short time later Ana called me for the meal. Juan del Gastor and his young friend Luis were there on this quiet Sunday. Paco was out and Freddie and Luis were out and no one was working there. Juan del Gastor commented on this tranquillity, on the patio, outside, under the green trees that Paco has planted, shaded and cooled in the summer heat of the day. Juan del Gastor and Luis declined the offer of food but sat there with us on the bright blue chairs as we ate our meal of rice with garbanzas, garlic, onions, tomatoes, and pimientos. Juan Camas said that he puts “magia” (magic) into his food when he cooks. His cooking is like painting a picture with food. He said that the food would be very nourishing and would make me feel better. Then he sang for half a minute, as if to illustrate his point, or to put the magic in the food, and Ana brought the food to the white metal table and we ate. And lo and behold, I did feel better. I think the magic worked. After the meal I went upstairs and journeyed and then Freddie came back and after a while we got dressed for Carlos’ party and went downstairs to meet Luis and Paco. I stopped thinking about how I felt until tonight, writing this, I realize that now I feel good again. Whatever it was has passed. The darkness, the dark cloud is gone. And I am thankful. Freddie is practicing softly in the warm night to a tape of Luis singing. It is three thirty in the morning and I have to stop writing and go to bed. I will be getting up a nine thirty, as usual on the week days, to practice before my twelve o’clock class with Concha. And so the week begins again. Back to practicing twice a day and having a class every day. I hope my body will hold out. My knees are still a little sore. But we will go out on one excursion, to the Feria of Triana, which happens Tuesday. Freddie will take fewer classes with Carlos this week so he will have more time to practice his lessons and to go out a little, like to the Feria of Triana. Good night.

July 30, 1999

I have so many thoughts floating through my mind. I have begun a period of introspection. My friend Randi, a psychotherapist, wrote to me after receiving my last update that she thought my “mood swings” were a result of needing to go inward. While I think they are a result of working too hard for too long, I also agree with Randi that there was a need for introspection. Coincidentally, and perhaps focused by Randi’s e-mail, just about that time I found myself looking inward. I asked myself, how much should I, or do I want to, push myself. Is this what I want? What do I want out of my Spain experience? My father reminded me that I was on holiday too. Am I? Sure, in a way, a working holiday.

I am concerned because my knees are hurting and because of this I am welcoming Concha’s vacation at the beach, at Isla Cristina. I want the pace to slow and to see a little of Spain and to go shopping. On the other hand, I will miss Concha and my lessons. There was one class this week, I think it was Monday, when Concha seemed in a bad mood. I had brought up the fact that I didn’t know if people in California could pay enough for her price to come and teach there. I had figured it out over the weekend and I asked her a second time how much she would want and I had been right. After class I felt disgruntled for the first time with the class and the interaction. Freddie felt it too. As we talked about it later I realized and said that maybe Concha was reacting to the fact that she was leaving and that before separating sometimes people find ways to get angry at each other to make the leaving easier. We were all realizing that Freddie and I wouldn’t realistically be able to get down to Isla Cristina for classes. Apartments there are scarce and expensive this time of year. Then, as I was telling Freddie these thoughts I realized that I too was feeling sad that Concha was leaving and probably those feelings and this impending separation were a large part of my own “disgruntlement”. Concha and I have a very intimate and intense relationship. We have been working together five and sometimes six days a week since her return in June and of course the six classes before she left in May. It seems like longer than just two months. I have learned and polished a beautiful ten minute Siguiriyas and now have a week of an exciting fiesta style buleras. I am still honing the Siguiriyas both with Concha’s cleaning up my footwork and accents and with my critical monitoring of my class videos. I have been watching them and trying to correct all the styling flaws I can find. I am not done yet (will I ever be?) but I am making progress. It is fun. But I didn’t want Concha to go. I wanted more lessons. I haven’t finished the buleras yet and didn’t want to go for a whole month without class, especially with this show at the Carboneria she has been gearing me up for. But I accepted my disappointment and sadness after acknowledging it in words to Freddie.

Tuesday, the next day, Concha came to class with a solution to our “separation anxiety”. She will come back (two hours each way by bus) from the beach every week end to teach me. I will take two classes on Saturday and two classes on Sunday and then she will return to the beach. This way she will also get to see Rafael more, as he still has to work most of the month. It works perfectly for both of us. Freddie and I can travel during the week and return to check e-mail and to take class on the weekends. I will have to find a way to practice but I am sure I will come up with some way to learn the material.

To back track with some explanation, I will first start with Concha and Isla Cristina. The day Luis was supposed to get insurance for Paco’s car he suddenly left for his house in Rota and spent some time in the mountains and then back in Rota trying to register his furgoneta. So, the possibility of using Paco’s car once again seemed far away. Then Concha invited us to go to Huelva with her where she had planned to take her family camping for the month of August. The original plan called for Jose Luis to drive one car and for Maribel to drive the other and for Paco, Nacha and Concha’s husband Rafael to come. But Jose Luis couldn’t do it and Nacha had a cold so Concha, Paco, Freddie and I rode the hour and a half to Isla Cristina in the province of Huelva with Maribel, in her car. Maribel had just been spending time there the week before because her family owns an apartment there. So she knew the way.

We went to the camp ground, a large, manicured, camping resort a two minute walk from the beach. It surprised Freddie and me to discover during the course of the day that this resort was owned by Paco’s close friend Saturnino, whom we had met a number of times in Sevilla, including at Concha’s party. That’s why Paco went with us. Concha had thought that Freddie and I would look for a cheap apartment there. But it turned out that there were no camping sites available for August for her so Concha had to find an apartment for herself.

But first we all went to the beach and Freddie and I swam again in the Atlantic ocean and then picked up shells. Paco and Saturnino walked along the sand, their pants rolled up to keep out of the salty sea water. Maribel went to look for her cousin on the beach and later walked along the edge of the water talking and picking up shells with us. Then we sat at a round table at a little drink stand on the beach which we figured out was also owned by Saturnino and his wife Lourdes. Lourdes sat with us and we got to know her a little. The campground is only five years old and was built on a rather desolate piece of land separated by a road and a small dun from the beach. Saturnino and Lourdes have planted oleanders and grass and a variety of flowers around the office and the two cafeterias which they also built. Now their business is thriving. Saturnino has recovered from prostate cancer Lourdes told me that day. When we first met Saturnino, we talked about health and supplements and he was very knowledgeable but I didn’t have any idea of the health issues he had been dealing with. Freddie bought a wonderful lung and chest cleansing syrup on his recommendation. But that is all we knew about him. We didn’t even know that he spoke excellent English. After our drinks and conversation we came back from the beach and changed our clothes in the office where Saturnino, Lourdes, and their son live. Then Maribel took us first to a rental agency and then to her grandmother’s apartment so Concha could get an idea of what she could get. Paco stayed and visited with Saturnino and Lourdes. Freddie and I hopped out of the car on a whim in the little town of Isla Cristina and bought a blue and white painted tile soap dish for the bathroom sink at the Carboneria. From the town of Isla Cristina we all returned to the “camping” and ate for the second time in the cafeteria there. Then, all of us hot and tired and relaxed, piled into Maribel’s car again. Maribel drove us the long hour and a half home to Sevilla.

Concha did not learn until the next day that she indeed did get the apartment she wanted. She will share the high expense with her sister Pepa, who will be staying with her. Freddie and I are so happy that we don’t have to go there for my lessons because we probably wouldn’t have made it and it would have been a real and boring and time consuming schlep by bus if we had made it. And then we would have had the expense of renting an apartment, renting the Pea both for lessons and practice, and we wouldn’t have had the time to explore a few places here that we want to visit. So Concha’s solution was a wonderful gift to me, really to us. I now look forward to the learning I will do in August, our last full month here. And so this week we are making progress with a beautiful, rhythmical buleras. It’s got umph. But I have to work hard at it, harder than I had thought. It was discouraging, especially Monday when I was upset about the idea of Concha leaving. In fact, I can’t remember exactly when, I felt very discouraged about my being able to dance. I wondered if I were really too old to do this. I thought about giving it up but knew that I loved Flamenco too much to really give it up. And that’s why I dance. Then I started to make progress again and I got happy with my dance. Sometimes I have breakthroughs and I am getting increasingly happier with how I am doing in my videos. I love watching them and seeing what I need to correct and then getting to check the next day to see if I have corrected the problem. When I haven’t I will know soon and so have the opportunity to fix it again before I take in another bad habit. I love this tool and am glad that I am finally using it to the best of my ability. It’s kind of like painting a painting and changing the parts that I don’t like to what I do like. I am much more concerned with my upper body and arms than Concha is. She is focused more on my footwork and the accuracy and the accents. She says my upper body and arms are fine, but I know they can be better. We are both paying attention to how the Siguiriyas looks done toward the public, away from the mirrors. I usually do the Siguiriyas once at the end of our buleras class and then she tells me what to work on. Sometimes someone will come up while I am dancing it and I will look up, lose my concentration and make a mistake. It always amazes me because I know the dance. But obviously I don’t know it as well as I need to. By the end of class my thighs still ache. I am trying to stretch out more both before and after dancing and it is helping a lot. Although it helps me a lot, I often forget to think about warming up when I dance up here in our room to Freddie’s practicing, working on steps, body, and arms in our cloudy armoire mirror. It here where I often think I have made breakthroughs. I am starting to ask myself what am I saying with this move, with these arms, hand, footwork, step, head. It’s an interesting stage and I have just entered it in a new way. I am looking at each move in each dance, but especially in the Siguiriyas. I have discovered new ways to bring my arms down using information giving to me years ago. I have put intention into many of my steps. I am just at the beginning, trying to make this an automatic part of my dance. I have finally entered the place where I can think about these things. I just had to spend the time, watching and studying and then wondering and going inward to project outward. So maybe this is the way I will deal with introspection, put it into my dance. It is time for my dance to go inward for its substance. I am discovering simple things that I knew all along but had forgotten to do. A door is opening but I am not sure to what.

I have finally met Salao, the famous costume maker of the Flamenco stars. He is a lovely man with a very small, long haired white dog name Panchito. He is making my wedding dress out of a white satiny crepe covered with white lace. It will have organdy ruffles and a small train and will be beautiful. I will also have a black Siguiriyas dress made which Concha now wants me to wear in our show. I will have my third fitting Monday morning before we go to Granada if we really go.

That is our plan, but we are both having breakthroughs right now. Freddie’s playing just took a big leap. Ever since I was able to tape Carlos’ hands for Freddie he has learned his lessons much faster than before. This incredible tool is as useful for Freddie’s guitar as it is for my dance. He can evaluate himself too as he hears his guitar or listens to how he learns from Carlos. And now that his nails are even shorter, he has learned many of Carlos’ techniques so his playing is clear and crisp and full of arpeggios. It is heavenly. He has emerged from the chaos and the despair of never getting to realize that he is getting it and that he is now playing well. And he has also learned some extremely beautiful new falsetas and some new modern stuff as well.

July 31, 1999

Last Wednesday, the day Luis finally returned, he, Freddie, and I took a taxi to the shop of Sevilla’s top guitar maker, Francisco Barba. Freddie’s guitar was finally ready. Shortly after arriving here Freddie’s guitar had dropped on the tile floor and broken where it had been recently repaired after being badly damaged at Sweet’s Mill last summer. Barba expertly repaired the break and then French polished the entire guitar. The old banged up, well used look is past. The sound is still beautiful and now the guitar looks cared for and valued. It has taken its “category”, as Concha would say. Freddie’s playing has started to greatly improve every day. He is on a roll. He is mastering the difficult but beautiful scales that Carlos has given him to strengthen specific techniques and now his playing is clean and agile. Finally Freddie is learning more music, more falsetas, from Carlos which he now has the ability, because of this technique, to play. He is learning quickly, like a hungry sponge. He has also learned how to learn well from Carlos and this too has speeded his progress. And so have all the fifty years he has been playing Flamenco made this rate of progress possible. And I am now feeling better about my dancing too. Last week I was so discouraged that I seriously wondered if I were too old to do this. But when I thought about not dancing I couldn’t imagine it. I knew that I loved Flamenco and that I would always dance to the music I loved. I dance because I dance. But I am also buying costumes. This evening Rafael told me that he wanted to sing at my performance in September. Luis has mentioned it too. Everyone seems to be excited by it and that amazes me. Today, after my last class until next Saturday, I mentioned to Luis that I would take a short break from dancing because my knees were hurting and Concha is on vacation. He said, “Well you dance three or four hours a day…” and I thought, “not that much”. But when I thought about it I realized that he was actually right! I dance for an hour to an hour and a half in the morning and then, until now, took my class with Concha for an hour. Then at seven or eight I practice for another hour or two on the stage. And sometimes later at night I practice in the room, dancing to Freddie’s practicing, working on everything but footwork or anything that would disturb Paco who sleeps below us. I had never added up the hours but now I see that the minimum is three hours a day. Sometimes I never took a break even on the weekends. But now I have to, before I damage my body. I don’t want to but I also know that other times I have taken a short break from practicing I have emerged better than when I stopped. This always surprises me although it has happened on a regular basis and I know its true.

The last week or two have seemed to be filled with strong emotions, perhaps a crying to look inward. My three pairs shoes from Menkes came, the ones I had made from a drawing of my feet, with two fittings. None of the shoes fit. They were too big. I burst into tears after I tried to dance in each pair. I couldn’t. Freddie held me and comforted me. The next day I showed Concha and she called Menkes and told them I was taking them back and I wanted new ones. These were already too big and would stretch even more and be like “boats” as they broke in. She told them I was leaving on September 5 so they would get them to me in time. They told me they would be ready September 4. They do cut it close. I made them reverse the charges of the final payment I had made for the shoes the day before. I had just been to Menke’s that morning to take in my skirt, the skirt I planned to wear for the performance before I met Salao and commissioned my black dress. The fishing line that is put in the ruffles to make them stick out has broken and is coming out. This is the second time it has happened with this skirt. Possibly they did not fix it right the first time. It might not be anything I am doing. It was supposed to be back today but they didn’t call me. I will have to call on Monday morning before I go back to Salao’s for another fitting at eleven. Hopefully it will be there. The seamstress is going on vacation in August.

We’re planning on going to Granada on Monday as well but we still have to check a train schedule and call friends there. A young guitarist from New Mexico whom we met in Sevilla, Josh, is thinking of meeting us there. He is currently in Mlaga and has been in Almeira hanging out with some wonderful Flamenco people there. An excellent guitarist, Tomatito’s cousin, has taken him under his wing and he is in the middle of everything. We will visit there during the Festival that will happen in August. So Monday will be quite a filled day and I don’t know yet if we’ll really get away. Freddie wants to go but is also having trouble pulling himself away from his lessons with Carlos right now. We keep thinking of our time left here in Spain, a month and a half.

But to return to the way I have been feeling … The intense self questioning, despair, tears, and extreme sensitivity have given birth to something new, a kind of happiness and acceptance. And I feel a growing excitement, a buzzing in my body. And I feel happiness. As Freddie and I were downstairs in the small room listening to Luis and Carlos tonight for the second time, I felt so happy to just be there. Luis sang beautifully and Carlos accompanied him especially well tonight. He was exquisite. And as I sat on the narrow wooden bench leaning against Freddie, half in his arms, right in front of the small stage where Luis and Carlos were performing, the awareness of my happiness surged around me and I felt so much gratitude for it. I am treasuring each moment. And I want to put all that into my dance too.

Today Paco took us to the Ibarra palace. We had told Paco that my brother-in-law, Ken, after visiting us here, wanted to buy a high end building in Sevilla. Ken had fallen in love with Sevilla on this visit. So today Paco arranged a meeting for us with Andrs Burzaco Malo who speaks Spanish and also perfect English.

Andrs is currently living in an incredible house/palace on Santa Maria La Blanca just up from Fernando III, past the bank, before the church and the bookstore. It has been owned by the Ibarra family (one of the most old, rich, and prestigious families of Sevilla) for over two hundred years. The eight Ibarra brothers just inherited it from their parents and want to sell it because all eight families can’t live there at one time. It has original hand painted tile from the 16th and 18th centuries, old Moorish work like the Alcazar, incredible doors and roofs, stained glass, you name it, etc. It is like a very tasty museum.