I've been in Jerez for about a month now. Kind of immersed in bulerías. They're everywhere. And I love them more and more each day. Really.
So here begins a little series. A nod to Jerez as I get ready to go. I'm leaving for Madrid in a few hours...
Un saludo a Jerez como ya me voy.
Because bulerías doesn’t exist anywhere as it does here. And if it did, it wouldn’t be what it is.
It’s just its own thing here.
And that's that.
I'm not saying you have to be in Jerez to do bulerías or anything like that. No, no. I’ll keep dancing them in Portland, of course, because there's no way I can stop. And we have a lot of fun doing bulerías in Portland, even though it's not the same.
I am feeling quite behind in blog publication. Every day I feel pressed to get something up but don't end up doing so. Rather than wait any longer and add still more to my collection of daily notes and beginnings of entries, please allow me to express to you briefly some of what has been going through my mind here in Jerez lately.
There are many things I wish to write about how flamenco permeates this city.
Like how just this afternoon on my way home from bata class with Mercedes I heard an old guajiras recording playing as I walked by a house on La Calle Duende. Or how yesterday during siesta on our way to meet a friend for afternoon café the two little boys walking in front of Diana and me were discussing fútbol when suddenly and seemingly without any awareness of it one started doing palmas and singing never losing sight of the conversation he was having with his amigo. Junquerita, who often comes to sing for our bulerías class told me that here in Jerez the scent of flamenco is everywhere; there is no need to go looking for it.
That may be an understatement.