memory tapes: what's an organic dog say?

Notes jotted down during my wwoofing experience.

Tonight will be my first of a number of nights spent in a geodesic dome (I'm fairly certain of its being geodesic - numerous triangles forming hexagons..) on an organic farm just outside of Lobras, a tiny village located some three hours from Granada by way of bus on curving, climbing, hair-pinning roads. I was really unsure what to expect coming into this (and still sort of am..) because there can be such a wide range of organic farming experiences - some more animal-oriented, some more plant-centered, some almost luxurious, some quite rustic. After getting off the bus in Cadiar, a pretty, warm, hippie-ish woman approached me and introduced herself. This was Chiara.

After sitting for a moment with her english speaking friend and friend's children, we headed for the hhills in her Land Rover, which definitely has seen its share of adventures. We arrive to a small "hamlet" a few kilometers outside of the tiny Lobras, park the rover, say goodbye to the neightbor girl, Poppy, to whom we had given a ride, and who also is a native english speaker - I get the feeling that most of the organic farmers in Spain are not Spanish. The house itself is shared front to back with another family. Chiara's half consisits of a living/dining room with a fireplace and traditional adobe shelves, a kitchen, and an upstairs where I presumed the bedrooms were.

I was shown to my dome, which is one of two - I'm currently in what she
would consider the better
of the two until some friends
come - then I will move down
the hill a bit to another,
classified as worse I
think because a
portion of it has been
getting use as a storage area.
The rain just picked up so we'll find out how waterproof these yurts
really are - probably going to
get everything off the floor
just as a precautionary
measure..

The rest of the family are
Andy - the father/husband (?) figure - and the two kids,
Emil and Nina - adorable.
Dinner was rice and garden veggies - eggplant, broccoli, carrot and some wine -
nothing short of delicious.
They do the vegetarian thing
she told me, but do it a la Kate -
fish is allowed -
apparently thinking about a fish dying isn't quite as heart-wrenching
as a land animal..

Really nice people. Andy is english, Chiara is italian, but speaks english and spanish fluently - and does translation work with that.

The kids used almost exclusively english, but are spanish speakers and pretty go

od italian speakers as well.

I don't want to use up too much candle wax writing this - minimizing use of purchased/non-renewable/energy-requiring devices is part of the lifestyle here - but I should tell a little about my stay in Granada last nite.

I'm going to switch candle so they burn a little more evenly..

When I arrived in Madrid I decided to head to Granada and sleep there instead of hanging in the capital - partially because neither of the two people I know best in Madrid were there and because Granada seems more manageable. So after an "americano" breakfast with what appeared to be a booger in the fries, I headed south. Upon arrival I checked the web, saw that a CS host who was previously a maybe and then a probably not had written saying that despite already having two surfers in his place that night that he would like to host me as well. Delighted, I called him, met up, and went to his place. One of the surfers, Pete, is scottish and had on the traditional attire when we were introduced (plaid kilt!). Cool dude. Older, hitch-hiking, good-spirited. Celso, my host, told me that he, and the other CSer, an english chick, were thinking of going to a flamenco show that night and offered the idea to me as an option. Totally down.

So after ducking out and into a bar full of Real MAdrid fans for a sandwich and a bit of futbol, Celso and I went to Le Chien Andalou (the andalusian dog), a small cave/bar at the base of the Albayzin neighborhood where Kate and I had stayed with Vicki y Cato the year before - I remember passing this flamenco joint numerous times and that it was always completo. Reservations, however, had been made and we had the best seats in the house - front row, right side (the whole locale was probably only 15 feet wide), directly in front of the guitarist.

(Foto in Le Chien Andalou)

Part 1: Flamenco guitar - phenomenal. Dude just kills it. Definitely not the style of guitar playing I've been exposed to - I didn't recognize a single chord played.

Part 2: Flamenco guitar + singer. Cool.

Part 3: Add the flamenco drum to the mix - its a box drum made from wood and played with the hands whilst sitting atop - really cool sound.

Part 4: The bailaora joins the three men on stage. This is the point at which you realize that all the performance that, up to now had been mesmerizing and mind-blowing, was all just a leading-up to the excitement and passion of the full ensemble. A dance with elements of tap-dancing, flamenco dancing I feel is a celebration of woman and emotion. Her vestido fits snugly to her shoulders, chest, waist, hip, and thighs, emphasizing her curves as she stomps with a force as if trying to splinter the boards under feet, as if something external (or internal..) to her was yanking her feet to the floor with tremendous power. She hoists the tightly fitting thigh section to above her waist for her frantic, high-energy, high-footed, faster-paced, acrobatic steps. Her face bears traces of emotion, from fear, to determination, to a seductive self-awareness of her sexual presence. She would fix her gaze on something in the back of the room, but despite my intense curiosity and desire to see the object that seemed to be instilling such strong emotions in her as if compelling her to think of extremely impactful memories, I was unable to remove my eyes from her. I knew that no matter the object of her staring eyes, the most compelling and exciting thing in the entire room - and perhaps the entire city at that moment - was her. And everyone there was aware of this - the musicians included. Their eyes were intently focused on her body, admiring its beauty, observing how it interacted with their song. Their music seemed to exist solely as a hope to inspire her to dance and exhibit and reconfirm her beauty.

Returning to Granada is now on my list of things to try to do.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Sweat-covered digging in the sauna that is the greenhouse.
Reconstruction of followed by imagination-fueled picking in the purple bean tower.
Allergic reaction from cooling off in the alberca, as had had a danish person once before me.
Leftover quiche on the table for lunch - the food has been fantastic.
Cake for dessert all day - just the right balance of healthy and delicious.
Strimming of brambles - the british talk like they live in a make-believe world.
A smoke and a dance/jam session in the dome in two parts, split by a dinner and lengthy convo with Andy touching on topics from sports to car accidents to drugs and their fascination relation to sports, to dome living to mafias.
Candlelit, STS-9-accompanied journaling.

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