We paid our seven euros and were led across a dimly lit room of 50 tables with seating for around 200 to a table where ‘Coralie 2’ and 2 Ukrainian names were written, against a wall covered by flamenco artists. One of the artists seemed to have dropped from a photo and was standing silently, wearing a large, bright pink hat with a ‘don’t mess with me look’, as I gingerly sat on my non-favourite l-shaped chair. One third of the crowd trayed in food and drink from a small bar.
We said hello to our quiet table friends, she more so because only he spoke English, while we talked about theirs and our walking adventures. It began slowly with a female singer, two hand clapping foot tappers and a guitarist, all seated. After 30 pleasant minutes and a short appearance of a woman dancer there was a long break giving us time to chat with the woman who had dropped from the picture.
She was a tango teacher from NY and was not happy with the performance so far, who seemed artistically erudite when suggesting that there wasn’t enough energy because the dancer needed to use her hands more effectively, as though they were the main story tellers. I talked about ‘duende’ not being on stage and she agreed, a bit surprised that I even knew this special Spanish term.
A voice spoke, the lights went out, the foot tappers appeared with the singer and the guitar began to make music. Then the dancer came out. She must have listened to our tango friend (whose voice was very loud and she did perform the hand movements at our table) because the hands and fingers started to do their thing. I believe the arms first have to perform and always above the waist or they droop, and who likes a drooping arm?
Half of the audience did not know where to look when there was a large shout from the tango teacher, who was also dancing. The ‘on stage dancer’ lifted up her skirt showing how well she could move her feet, seemingly hurling abuse towards anyone in her gaze while the tango teacher shouted and clapped much louder than her diminutive frame would suggest. Sweeping off stage in triumph, the pumped up audience clamoured with delight and a near repeat performance ensued.
It was midnight and time to go. We wished the Ukrainians good travel, took a photo of the tango woman and slowly meandered with the masses out on to the lantern lit streets of Cadiz, keeping our enchantment alive as we weaved our way back through the city’s narrow streets to our new home (no room at Jaime’s ‘Innm’ for 2 nights due to a music festival). Tonight though we go looking for a Spanish guitar.
