When I had arrived at the cafe earlier in the day the metal shutters were down and the only clue as to that I had the correct address was a small painted sign on the outside of the metal shutters to the cafe, but luckily once I arrived after ten at night the shutters were pulled up and the place was already alive with people all coming to see some Flamenco. Up until today I had thought that Flamenco was a style of dancing only, but during the performance I learned that it was not the dancing but the music that was different and distinctive.
The cafe itself had a small bar at one side and the rest of the cafe was cleared of its tables so that only a couple of rows of chairs remained, facing the opposite side and then some space in between the chairs and the bar for yet more people to stand.
I had only been perched on my barstool drinking a vodka and coke for a few minutes when a small group came and sat next to me, and as one of them moved to take the stool next to mine she said excuse me in a very English accent, and as soon as I replied that it was not a problem, she smiled and that was all that it needed to start up the conversation.
My new Flamenco appreciator buddy was from Farnborough and was over here to stay the weekend with her Spanish friends who she met and knew through her university days, but that she was glad that I was there as they all were speaking mostly in Spanish and so it was nice to talk to someone who was willing and eager to speak only in English. Although part of my reasons for heading off to Spain was to improve my Spanish written and oral skills I did not mind the diversion and I admit it was nice to talk to someone else as uncomfortable as I am in Spanish.
I had half as idea that we would continue to quietly chat through the performance, swapping stories and views, but the locals though otherwise and as soon as the performers came out on stage a hiss went up and you got dirty looks and glares from just about everyone in the place if you so much as coughed let alone tried to hold a conversation. So it was that it tiny whispers we occasionally continued to chat, but mostly we had to sit in silence and enjoy the show.
To be fair though, the performers consisted of one acoustic guitar, one singer, one seat-box drummer and four background clappers with not a single microphone or amp in sight, so if more than a few people were to continue to talk then I guess the combined noise level would have drowned out and ruined the performance for everyone. I had hoped that the woman who came on stage would have done the dancing but she was the drummer and didn't actually sing or do anything else except help keep tempo with the drum.
Once the guitarist got going it was easy to be carried away with it all as at several times during the night I found myself swaying and clapping along with the rest of the audience, and according to my new acquaintance, whose friends were all locals to both the city and the cafe, it was not unheard of that by the end of a performance for all the chairs to have been cleared away once the entire audience had joined in and started to dance.
I would not call the singing melodic and certainly there would never win the X-factor or a Eurovision Song Contest, but it appeared that to be applauded and appreciated by the throng of supporters, the songs demanded from its artist only a raw emotion and muted enthusiasm rather than a voice like an angel. Often the gravelly voice of the lead singer would seem to go from a whisper to a controlled shout within a few words, but the audience roared with Ole whenever he did so, even during a song which again ruined another myth as I thought it was a way of saying bravo that was meant to be saved as a final flourish of approval or crescendo.
After half an hour the group, if it is fair to call them, called a break and everyone turned to the bar to grab a drink as quickly as possible before they began playing again anew. It was hard not to notice that shortly before the first set had ended that the place that was busy before had become packed with what I was later informed were gypsies, although by their bling bling jewelry, make up, clothes and haircuts could just as easily be described as almost Chav, and just like a group of Chav's although most of them looked rough and ready, you always seem to find one that manages to carry the look off with a certain style and panache that rises them far above the crowd.
The night continued with more singing and as even more cafe regulars came in it was not long after midnight before you could hardly see or hear the band anymore and you began to appreciate their almost zero tolerance attitude towards talking during the performance.
I am not sure if it was a good or a bad thing but towards the end of the night the lead singer gave up the stage to the lead clapper, then his cousin who was eagerly waiting in the crowd and then finally his nephew who took a turn at not only clapping, but also singing and even did a few Flamenco spins at dancing. Now dancing, to me that is a bit misleading, and I do not want to seem ignorant or belittling his performance in any way, but to my untrained and slightly drunk eyes it appeared more like that he just got on stage, mentally psyched himself up, held his hands up in the air and then suffered a series of controlled spasms or nervous fits.
The spins and twirls were quite interesting to see, and certainly the crowd loved it, but I personally think he was wearing slightly the wrong clothes and shoes as he didn't seem to look like he should be there, dancing in front of the band who were all more traditionally clothed. Whatever he did it took its toll as he was quite out of breath after just a few minutes, but by then it was the close and we all had to call it a night, or an early morning, and head back.
Not wanting to appear too forward I did not invite myself up on my fellow brit and her friends who were all going back for a bit more drinking and chatting, so I just said goodbye and began to head back to my hostel. However it is a shame that I was so drunk as I completely forgot that my map was not north at the top and a quick fifteen minute walk had me at the wrong end of the city after almost half an hour and I had passed a rock nightclub that if it had been earlier I am sure I would have entered, and also past what could possibly be the only strip bar in Valencia.
Certainly I had not seen any other club the whole time I was there, and had I not got lost I doubt I would have spotted that one, but at almost 2am I was far too drunk, tired and exhausted to start thinking about clubbing on my own so I just got my bearing, cursed the map a thousand times, and finally ended up back at my hostel closer to 3am than 1am. On the plus side though, by the time I did get back to my hostel the German party crew who I was sharing a dorm with were all in bed asleep, so I was more than a bit proud of myself for outlasting them and went to sleep a happy man.
The cafe itself had a small bar at one side and the rest of the cafe was cleared of its tables so that only a couple of rows of chairs remained, facing the opposite side and then some space in between the chairs and the bar for yet more people to stand.
I had only been perched on my barstool drinking a vodka and coke for a few minutes when a small group came and sat next to me, and as one of them moved to take the stool next to mine she said excuse me in a very English accent, and as soon as I replied that it was not a problem, she smiled and that was all that it needed to start up the conversation.
My new Flamenco appreciator buddy was from Farnborough and was over here to stay the weekend with her Spanish friends who she met and knew through her university days, but that she was glad that I was there as they all were speaking mostly in Spanish and so it was nice to talk to someone who was willing and eager to speak only in English. Although part of my reasons for heading off to Spain was to improve my Spanish written and oral skills I did not mind the diversion and I admit it was nice to talk to someone else as uncomfortable as I am in Spanish.
I had half as idea that we would continue to quietly chat through the performance, swapping stories and views, but the locals though otherwise and as soon as the performers came out on stage a hiss went up and you got dirty looks and glares from just about everyone in the place if you so much as coughed let alone tried to hold a conversation. So it was that it tiny whispers we occasionally continued to chat, but mostly we had to sit in silence and enjoy the show.
To be fair though, the performers consisted of one acoustic guitar, one singer, one seat-box drummer and four background clappers with not a single microphone or amp in sight, so if more than a few people were to continue to talk then I guess the combined noise level would have drowned out and ruined the performance for everyone. I had hoped that the woman who came on stage would have done the dancing but she was the drummer and didn't actually sing or do anything else except help keep tempo with the drum.
Once the guitarist got going it was easy to be carried away with it all as at several times during the night I found myself swaying and clapping along with the rest of the audience, and according to my new acquaintance, whose friends were all locals to both the city and the cafe, it was not unheard of that by the end of a performance for all the chairs to have been cleared away once the entire audience had joined in and started to dance.
I would not call the singing melodic and certainly there would never win the X-factor or a Eurovision Song Contest, but it appeared that to be applauded and appreciated by the throng of supporters, the songs demanded from its artist only a raw emotion and muted enthusiasm rather than a voice like an angel. Often the gravelly voice of the lead singer would seem to go from a whisper to a controlled shout within a few words, but the audience roared with Ole whenever he did so, even during a song which again ruined another myth as I thought it was a way of saying bravo that was meant to be saved as a final flourish of approval or crescendo.
After half an hour the group, if it is fair to call them, called a break and everyone turned to the bar to grab a drink as quickly as possible before they began playing again anew. It was hard not to notice that shortly before the first set had ended that the place that was busy before had become packed with what I was later informed were gypsies, although by their bling bling jewelry, make up, clothes and haircuts could just as easily be described as almost Chav, and just like a group of Chav's although most of them looked rough and ready, you always seem to find one that manages to carry the look off with a certain style and panache that rises them far above the crowd.
The night continued with more singing and as even more cafe regulars came in it was not long after midnight before you could hardly see or hear the band anymore and you began to appreciate their almost zero tolerance attitude towards talking during the performance.
I am not sure if it was a good or a bad thing but towards the end of the night the lead singer gave up the stage to the lead clapper, then his cousin who was eagerly waiting in the crowd and then finally his nephew who took a turn at not only clapping, but also singing and even did a few Flamenco spins at dancing. Now dancing, to me that is a bit misleading, and I do not want to seem ignorant or belittling his performance in any way, but to my untrained and slightly drunk eyes it appeared more like that he just got on stage, mentally psyched himself up, held his hands up in the air and then suffered a series of controlled spasms or nervous fits.
The spins and twirls were quite interesting to see, and certainly the crowd loved it, but I personally think he was wearing slightly the wrong clothes and shoes as he didn't seem to look like he should be there, dancing in front of the band who were all more traditionally clothed. Whatever he did it took its toll as he was quite out of breath after just a few minutes, but by then it was the close and we all had to call it a night, or an early morning, and head back.
Not wanting to appear too forward I did not invite myself up on my fellow brit and her friends who were all going back for a bit more drinking and chatting, so I just said goodbye and began to head back to my hostel. However it is a shame that I was so drunk as I completely forgot that my map was not north at the top and a quick fifteen minute walk had me at the wrong end of the city after almost half an hour and I had passed a rock nightclub that if it had been earlier I am sure I would have entered, and also past what could possibly be the only strip bar in Valencia.
Certainly I had not seen any other club the whole time I was there, and had I not got lost I doubt I would have spotted that one, but at almost 2am I was far too drunk, tired and exhausted to start thinking about clubbing on my own so I just got my bearing, cursed the map a thousand times, and finally ended up back at my hostel closer to 3am than 1am. On the plus side though, by the time I did get back to my hostel the German party crew who I was sharing a dorm with were all in bed asleep, so I was more than a bit proud of myself for outlasting them and went to sleep a happy man.
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