lost and found

One of the things I really want to do - really, really want to do - while in Spain is to attend a Flamenco performance.

I am not certain whence stemmed this interest, but I think it's from watching some very memorable moments watching skating competitions. And no, I cannot blame this lack of precise memory on age, as my friends can attest to the fact that I've always been deficient in this department.

What I specifically want to experience is not the Flamenco dance itself, but the performance of the guitar. Another haunting image embedded in my insufficient memory is of a mesmerizing guitar performance in the fantastic movie Talk to Her, or rather Hable con elle. But, since I'm already here in Spain, why not enjoy this captivating tradition to its fullest. When in Spain, do as the... tourists do?

Here's the problem - I can't seem to find anyone who can tell me where to go. Not the manager of the bed and breakfast where I'm staying, not the waitress where I had the most delicious Iberico ham, not the hooker (don't get excited, it was a she) who tapped my shoulder and stopped me on the street. Everyone said these performances are everywhere, but no one seems to know exactly where: sort of like love... happiness... and great deals on flights.

And so it happens that while returning from the Reina Sofia Museum the other night, I wanted to find a shortcut home but ended up getting lost. No surprise there, it's 100% guaranteed that I get lost every time I seek alternate routes - anywhere. But as I've said before, good things happen when you get lost - except when you're in a hurry; then you just end up being lost and late. While I meandered the tiny streets of Madrid, I passed by many shops and restaurants that I otherwise would not have encountered had I not gotten lost. I walked by this cozy Tapas restaurant and made a mental note to return the next day, as enjoying an authentic Tapas meal was another important item on my to-do list.

Today, I retraced my wandering steps from the other night back to the Tapas restaurant, only to discover that it was closed. Darn it - looks like I would have to get my tripe elsewhere. Walking back, I was stopped three storefronts away by a Spanish man handing out flyers. He was obviously targeting tourists, since he spoke English to me from the start. Guess what - it turned out that he was handing out flyers for a Flamenco show tonight. Imagine that. While looking for a shortcut, I got lost. While getting lost, I found a Tapas restaurant. While going to the restaurant, I found a Flamenco venue. Or, rather, it found me. Each un-success leads to an unexpected success. Must remember that one.

Thus I was able to enjoy my first Flamenco performance tonight. The host had reserved for me a table-for-one near the front corner. It was set up higher, so I had the best view of the house. Every now and then, I took the time to study the faces of the vocalists, guitarists, and dancers. What I discovered was that the face of a person focused with great intensity is really one of pain. I suppose there really is some truth to the saying: no pain, no gain. The concentration required to present any artistic endeavor is immeasurable. And in the end, it's all about telling a story, no matter the art form. I know I lack this focus; I have this undesirable nature to want to do everything - it's my curse, really. But I do realize that if I want to achieve my goals, the journey will be one filled with sacrifices and pain.

Oh, I'm getting a headache thinking about it. Does that count as pain?