It's been four years since I last wrote. A lot has happened since then, much of it difficult. I've gone through a battery of diagnostic tests and got new diagnoses added to my growing list. During that time, I had a terrible back spasm that has since left me needing a cane in order to walk around, especially when going up stairs and inclines. I can still dance, but there are days when it is harder. I'm currently in the process of another slew of diagnostic tests to see if they can figure out what is going on with my back and legs. If you're interested in learning more about my medical journey in the last few years, you can check out my Mindfully Lupie Blog.

There has been a lot of good news in terms of Flamenco though. I am still working as the Flamenco Teacher in the Ballet Folklorico Conservatory at the Orange County School of the Arts. I have now been there for 5 years.  This year has been a bit difficult because of the pandemic, but we're making it work with classes via Zoom.

I have also taken over as the Artistic Director of Sakai Flamenco, now that my mentor and the original Artistic Director and Founder of Sakai Flamenco, Linda Andrade, has moved away to Oregon.  Sakai has continued to work with the Los Angeles Music Center to bring Flamenco music and dance performances to schools and the community. We are also now doing Sakai workshops and performances via Zoom.

Because of my new position with Sakai, I am also now a Teaching Artist for the Los Angeles Music Center, Los Angeles Arts Organization, and the College of the Canyons. I had begun teaching workshops to 3rd graders for the latter two and had just finished the Teaching Artist training at the Music Center when the pandemic hit. Unfortunately, because of the pandemic, all of these workshops are on hold, but we hope to get back to it once it is safe to do so.

I am sorry for taking such a long break from my blog. When I got sick, I sort of lost my direction on what to write about when it came to Flamenco. I wasn't really dancing much and I didn't know what the future entailed. I still don't know what the future entails, especially since the pandemic started. However, I do know that I still love Flamenco, I love dancing, and I love teaching. I love sharing my excitement about this beautiful art form which was celebrated around the world yesterday, on International Flamenco Day, November 16th.

So I promise to do more of that. I will teach more about Flamenco here on the blog and I will also write about the teaching of Flamenco itself, as well as the dancing and the music. I do so, not because I owe it to anyone, but because I owe it to Flamenco itself. Flamenco has saved me over and over again--spiritually, financially (I don't make much, but it has always been steady), physically, emotionally. Even in my sickness, it has been there for me. When I'm in pain and fatigued, I still turn to Flamenco because it is what I love and it feeds my soul. 

As I've said to friends before, I will keep dancing as long as it hurts less than the love I have for it. Right now it hurts, but the love still eclipses the pain.

A belated happy Flamenco Day to all my fellow Flamencas and Flamencos.

I'm going to be honest. 2016 has been a tough year. My husband's business slowed down significantly and I've had to continue learning to balance my own work with my need for self-care. Over this year, I have had to learn to accept that I cannot do as much as I used to. I have even had to accept an additional diagnosis. I know now that I have Fibromyalgia on top of the Lupus.

Yet, I am grateful. I can still do a lot. I'm still dancing. I'm even back to teaching regularly. This school year, I am teaching Flamenco to 7th-12th graders at a performing arts high school. I love being able to share this art form that I love so much and I love the kids. They are so funny and they are sponges too. I can't believe how much they learn in such a short amount of time.

Earlier in the year, I was ordained as an Interfaith Minister and I got to perform my friend's wedding in September. Along with my sister-in-law and some supportive friends and family, I also helped raise thousands of dollars for Lupus organizations. 

Even among the difficulties, a lot of great stuff has happened and I believe that very little of this would have been possible if it were not for my access to healthcare--my regular visits to the Rheumatologist, my lab tests, my medicines.

I am supremely grateful for my healthcare. I pray to continue to have access and I pray that everyone has that same access.

For many, including myself, 2017 brings a lot of uncertainty. There is one thing I know for sure, though. I am surrounded by love. The love of my very supportive husband, family, and friends. The love I feel for all of them. The love I show myself when I take things one moment at a time. The love I know I have for all beings, even if sometimes it is hard to express it. I know that there is an infinite amount of love that is always available, no matter what hardships may come.

For that, I am most grateful.



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Because of my recent activities, the thought of being of service has been on my mind. Recently I had one of those "a-ha!" moments onstage, while I was doing palmas along with my fellow dancer as accompaniment to the guitarist's solo.  We were all totally in sync, riding the waves of the rhythm and the notes, hitting all the accents, and resolving all the phrases together beautifully.  The guitarist was trying new things, complicated things, that he hadn't done with us before.  It all came out apparently easily; the audience had no idea we dancers hadn't heard this particular version of things before.  Our expressions of joy during our jaleos were not rehearsed, they were natural exclamations of delight at how it was all coming together.

When it ended, we all looked at each other with gratitude.  We dancers enjoyed the guitarist's playing, and he in turn, thanked us for giving him the support he needed to try the new material. These moments, where improvisation and collaboration meet smoothly, can only come from one thing--years and years of dedicated study.  These instances are moments when I feel pride for coming as far as I've come and gratitude for having the fortune to be a Flamenca in this lifetime.  I believe I live a very beautiful and privileged life.

Those years of practice have been a gift to myself, and I have often reflected on how I am sharing my gift with students and audiences, but I'd like to offer another thought.  For us artists, our years of study are a gift to our colleagues as well.  If you've been dancing, singing, or playing for a long time, you know how wonderful it is to work with a full ensemble of performers who are bringing their all to the collaboration.  There's nothing like it.

Often, we artists focus on our practice in order to prove something--to be the best, to dazzle, to get as much work as possible.  All of these things are important, but I'd like to propose a new consideration.  I'd like to suggest that we make our study and practice an act of service:  service to our students and the audiences who come to see us, service to the venues and customers who pay us, but also it is a service to our colleagues.  The more work we do to hone our craft, the easier we make it for everyone with whom we share the stage.  Doing this shows a sign of respect and reverence for our craft and for each other.  

When you come to work from this place, the place of reverence and service, the music flows beautifully and you all experience that sense of joy and gratitude and isn't that ultimately what work and life should be about?

Usually I try to keep my blog posts focused on a theme and regardless of the theme, I try and tie everything to Flamenco.  However, I've been gone from the blog for about three months and I thought I owed everyone an update.

I have definitely not gone into hiding.  I have been busy with Flamenco, but I have also been busy with everything that isn't Flamenco.

​Wait, what ISN'T Flamenco?!
​
Well, to start, I co-organized my first Lupus Walk fundraiser along with my sister-in-law and fellow "Lupie", Yasmin.  We signed up for the walk only two weeks before it happened, so we decided on a modest fundraising goal of $500 and ended up raising raising more than $1,800 for the Alliance for Lupus Research!  I want to use this opportunity to say thank you once again to all of you who donated.  It means a lot to us.  There is still a lot the medical world does not know about Lupus, which is an auto-immune disease that can attack any organ in the body. No two cases are alike, which makes it difficult to treat.  

If you want to know more about our campaign, check out our team page, The Lupie Broads.  Our donation pages will stay up until December 31, 2016, so if you'd like to make a donation you can click on either of these two links: Mercedes or Yasmin.

Right after the Walk, I started a new part-time job that comes with dental and vision benefits.  I am very grateful for this because Lupus has affected my gums and one of my medications can affect my eyesight.  I still pay for my own medical care because the medical plan offered to me as part-timer nowhere meets the needs of a person with chronic illness. What I have gotten is still major progress for me and I am happy.

Finally, the Spring ended with a trip to New York for my graduation from One Spirit Interfaith Seminary, where I was ordained as an Interfaith Minister.  Yes, there is something major in my life besides Flamenco! Besides Flamenca, I've now been given the title of Reverend.  What does that mean?  For one, I get to perform ceremonies like weddings and baby blessings.  In fact, I've already performed two child blessings and I will be performing my first wedding in the Fall for an old friend of mine.  Beyond that, I look forward to seeing what I do.*

So that's everything else!  Now even I understand why I've been away from my blog for so long!  I'm tired!

All kidding aside, it has been a beautiful and eventful Spring and I am so grateful for your support and love.  It means the world to me and brings me lots of joy.  I hope I bring the same joy to you.

* The focus of this blog will continue to be about Flamenco and the creative process.  If you would like to know more about my work as an Interfaith Minister, feel free to email me at: revmercedesibarra@gmail.com.  Also, stay tuned.  I will be launching a website at www.revmercy.com.

"What Turning Forty Means to Me:  I need to take my pants off as soon as I get home.  I didn't used to have to do that.  But now I do." --Tina Fey

All jokes aside, I am three days away from turning 40. People have been asking me what I want to do for my birthday and I don't know what to tell them.  When I turned 30, we were living in Madrid and we planned a 30-hour party with our friends.  There was an itinerary that was distributed and anyone could join up with the party at any given time.  If you wanted to join us for drinks at 7pm, we were there.  If you wanted churros and chocolate at 6am the next day, there we were.  Most of the big details were planned out, with room for improvisation--we all came upon a playground at 3am, which led to this:

That was a fun weekend.  My friends still mention it every time they wish me a happy birthday.

​Now, 10 years later, I have no idea how to celebrate the 10-year anniversary of the 30-hour party. Things feel fuzzy.  The thought at the time was, "I'm turning 30 and I'm in Spain; it should be epic!". Now it really feels like, "Uh, I don't know...?".

Now, I don't want you to take this as me being negative about my age or anything like that.  I like that I'm turning 40.  It feels like an age with some character to it.  I get to say things like, "Kids these days" and "I can't be bothered" and mean it.  It's a great age.

I think the thing that feels nebulous to me is that everything is up in the air right now.  I grew up being told that a woman needs to have her life settled by the time she's 40--her career, her family, her home; every detail should be in place.

Hmmm.  But....what happens when you've chosen a career in the arts?  I'm not even talking about the financial questions that I know come up for everyone when they hear "artist", although those are very real questions.  I'm talking about art itself.  The simple act of creation is a constant question.  When I get up onstage, I never know exactly how the performance is going to go, especially with Flamenco since so much of it is based on improvisation and communicating with your cuadro* in real time. When I sat down to write this blog post, I had no idea what was going to come out.  I still don't know where this is going to end up.

And what happens when your husband suddenly gets a job in Africa and is gone for a couple of months at a time, in a region that is not particularly stable, working for an industry that is not particularly stable?  

What happens when you get diagnosed with a chronic illness that is known for being unpredictable?

What happens is the truth of life--nothing is certain.  Nothing can be "settled".  The moment you think things are settled, a tremor or an earthquake will hit and unsettle things.  Foundations crack. Structures shift or crumble altogether.

This is where being a Flamenco dancer has given me an edge.  I have been trained to improvise.  If things aren't exactly going the way I had planned, I listen for cues and shift until everything gels together again and it always does.  It may not end up coming out the way I originally envisioned, but sometimes that insecure moment leads to something even better.  Sometimes it doesn't, but it always leaves me more confident in my ability to handle what comes.

So this birthday, with so many things in my life feeling unsettled, it seems perfect that I just let go and see what happens for my birthday weekend.  So far, I've been asked to perform at El Cid on Saturday, the day after my birthday.  I know many of my Flamenca friends are throwing a brunch for me the day after that.  I love that the weekend has spontaneously come together and it feels very right that Flamenco is playing a big part in it.  

I also find it interesting that my actual birthday day is still wide open for anything.  I'm feeling a little unsettled about that, given that it's the big 4-0 and all, but I'm just going to breathe, listen for the cues, go with what comes, and know that it will be perfect.

​
*cuadro--the ensemble of Flamenco performers onstage.



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Two years ago, I wrote A Love Letter to Flamenco and one year ago, I wrote Surrender.  It was interesting to reread them both and to think about all that has happened since.  In "Love Letter", I was recommitting myself to Flamenco after having a period of feeling a bit uninspired.  What is interesting about life is that once I wrote that letter, so many things started happening to make my renewed commitment more challenging:  I found myself needing to let go of a couple of regular gigs and I started having some physical pain that was limiting how much I could do, both in daily life and onstage.  I wrote about those challenges in Surrender, where I decided I would welcome the changes to see what I could learn from them.

Well, as you know if you've been keeping up with me, I have since learned that I have Lupus.  The mysterious pains were because of the Lupus.  So I found myself welcoming Lupus in 2015 and like I said when I first announced I had Lupus, I welcomed the diagnosis because I finally knew what I was dealing with. Maybe committing to a year of "welcoming" in 2015 readied me for the news I had long suspected was coming.

I still feel I am in the same transition process that I wrote about a year ago.  I am not really sure what is coming up next for me.  I feel like I am barely catching up with myself now.  I'm just getting used to regular doctor's visits and understanding how the Lupus behaves in my body.  I'm just now understanding what my body is trying to tell me at any given time.

So this year, I want to write a love letter to my body.  I want to thank this body of mine for carrying me through this life so far.  I want to thank it for the simple things like allowing me to walk, to run, to see, taste, smell, touch, and hear.  I want to share my gratitude for this body that has allowed me to combine those skills and senses in a way where I could make music and art with it.

I want to thank my body for carrying me en compás* all of these years, enduring muscle aches, cuts, sprains, and all kinds of pain so that I could transmit my feelings, my life, through Flamenco.  Every twirl of the fingers, every snap of the head, every arch of my back, every remate, every stretch of my arms to the sky has been because of this body meeting the demands I have made of it. My poor body even put up with me when my demands were totally unreasonable, like the years I spent in disordered eating.  It has more than bounced back since I worked on healing that issue.

So now it is time for me to really repay my body.  Right now it feels like it's screaming at me, trying to get me to pay attention.  So I promise I'm going to try and listen.  I know that as a dancer, and therefore an athlete, I often push past the fatigue and the pain in order to deliver the best performance I can give.  The thing is, I don't want to give up dancing, and honestly, I don't think my body wants me to either.  In fact, I feel like I've had some of my best performances lately.  It's as if everything I've been going through has fueled a new level of emotion that needs to get out.  My body and I both need the catharsis.

So as long as this body lets me, I'll keep dancing.  What I do promise to do is to find balance around it. If I have a show one night, nothing else happens that day or the next.  I will eat nutrient-dense food, drink lots of water, get a lot of sleep, take epsom salt baths, get a lot of sleep, meditate, do yoga and my physical therapy exercises, get a lot of sleep, protect myself from the sun, wear my compression socks, keep my hands and feet warm, take my medication and supplements, and get a lot of sleep.

Most importantly though, I will learn to trust.  This body of mine knows what it needs and what I need. I will not be "cured" because there is no cure for Lupus, but there is a lot of healing to be done and I trust that my body knows exactly what that is.  All I have to do is trust and listen, the same way I have always trusted that my body would absorb the Flamenco I so desperately wanted to learn.  Now I want to learn about healing and I trust that my loving body will teach it to me.  

​* Definitions:

en compás--in time, in rhythm.

remate--a phrase of steps that brings a section to a close, usually in a climactic way.


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"You have had a rough year," is something more than one person has said to me recently.  I guess when you think about it, it's true. In less than a year I have built the following team of health professionals thanks to Lupus:  my primary care doctor, a rheumatologist, a physical therapist, an acupuncturist, a periodontist (plus periodontal care from my dentist), and a cardiologist.  I still need to add a dermatologist, an opthamologist, and an otolaryngologist (ear, nose, and throat doctor).  The latter two are due to side effects from my meds. Once I add two of the last three, I have enough doctors to form my own baseball team.

I am on three daily medications and I take prescription pain medication as needed.  I am on a bunch of supplements.  I have had at least two medical appointments weekly for the last eight months.  I put myself on a fairly strict anti-inflammatory diet called the Auto-Immune Protocol, and I have been retraining myself on how to schedule my time based on The Spoon Theory. Oh, and let me not forget that I now live like a vampire because I must avoid the sun at all costs, since UV rays are a Lupus trigger (as you can guess, one of my supplements is Vitamin D).

Basically, my life has changed drastically in a short amount of time, and yes, it has been rough.  However, I feel it has also been a good year.

I welcome the changes.  After years of mysterious symptoms with no explanation, with doctors looking at me as if I was as crazy as the symptoms I described, I feel such a sense of relief.  Now when I go to a doctor, I say, "I have Lupus", and that's enough to get them to listen.  When she first evaluated me, the cardiologist said, "It's too bad you have this, but I imagine it feels good to finally be getting some answers".  Yes, yes, that's exactly it and it's wonderful to hear a medical professional acknowledge it.

I have received so much loving-kindness from my family and friends.  Ever since I wrote my original post about my diagnosis, I have received emails, phone calls, and regular "check-ins" done with such care.  I am so grateful to know such love and support.

I also welcome new contacts I have made.  I have gotten to know other "Lupies" through mutual friends, patient conferences, and a Lupus support group sponsored by Lupus LA.  There are social networking sites for Lupus patients such as My Lupus Team and Patients Like Me.  I have found a lot of resources in the general auto-immune community because of the lifestyle changes I've made.

I have been able to rekindle an old friendship because we both found out we were sick at the same time, she with Fibromyalgia (a related disease).  After years of not seeing each other, we spent a whole afternoon drinking tea, catching up, and comparing notes.  It was awesome and now we talk regularly.

I have also been able to deepen my relationship with my sister-in-law.  She was also diagnosed with Lupus shortly before I was, so we have been each other's main support group.  Although neither of us is thrilled about being sick, it has been wonderful to have someone to turn to for support for even the smallest of things like, "My feet are so cold, I'm wearing three pairs of socks" (see Raynaud's for an explanation of that one).

Most importantly, Lupus is teaching me to be mindful and to listen to my body.  I have had to slow down enough to pay attention.  If I mistakenly eat the wrong thing, the pain in my joints tells me so.  If I don't get enough sleep or over-schedule my day, dizziness and fatigue will drag me down.  

I'm not always fine when I do what I am supposed to do, but I do tend to feel better, and this is all I need.  Feeling somewhat better has kept me dancing.  Not only that, I have been dancing with a lot of feeling according to my colleagues.  After I had performed an Alegrías recently, one of my fellow dancers told me , "There was so much joy in your dancing, it was as if there was nothing else you'd rather be doing".  I told her that she was right.  That's what if feels like when I dance--there's nowhere else I'd rather be and there's nothing else I'd rather do.  It's apparently good for me too; the cardiologist said I would be worse off now if it weren't for the dancing.  So there you go.  I'll keep dancing so long as this body wants me to do so.

So as I go into 2016, I look forward to the continued changes.  I accept that I am entering a long and slow transition into something new.  I hope that this something new brings me to more growth, love, gratitude, and acceptance, and that I may use whatever I learn to help others as well--even if it's something as simple as telling you to eat whole foods, get some sleep, and do some dancing.


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How was your 2015 and what are you looking forward to in 2016?  Feel free to share in the comments below.

"...there is an erroneous message, I think, out there that art and the process of creating is very, very healing and therapeutic. And I don’t think it is. I think it’s cathartic. It moves energy. But there are certain songs, one of which is 'You Oughta Know,' where I have sung that song countless times onstage, and if I were to run into that person right now, I would feel horrified." --Alanis Morissette, interviewed by Tami Simon on Sounds True, 2014*

This quote really caught my attention when I first heard it.  It was an interesting thought.  The idea that art is healing and therapeutic, in and of itself, is something that I have taken as truth for a long time. Not only that, I hear my colleagues say it over and over again.  So when I hear a respected artist say the complete opposite, I have to sit up and take notice.

So I listened to the interview repeatedly to see if I could get the gist of what she was saying.  Then, while in my exploration, I came across an interview of Alanis by Oprah Winfrey on Super Soul Sunday where Alanis made this claim again:

"I actually think that art itself is cathartic, but it's not healing.  I thought that I could get away with writing these songs and it would absolve me and redeem and clean up, but after having sung, 'You Oughta Know' night, after night, after night, if I ran into that person I would have likely been catapulted right back to feeling uncomfortably terrified and awkward.  So it showed me that the process is cathartic, of creating and moving energy, and it can kick start, it can be a catalyst to investigate, but unless there's an actual relationship going on...there [is] not a lot of healing afforded".

Aha!  This was interesting and juicy.  I began to think about my own process.  In a recent school assembly, a child asked what inspired me during my dances.  I explained that there were various factors:  the lyrics of the song, the people I'm working with, but also my mood.  I told her that when I was in a happy mood, it was fun to dance the happy dances, but that when I'm sad or angry, it's just as fun to dance the sad or angry dances.  Why?  Because it's cathartic.  After having a particularly difficult week, maybe because I wasn't feeling well or because I had had an argument with someone, I would get an amazing release from dancing out my anger onstage.  It usually makes for a better performance too, when you channel that real energy and let it move you.  I always feel uplifted afterwards.

This is where we get the idea that art is healing--this feeling of catharsis when we've moved that energy through us, especially if it has moved something in our audience as well.  They get that catharsis too and in that moment, we are in relationship.  So yes, that feels healing.

However, I can admit that I have spent years dancing out the anger over people or situations that I have not forgiven.  Although I do feel like I've moved that anger through me and I have felt relief from doing so, I know full well that I have not healed that anger.  It rears its ugly head over and over again, and although it often feels good to use it for my dancing, it eventually gets old, and it most certainly doesn't feel good when it shows up in the middle of my every day life.  The only times I feel that I have actually healed my anger are when I have done the real work of forgiveness--when I have sat for hours and hours in meditation, with the intent to release that anger and forgive, and even more importantly, when I have actually done the work of having the conversation, meeting that person heart to heart, acknowledging my responsibility, and forgiving and letting go.

So yes, I guess Alanis has a point.  In the interview with Simon, she goes on to define healing as "the return to the original wholeness and original truth of what we are—that innate goodness".  In this definition, healing implies that we no longer see ourselves as right and others wrong.  We just see ourselves as one in the same, part of a greater whole, equally capable of being both right and wrong.  When I think about a lot of the professional relationships over the years, both mine and others I have witnessed, then I have to agree with Alanis. Our art has served as catharsis and part of a healing process, but not the healing itself.

So what do we do?  We continue to move our energy through our art and use it as part of our therapy, but we need to do the other work.  We need to do the work that allows us to see ourselves in the other and the other in us.  The artists that I know who seem the happiest overall are those who have done this in some way, whether it be through meditation, therapy, prayer, service to others, or a combination of all these.  Remember, art should bring people together.  That union is where the real healing begins.

*The link to the Tami Simon interview can be found here: http://www.soundstrue.com/store/weeklywisdom/?page=single&category=IATE&episode=9909

You can watch the Oprah Winfrey interview here: 

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I think what Alanis said makes for an interesting dialogue among artists.  What do you think about Alanis's point about catharsis vs. healing?  Do you agree or disagree?  I would love to hear your thoughts in the Comments section below.

Last month I talked about my own personal relationship to the Guajira rhythm.  If you missed my last post, check it out here: Querida Guajira, Part 1.  This month I would like to talk more about the Guajira itself.

The Guajira is one of the palos de ida y vuelta, or "round-trip rhythms" of Flamenco.  These rhythms originated when Spaniards encountered the rhythms of Latin America, brought them back to Spain, and combined them with their own.  

The Guajira specifically is named after a Cuban musical form of the same name.  A "guajira" or "guajiro" is a person from the countryside, so the songs that fit this description tend to be about images and people of the countryside of Cuba.  I guess you can say that Guajira is Cuban country music or at least, a style of Cuban country music.  Also, this music is typically identified by the fact that it features the guitar and similar stringed instruments, as opposed to the drums and horns found in other types of Cuban music.

​Before I continue, I want to preface what I present here by saying that I am not an ethnomusicologist, so please understand that I am simply sharing what I have found by doing my own research, a la internet.  If there are any Cuban or Spanish music history buffs out there who have better details about how either style of Guajira came to be, please feel free to share in the comments below.  I am just a Cuban-American Flamenco bailaora looking to make her Guajira study more interesting.

Anyway, according to what I have found through my arduous Googling, the music form most Cubans identify as Guajira, is not exactly like the original Guajira that came about around 1900, and is attributed to composer, Jorge Anckermann.  According to the Wickipedia site for Guajira, Anckermann originally wrote this music for the theater.

After some more fishing around the "interwebs", I found the following You Tube video of a guitarist playing, "El Arroyo Que Murmura", or "The Murmuring Creek", an original Guajira composed by Anckermann:

For those of you already familiar with the Flamenco version of Guajira, you can already hear the similarities.  You can hear it in the time structure and you can hear it in the tonalities.  

For those of you who aren't familiar with either of these forms or with music language itself, it's easier for me to just show you, so here, I found another recording, this one dated 1914, of Manuel Escacena singing Flamenco Guajiras:

​

Isn't the internet fantastic?  Anyway, as you can imagine, the styles have evolved.  Eventually, what Cubans have come to know as Guajira, is actually a combination of Guajira and the Cuban style of Son, which features more percussion and has a 4/4 time signature rather than the 3/4 or 6/8 found in the original Guajira.  If you don't know what this means, the easiest explanation I can give is that if you listen to the following recording, you're probably more likely to find it easier to dance to.  If you live in Western society, most of the popular music you hear is in 4/4 time.

You may think that this recording by Guillermo Portabales sounds familiar.  That's because you probably heard Buena Vista Social Club perform his song, "El Carretero" or, "The Wagoneer":

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Now, obviously, since this is a Flamenco blog, I must end with the Flamenco Guajira.  The modern day Guajira is still a 12-count structure, so unless you are a trained dancer, you unfortunately won't be able to dance to it, but you can still appreciate its beauty and its connection to its Cuban heritage.  I especially love when Mayte Martín sings it:

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Well, you've come down the Guajira rabbit hole with me.  I hope it was a fun ride.  I'll leave you with some of the traditional Flamenco Guajira lyrics, just so you have a sense of what they're about:

Me gusta por la mañana,
despues del café bebío,
pasearme por la Habana,
con mi cigarro encendío,
y sentarme muy tranquilo,
en mi silla o mi sillón,
y comprarme un papelón,
de esos que llaman díario,
y parezco un millonario,
rico de la población.


I like, In the mornings,
after drinking my coffee,
to stroll around Havana,
with my cigar lit,
and then sit peacefully,
in my chair or my armchair,
and buy myself one of those big newspapers,
they call dailies,
and look like one of those 
rich millionaires of society.

Did you like this entry or find it helpful in understanding more about Flamenco or Guajira?  If so, please Like it and Share it with your friends.​


Do you know anything else about this history of Guajira?  Or, have you danced or played Guajira before?  What do you think of the Guajira?  I would love to hear your thoughts in the comments below.  Also, like I said before, I'm a professional Bailaora, but an amateur sleuth, so if you are a music historian and know some more details about Guajira, feel free to add them in the comments below as well!

This post is dedicated to my late grandmother, Mercedes. Together, she and I used to celebrate our Saint's Day, "el día de Nuestra Señora de las Mercedes", on September 24, which is coming up shortly.


Oh, the Guajira. This rhythm has been haunting me for a few years.  Mostly figuratively, but even literally. The other day while trying to choreograph a Guajira, I would pause the CD to take a break, and it would start playing by itself.  I then stopped the CD entirely, and when I walked away, I once again started to hear those opening guitar chords, playing on their own.  It was as if the pesky palo* was saying, "You're finally working with me and now you want to stop?  No way.  You're mine now".

I actually had a relationship with the Guajira long ago. It was the first full "solo" number I ever learned.  I put it in quotes because I performed this number with about 40 other classmates in my Intro to Flamenco class at UCLA.  It was exciting at the time.  I got to have fun working with the fan, a traditional element of the Guajira, and I relished the fact that the lyrics were about some dude's desire to marry a beautiful Cuban girl from the countryside, a "guajira" (the rhythm itself is named after a Cuban rhythm by the same name). Being a Cuban girl, it was fun to pretend the verses were about me.

As a member of different dance companies, I have performed some version of the Guajira several times, with both a fan and a shawl.  In Spain I had a teacher who dared to teach us a Guajira without the fan! "Why does the Guajira have to have a fan?," she asked, when a student questioned her methods.  I liked her sense of rebellion, but I do prefer the fan for the Guajira.  It's what gives it a bit of Cuban flare.  It's the same reason I don't like Guajira lyrics that don't have to do with Cuba.  I feel like, "what's the point in that?" To me what makes the Guajira special is its "Cubanness".  Without that, I'd rather be dancing something else.

You see, over the years as I got more serious about Flamenco, I decided to focus on what are considered the more serious palos and I forgot about the poor Guajira.  I started to see the Guajira as a gimmicky dance, used to give audiences the treat of some pretty props that we twirl around, but not something I considered to have any real substance.  It's not just because it's a happy dance either.  The Alegría de Cadiz is actually named after "happiness", but it is a robust dance, with lots of mood and rhythmic shifts built into it.  There's a structure with a lot of meat to it.  To me the Guajira just doesn't necessarily have that same depth.  It's pretty with pretty lyrics and a sense of romance and flirtation. That's nice, but can you give a girl some angst?

These are just my excuses though.  The reason I haven't done a Guajira solo in years is that people expect me to do so:  "But you're Cuban!  You of all people should have a Guajira".  And that is why I don't.  I know, it seems petty.  Yes, partly it is.  I have a rebellious streak and don't like to be told what to do. However, there's also a fearful perfectionism playing its hand here.  I feel like if I'm Cuban, my Guajira better be the most Cuban Guajira ever and I want it to feel that way, right out the gate.

Here is where we learn the lesson about perfectionism--it gets you stuck.  You don't let yourself create anything when you get hung up on wanting it perfect.  It will never be perfect.  I've been dancing Solea por Bulería for years now and people tell me they love my solo, but I know it's never perfect.  I will always want it to be more.  However, I also know that it is way better than it was when I first started putting it together back in Spain seven years ago.  In fact, it barely looks the same.  We have developed and melded together, fermenting like a fine wine.

So this is what I need to remind myself as I rekindle my love affair with my forgotten Guajira.  We may start off with a bumpy beginning, but eventually we should smooth out and glide together.  Or saunter.  The word "saunter" keeps entering my head when I think about walking across the floor, slowly waving my fan, proudly embodying my ancestors onstage.  

For now, I'll leave you with a sample.  This is a video of Belén Maya dancing to Mayte Martín's cante. The choreography has some modern elements that you don't often see in a traditional Guajira, but I love this video because Belén captures the coquettish and sauntering feel that I think this palo should have.  Also, I absolutely love the way Mayte sings Guajira.  They are beautifully accompanied by Juan Ramón Caro on guitar.  Enjoy!

* a particular rhythm or musical form in Flamenco

Did you like this post?  Feel free to Like it and Share it  and stay tuned for Part 2 where I will go over a bit of the history of the Guajira with more video samples.

What do you think of the Guajira?  Are there other Flamenco palos you prefer?  Do you also struggle with perfectionism?  Feel free to share your thoughts below.