Observations at 2 AM, Monday

At two in the morning, the most obvious things are those that hide in a first or second layer of logic.  Not perhaps the zero layer: “This is a bar!” Or even, “This is an expensive bar.”  But the kind of observations that allow you to make sense of the riotous and noisy streets of the city. 

Monday 2 AM I had several of these observations.  The first being the nature of cultural and national identity. 

            You do realize that a nation isn´t impervious—a geographical space is constructed of numerous alternate spaces and identities.  I think the most glaring example is that of physical space: Embassies, etc.  A physical and tangible space that doesn´t legally belong to the surrounding nation. I thnk that there is a similar phenomenon that occurs with tourist locals.  On Monday, Ira and I went looking for flamenco.  We found Los Tarantos.  For those not familiarized with the flamenco scene in general, I haven´t been to a traditional flamenco show that has started on time.  Ever. 

Knowing this very important fact the two single ladies arrive elegantly late, and the show is almost over.   

Moral: In the country of tourists, the punctual is king.

Second anecdote:

The Ramblas in Barcelona asserts its identity by its almost endless supply of Hasish, Mari, artists, prostitutes and street performers.  A typical weekday at midnight finds international travelers gawking at immobile persons dressed as tin men, mimes, and the assorted array of Spanish kitsch.  Toreros are popular.  A smallish woman dressed in quincenera garb and with blond ringlets toying with her fake eyelashes, evoked the scene from Velazquez’ Las Meninas.  Two hundred yards toward the Port of MareMagnum offers a similar semi-circle of Japanese and Belgian spectators debating the price of cans of San Miguel, the local beer sold out of backpacks and plastic bags on every corner.  The irradescent lights comingle with the cries of the working immigrant, selling free “chupitos” and Disco tickets. 

Ira and I were walking to get a gofre, the luscious treat of the midnight voyeur or clubber found in a particular stall at the entrance to Calle de Infierno.  An old man, dressed in a one-piece bear costume, complete with fuzzy ears, is suddenly at our side. Mimicking our walk. Swishing his waist and holding out his hand to hold an invisible cigarette.  We both stopped and looked at him.  Two little tattoos on each side of his mouth reminded me of the whiskers on a teddy bear, but as I looked at the man, the wrinkled, puckered mouth, weathered eyes, and the mastery of imitation, the effect was disconcerting.  The hombr-oso was too close, and both of us grabbed our purses and watched him watching us. Walking away as he walked closer.  After the endless 15 seconds, he found a more interesting group of tourists and repeated the experience.  The two of us walked away, safely. He didn´t go for our bags, and never touched us.  Ira asked me, “Was he a street artist?  A performance artist?”  5 minutes later we agreed…

Moral: The difference between a street performer and a crazy person… is TEETH.

What makes each of these two anecdotes apropos is the manner in which they serve as a measure of performance.   There is a very clear relationship between class, authenticity, performance, and audience.  In the first local, Los Tarantos, the authenticity of the environment is suppressed for the Ford-like capacity of the assembly line.  Each tourist leaves having seen “authentic” Spain: an “authentic” flamenco show that starts promptly at 6:30, 7:30, 8:30, 9:30, 10:30 and 11:30, and “authentic” Sangría—all for the authentic price of 8€ (6€ if you buy your ticket online).  It all leaves me thinking: to what extent does the performance of flamenco relate to the question of the performance of the “national”?  To what extent does the market determine “national identity”? 

The second experience also leaves me with a series of questions.  The man-bear did not in any significant way differ from any of the other street performers in Las Ramblas.  Perhaps, you could say that while he was mobile (walking up and down the Ramblas), the others were not.  And, while they had means of accepting and encouraging payment, he did not.  To what extent does the artist need to be paid to be considered artist?  Man-bear had no teeth, the other artists did. Therefore, there is an entire formulation that can be derived from the access to medical care, health, personal hygiene, etc, that leads to the conclusion “Crazy Man-Bear” instead of “Man-Bear-Artist”.  How does this relate to the construction of flamenco?