Looking out my Backdoor: The flamenco and the bulls

Ai-yi-yi, what a week this has been.

A few days ago, tongue in cheek, I mentioned to my friend Dan in Fort Worth that I would be returning to my “quiet and uneventful life.” Dan thought I was serious and took me to task and rightly so.

After three weeks with my friends Don and Denise from Oregon, plus another week on the coast, seeing old friends from the years Mazatlan was my home, I am back home, in Etzatlan, in my casita.

Jerry and Lola from Idaho, who were here with my class reunion group last year, have returned for another visit. I don’t know how to begin to describe what a treasure this time together is for me. My friends are exploring the country and experiencing some of the things we didn’t have time to cram in last year. As a bonus, they are here during Carnival, the Mexican Mardi Gras.

I won’t try to tell you everything we’ve done. It’s impossible. The list is long.

One night I joined my friends for dinner at the beautifully restored Hacienda del Carmen, for dinner. As we were being seated, we were told that a dance troupe would be performing a flamenco. We were invited to attend.

We thought we’d take a look; sort of stand in the back, see what it is about and leave early. Frankly, we had no idea.

Instead, the manager appeared at our elbows and led us to seats next to the stage, a portable dance floor with a minimum of props. There was no escape had we wanted to leave. We didn’t.

First of all, the palatial stone building with walls and columns at least a meter thick, was in itself a work of art. We later learned the structure was originally a granary. Believe me, this was nothing like a granary in Montana.

The music began. The dancers entered. I can best describe this magical performance as a blend of Spanish flamenco music and dance, ballet and interpretive jazz, with traditional costumes. The story line was easy to follow. The actor-dancers infused every motion, every glance, with spirit, with rhythm, with precision and, most of all, with passion.

What a gift. We had no idea that we’d get to watch a professional troupe from Guadalajara dance into our hearts.

At the opposite end of the event spectrum we attended a bull fight. One might think we went from “Beauty” to the “Beast,” but not so.

For me, the draw was twofold: I wanted to experience one bull fight. And the world famous horseman, Pablo Hermoso De Mendoza, would be performing, fighting a bull from horseback. Other matadors or “toreros” would fight the bulls from the ground, with capes.

Were parts of the bull fight gruesome? Yes. I won’t pretend — some was hard to watch. Remember, I’m the odd woman who often escorts spiders from my house back to the outdoors. But I also cheerfully stomp scorpions.

To all things there is balance. The matadors are professional toreros, trained to make every movement, a dance of beauty. The bulls are majestic. From the opening and throughout, a ceremonial procedure is followed, all with formal maneuvers.

Pablo Hermoso stroked his horse’s ears, then touched his fingers to his mouth, becoming one with his horse, before facing the bull. Each of his horses, so beautiful to take my breath away, loved their work. I’ve worked cutting horses, driving cattle, branding, so I know when a horse loves his work.

Whether watching Hermoso on horseback or each of the toreros afoot, dressed in ceremonial regalia from a long-past age, each move was like a ballet; each matador a passionate actor. I cannot help but compare the flamenco with the bull fight. Both tell a story, both use music and dance, rhythm and spirit. Both deal with death and love and beauty, as all good stories ultimately do.

Yes, Dan, my friend, I live a “quiet and uneventful life.” Indeed!

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Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com. Email [email protected].