They are refining their skills and are already very accomplished. After an hour they leave. Later some people arrive, looking like they’re extras in a Spaghetti Western. [These should be called Paella Westerns as they were filmed in Andalusia.] Enter a skinny buck-toothed, cross-eyed man and a tough, bald guy with a beautiful Moroccan girl on his arm and a trace of white powder under his nostrils. They are closely followed by a guy with a tanned leather face, wrinkled like a landscape after a drought, wearing a nylon bomber jacket and black leather spray-on flared trousers. A tiny eagle-nosed drunk is gently but firmly evicted after annoying our host. A local woman gets up to dance and first checks the compas-“is it a Buleria?” She asks.
Two more gypsy guys arrive, decorated with huge tattoos on their hard wiry arms, they have wildly shining, drug-bright eyes. The last to come in is a young guitarist who looks like David Essex. This completes the group and they sing and play, constantly swapping the guitar and breaking into each others’ songs. They play and sing brilliantly without stopping – we leave them early in the morning. It’s edgy but a great experience.
No photos – these people are secretive and superstitious, we wouldn’t dare photograph them.