Graceful.

The city of Cadiz was captivating that day. By night, it was mysterious, exciting, and full of surprises.

4 charter buses pack with students bumbled out to a neighborhood 30 minutes outside of Cadiz. We were all anticipating a night complete with tapas, cocktails, and a traditional Spanish flamenco show. Exiting the bus, we were greeted by waiters offering drinks and mingled with one another until directed to find a seat for the show.

The show was to take place in a small arena, I mean really small, that was a dusty bowl surrounded by a concrete wall painted a terracotta red. The music started on the speakers and these two women in black and white polka dot flamenco outfits emerged onto the “stage.” The dancing began with an addicting beat and layered skirts flowing. There was also a horse that showed off his own skills, very similar to the dressage I saw in Bedford last summer.

Finally, there was an amateur bloodless bullfight. A young boy, not a day over 15 ran out into the middle of the rink, red cape in hand. Then, emerged a baby bull – almost too young to have any anger toward the minor matador. Yet, it proved to be exciting as the little black bull succeeded in making contact with “Junior”. It was intense because we were all scared for this young boy when the bull would rush him. I wish you all could hear all the girls gasping in the crowd.

The entire show was funny, though, because it seemed as if it was a family business. It was definitely touristy. I started to think about the idea of flamenco dancing in total, and truly it is a tradition in Spain that exists for much of the purpose of tourism. The only thing I can think of in the US that is somewhat analogous to this is hula dancing in Hawaii.

After the show was over, we were directed to walk over to a banquet hall in order to relax, and enjoy some more flamenco dancing. Well, the trek consisted of walking about the length of a football field on a half-gravel, half-concrete terrain. Easy, right? Why the heck would I even write about the 250 or so steps I took in order to enter into a candle-lit room complete with tapas and Sangria? Well, let’s just say that Momma Gilbert did not include the name “Grace” as one of the four names she gave me – for a reason. I’m walking along with Lane, chatting about flamenco dancing and our travel plans for our adventure to Seville the next morning. I managed to trip. A little catch. No big deal. Well, at least I didn’t think so.

My thin little flip-flop was unable to protect the fate of my big toe. The skin was torn back, and blood was flowing. I wasn’t freaked out by it at all, just so stinkin upset! My first night in a foreign country and I already had an open wound – a target for germs and who knows what else!

The most insane part included how the adults handled it. As soon as I realized I had to clean this situation up, I looked around for an adult who would know where a first aid kit. Well, the first professor in sight came over to help and when I told him I had cut my toe open – he interpreted that to mean I had broken my toe and began explaining to me how to splint it. I tried explaining that it was just cut, but the communication just wasn’t working out. Lane and I went to the ladies room and started to wash it out when these little Spanish ladies brought us some rubbing alcohol and bandages. After pouring about half a bottle of alcohol on the cut and spraying some “On-the-go NEO” everything was okay. I rejoined the group for the rest of the evening.

It was hilarious to me that when I returned to the ship a few days later, people were trying to figure out what bad things happened in the country. No one had any extreme situations – except evidentially someone broke her toe. Wow.

The flamenco show in the banquet hall gave us time to really take in the culture and tradition that is found in the dancing. Lane and I realized that so much of the intrigue of flamenco dancing was the attitude – full of pride, arrogance, and mystery. At the end of the show the dancers tried to teach us some moves. After about ten minutes they gave up on our American hips and played that Macarena. Perfect.

Afterward we went out to experience the famous Spanish nightlife. We went to the strip along the beaches in Cadiz. It was funny because you could pick out the Semester at Sea kids so easily. Somehow we all ended up in this night club dancing and having a lot of fun. Before it got too late we hopped in a taxi with Gio and made it back to the ship to snuggle up in our beds for the night. The plan was to leave for Seville the next morning around 9am. Yea right.