As unbelievable as it might sound, this Noia has not seen a tablado in Barcelona or anywhere else in Spain. Mol trist. That is what happens when you are married to a Guapo who feels really Catalan and feels no interest to see spectacular pounding of heels on a wooden floor by flamenco dancers.
Of all places to see flamenco dancing without me even planning it was at a bar in...Boyle Heights. It's a city within the limits of Los Angeles. It's the equivalent of me saying, "I went to Gràcia to see a tablado in Barcelona."
L.A. has changed tremendously since I moved away ten years ago. The only place back in the day to find anything Spanish was at a restaurant called El Cid on Sunset Boulevard and what a disappointment. The gal dancing flamenco at Eastside Luv put all her energy dancing on top of the bar as did guitarist Gabriel at the opposite end. Who knows what other Spanish surprise I'll find along the way as a guiri in my own town.
Feeling a bit jet lagged, my noia friend and I left the bar at elevenish and crossed the street to admire a very Hispanic metro entrance of the fabulous L.A. metro system.
p.s. I took pictures my cell phone so excuse the lack of zoom and crispness of the photos.
p.p.s. I met a great gal from New York astonished as I was with all the great changes in L.A.