Dejà vu

So, did you ever have some feeling? You are somewhere. You look about yourself. You feel something. As if … I have been here sometimes. I have seen it yet. The remembrances are coming. Anyway like there is sunrise each day. Anyway like my alarm clock rings by my bed and I do not want to get up each day. Anyway like I do my everyday ritual, the ritual of washing, dressing or stripping, toilet, wash my hands, water in a teapot and then? Clicking of my key in my lock and all is open to the whole world.

There is some column, the column as a reminder of something. The old remembrances are coming from my memory. Was it one or many columns? Oh yes, I know. There is a long way runs somewhere, somewhere into a city center, a monumental entrance. All this was it. These two columns stand at beginning of entrance to the San Marco square in Venice in Italy. They present Venice's two patrons, Marco and Todaro, that stand by the water's edge: on them are the lion of Saint Mark and the statue of Saint Teodoro of Amasea, "Santodaro" to the Venetians, who is standing on the sacred crocodile of Egypt. One legend says (many tourists do not know it) that it is not good to walk between these columns, because it brings bad luck. The convicts were taken this way and after the crossing of the Bridge of Sighs (Ponte di Sospiri) they were locked in their jail cell in the infamous prison with the leads chambers.


...
Then the atmosphere changed as the faint, ethereal beat of clapping, palm just brushing palm, seeped through the silence. From one man came the sound of fingers sweeping across strings. From another emanated a deep and plaintive wail that soon flowed into a song. The rasp of his voice matched the roughness of the place and the ruggedness of his pockmarked face. Only the singer and his troupe understood the obscure patois, but the audience could sense the meaning. Love had been lost.

(Passage from the novel The Return by Victoria Hislop)

It was the atmosphere of one burning day. I took one cup of coffee and one glass of wine under the beautiful sky of Barcelona. First time I saw and also heard it totally elsewhere and in other country. In year 2000, the Picasso’s museum had opened in Münster, Nord Rhein-Westphalen, Germany. There are Picasso’s graphics there. This day and night belong to the celebration of his homeland Spain. If the darkness came down, the square in front the museum had filled with eagerly waited people, until he come. The air was headily full of different smells and noises. The grilled gambas (giant prawns) tasted fantastic and red wine from Rioja fast rose into head. Some guitar sounded and he appeared in the stage – Miguel Vargas and his compañía. It was first time that I saw and experienced flamenco.

For the second time I met him in Barcelona after many years. I was there at some international conference. In the frame of opening reception, the organizers invited a group of players, singers and dancers. It was again flamenco, but another. It did not suit here in this big hall space. Nevertheless, it enchanted me again.

For the third time it was another. In the evening after sunset, we walked the most beautiful, at least for me, boulevard of Barcelona – La Rambla Street (or Catalonian Les Rambles, Spanish Las Ramblas. This street connects the square called Plaça Catalunya and the Christophe Columbus at Port Vell. Here it was really another. Lots of people in the street, a lot of light, music and smells from cafes and bistros around and even here people danced. By chance we bumped into some flamenco dancer in one arcade. It was something other there. This dance was half-naked, which is, I think, against the rules, but here evidently something hung in the air. The young man danced with big passion, his sweat descended on his body that shined in the glare of spotlights like see water in the midday sun. His dance totally fascinated me; he led me into his story. It suddenly began and then after several minutes it ended. It was raw and animal. Almost I grasped for my breath by excitement. Finally it sounded festive olé.

We walk onward in this street, but the pictures of this dancer were running through my head. At once, cool breeze blew on my face. We came to the sea.

Dejà vu.

SLurls: The Beach Club, Barcelona del Oeste