The Gypsy Effect: Finding My Future

Kristy Ulibarri
Senior at the Greeley campus,
University of Northern Colorado
E-mail: WillowHaze@aol.com

In the summer of 1998, I traveled to Spain to discover a part of my roots. I was in high school at the time, and I had never traveled anywhere but in Colorado. The plane ride was ten hours long, but once I arrived in Madrid, Spain, I felt as if I had come home. My tour group explored the entire country of Spain in two weeks, and I began to be conversant in the Spanish language and culture. During this time, I was at a point in my life where I had no direction, and I did not know what I wanted to do after high school. Nevertheless, while we were in Granada, Spain, I found that direction in the most unlikely place: at a flamenco production in the gypsy sector. I found my love for literature.

When my group and I entered the gypsy sector in Granada, our tour guide, Kiko, had a great impact on our perception of the gypsies, and we learned quickly that the gypsies could not be trusted; he warned us to hold on to our belongings because the gypsies were notorious pickpockets. Nevertheless, we were excited because we were going to see our second flamenco performance--only this time, it would be in a cave. In the gypsy sector, many people's houses are built into the mountainside, so the inside of the house is a cave. We walked through gorgeous Spanish streets that were so narrow we could only walk next to one other person. We took our time as we admired the architecture and the lone musicians playing on the street corners. When we finally arrived at the house where the flamenco performance would be, the lure of the gypsy sector had already affected me profoundly.

 As we entered the house, our teacher, Janna, clarified for us that this flamenco show would be a tourist attraction like the other performance, but she explained that the difference was that this show was less exotic, and the dancers, singers, and guitar players were all related according to the oldest traditions. We walked slowly into the house to a tiny auditorium. Actually, the set-up was so small that I am not sure if "auditorium" would be the right word. Nevertheless, a couple of my friends and I sat up at the front and ordered sangria. Other than our tour group, a Japanese tour group was the only other group in attendance. But we filled the whole place. It was comfortable and cozy inside the yellow-lighted cave.

When the performance began, I was in awe. Women with thick, black eyeliner stomped their feet with power and passion. Their faces were a blend of anguish and ecstasy while they clapped to the strange beat of flamenco. Men sang el cante jondo with gravely voices, and their guitar strumming became a part of the dance. Since I was so close to the stage, I could not absorb the whole performance at once because the vibrations and power left me in an astonished state. I think my mouth was wide open for the whole performance. After the main performance, I was invited onto the stage to try to dance. I still have the photograph of me just standing there in bewilderment while one of the women tried to teach me a couple of moves. The experience has never left me.

As a farewell, the performers sent us away with a poem. This was the moment that changed my life. They recited "La Guitarra" by Frederico Garcia Lorca, who is my favorite poet. The guitarist accompanied the reading with music, and the sound echoed off the walls. This was the first time I had heard any of Lorca's poems read in Spanish. Since my Spanish comprehension was not very good, I was astonished that I understood this poem that night in Granada. I stared at these people whom we had learned not to trust, and tears covered my gaze. The experience affected everyone--even the boys in our group had tears in their eyes. Everyone in the audience was silent; there was an intense stillness in the room.

It was at this moment that I fell in love with literature: I realized then that I wanted to go to college so I would not be ignorant about other cultures. But that night in the gypsy sector affected my life in a much bigger way. That night made me recognize that I wanted to study literature deeply, even to achieve a Ph.D. in that field.

When I came back from Spain, I had a new sense of myself, and I became a more determined, motivated person. I stepped off the plane at Denver International Airport to find my family with open arms, and I knew that I was going to fulfill my new goals. For the past three months, I have been writing, taking the GRE, and applying to universities. Whenever the pressure and stress become too strong, I always remember that night in Granada when I found a direction in the simple and yet complex act of dance and music.

Academic Exchange Extra invites reader responses to any writings in this issue--especially articles advancing the scholarly debate of issues raised.

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