Sashaying in Salamanca

In 1975 I was at the University of Iowa. Not long after moving into the freshman dorm, I learned that some New Jersey rocker would be playing at Hancher Auditorium, which was a lovely fine arts theater – the kind of place you might go to for a piano recital – nestled on the Iowa River.

I had never heard of Bruce Springsteen, so I did not go. The next day “Born to Run” was blaring from every third dorm room. Everyone said the concert was the most amazing thing they had ever seen. The next week Springsteen was on the cover of both Time and Newsweek, an unprecedented coincidence. From that point onward, if you wanted to see The Boss, you had to go to a huge arena or stadium.

I think of this lost opportunity whenever given the chance to see a new artist. I thought of it when my good friend and fellow expat, Larry Loeppke, spoke passionately about a show called Querencia.

Larry said that Querencia is, essentially, a dance recital. Skepticism must have played across my face because Larry quickly added that this was unlike any show he had ever seen. It combined flamenco and ballet and modern dance in a colorful and dazzling display of grace and athleticism. At the end of 90 minutes a dumbstruck Spanish audience leapt to their feet and applauded so thunderously, so sincerely, that the bowing dancers wept with emotion.

I immediately checked the website for Alicante’s Teatro Principal, where Larry saw the performance. Querencia was in Alicante for only the one show.

History, I thought, was repeating itself.

“No! I will not suffer another disappointment!” is what I might have said, if I wanted to be overly dramatic about missing a dance recital. But I really did want to see the show and, more than that, I wanted Denise to see the show (her birthday was just around the corner and she had been wanting to see Spanish dancing). I therefore found the dance troupe’s website. They would be performing in Salamanca in two weeks.

Before we knew it, Denise and I were in a train speeding north at 180 miles per hour (really!). The Spanish trains are cheap, quiet, and very comfortable.

We arrived in Salamanca in the early afternoon. We checked into the Eurostar hotel, which was surprisingly luxurious for $80 per night. We spent two days doing tourist stuff (more on that later). Then, finally, came the big evening.

The Salamanca Center for Performing Arts is newer and larger than Alicante’s Teatro Principal, and more luxuriously appointed. We sat in the theater about twenty minutes, testing the limits of our rudimentary Spanish by speaking with the young man sitting next to us. Denise enjoys such discussions. I would have preferred a light punch in the groin.

Finally, the lights dimmed and dancers took the stage.

For the next 90 minutes women in fancy dresses and men in skin-tight pants posed and strutted and jumped about.

Denise liked the dancing every bit as much as Larry. And, I have to admit, for me the show was as exciting as seeing a young Bruce Springsteen, a Springsteen in his salad days, in his prime, doing interpretative Spanish dance.

Which is to say, I was impressed, but after a half hour I was checking my watch. You may not be surprised. You may already think me an uncultured philistine. But hear me out.

The music was an original composition written and recorded specifically for this show. Maybe it was good music, but it sounded like somebody was spinning a classical record on a little girl’s pink record player, and amplifying the sound through a high school public address system.

I can see why the troupe would be more impressive in Alicante’s Teatro Principal. It is a substantially smaller and more intimate venue. Guests would be closer to the dancers, and filling the room would not have taxed the sound system quite so much. And, of course, the Alicante theater may have had better speakers.

On the other hand, I may just be an uncultured philistine. After checking my watch I would glance at Denise. She was captivated. While the Salamanca crowd was not quite so enthusiastic as Alicante’s, Querencia got its standing ovation.

Don’t get me wrong. I’m glad to have gone. My horizon got broadened, and it was gratifying to see Denise thoroughly entertained. And I toured Salamanca, which was a treat in its own right.

And who wouldn’t want to see a young Bruce Springsteen don leotards and do an interpretative dance routine?