Banana Bread and Joshua Redman

The rest of my weekend was a somewhat mellower affair. Friday, I was home by 11 and Saturday, by 1. A few girls here run something called Pachange. It’s a language exchange group that meets every other Saturday night. They do their best to set you up with whatever language you’re looking for. They found me a Spaniard that had lived in France, so for an hour we spoke English and for an hour French. Unfortunately, by the end of the second hour, my patience for this guy was about done. He had brought along a friend with him who spoke neither English nor French. This meant translating much of any conversation we had back into Spanish, and after about an hour of sitting through my inability to hide how peeved I was, his friend finally left. The upside of it all is that I did get to speak French, and I ran into some of my students, one of whom I strong-armed into taking me around the plaza on his motorcycle.
I also met my roommate’s seven year old sister. Word of warning, if you are learning another language and have trouble understanding young children, do not be discouraged. This little girl talked a mile minute, said everything that popped into her head and wanted to touch everything. Honestly, she reminded me of me. We all made banana bread together (likely a mistake as Rafa and I finished the whole thing in under two days), and I let her play video games on my computer as a sort of respite. You’re never more protective of your computer than when it’s in the hands of a seven year old.
There’s a sort of a small jazz fest going on this week at the Teatro Cervantes. The theater is an old one, with three balconies, boxes, and rows or powder blue seats that finally end in the rafter section, which is just brown benches. It’s a beautiful theater with a fresco on the ceiling and fake gold garlands adorning each balcony, and, even without knowing how old it was, I spent part of the concert inventing grand stories of intrigue that had taken place there. I went to see Joshua Redman play, a saxophonist from New York. He was amazing, made me see why Julio Cortázar used to talk about jazz music and boxing together. Redman was frankly athletic, moving about, music trying to escape from him everywhere, not just his hands and his horn, but his feet too. His trio (sax, drums, bass) played for an hour and a half or more, and by the end I was exhausted even if they weren’t. The sight of live music, as seen from above. I always forget what a thrill it is to see people possessed by their art.
Anyway, hopefully pictures to come soon, as I have finally bought a camera.