I sit in Granada’s Plaza Nuevo, trying to outlast a bad breakfast decision, just watching. It’s probably one o’clock, and things haven’t quite gotten started yet. The cafe tables are set out, but only a few are filled. There’s a lot of foot traffic, but I mostly see tourists. Any locals passing through likely fade into the scenery.
I sit on a bench towards the edge of plaza, partially shaded by a tree, intentionally facing nothing and no one in particular. Looking unfriendly and disinterested is a defense mechanism. Near me but at the center of the square, some people drag a few cafe chairs into an open space and a set up a small square platform. There are four of them, one dressed in a ruffled shirt with a tight vest, black pants, and dance shoes. He begins stomping on the platform while the others clap and bang. Once they have the attention of tourists in passing, they begin their music and dancing show.