Friday 5 June 2015

Performance: Desvalidas

I was all set to go to a film tonight.. but then I checked a site Helen had put me onto - Londonist - and came across something that sounded fantastic. A place called Shop Revolution Marketplace was holding a Spanish evening called Desvalidas, with guitar music, poetry, and tapas. I was so there! I was delighted to get a pretty immediate response from the venue that yes, they still had tickets.

Turned out to be a 'mare to get to. It's far enough away - about an hour, whatever way I travel - that there are several travel options. The first problem I had was the address - Sydenham Road: but there are two of those! both on the south of the city. I spent a considerable amount of time on the wrong one. When I finally realised my mistake, I had to start planning all over.. well, at least I was doing it in advance!

The simplest option seemed to be a train from Victoria. After this, Google Maps and I disagreed - but not at first. No, I faithfully recorded their instructions to take a Southeastern service to Penge East, and wind my way through housing estates for 15 minutes until I came to Sydenham Road. When I checked the way back, however, they were sending me on a Southern service from the (much closer) Sydenham station, further up Sydenham Road. Huh? Did this train line not work both ways? I checked their website: yes, they did. I made a note of the times, and determined to come that way. I've complained to Google Maps - which may or may not do any good.

In the event, it was as well I recorded both routes. I left a bit late for the train I wanted, and although the Tube did an unusually good job of getting me to Victoria quickly - arrived just as I did, no hanging around at Earl's Court for once - I was just too late for the train I'd planned to get to Sydenham. Faced with a half hour wait for the next one, I perused the departure boards - and remembered my alternative route, for which a train was leaving in five minutes! And so I took the Southeastern to Penge East, after all.

It was a scorcher of an afternoon, and all the carriage windows were open, which provided a nice breeze. As we left town, the countryside got greener, until we arrived in Penge East, with rolling green hills on the horizon. I swear, the air was fresher too! Well, that wouldn't be hard. I made a note of the names of the roads I had to take, and after my thorough research earlier, it was all quite easy. Along the way, I noticed advertising for properties for sale in the area. Lordy, so much cheaper than I'm used to..

I was early, so decided to find Sydenham station first, so I wouldn't have to be searching for it late at night. I trudged up the hill of Sydenham Road, and was despairing of it until I checked the maps app on my phone and saw it was literally around the next corner. It's not far at all really. When I was happy I knew where it was, I turned around and down the hill I went again, in search of this venue.

I'd have been in some confusion if I hadn't had my confusion earlier on. See, I couldn't find it on Streetview. So I did an image search for the name, and discovered a photo that included the two shops on either side. Which were on Streetview - obviously, this one was a new addition. So I came to it eventually. It looks just like a café - which is what it is - and I wasn't sure where the gig was on. I entered with some trepidation through the open door, sidestepped some people chatting in front, and approached the till at the back, where I guessed the boss was. Sure enough, there she was behind the till, took my money, and indicated that I should take a seat at the nearby table.

Seriously, it was in this tiny space? Well, ok - so that lady with the guitar was actually the entertainment, and it seemed I was the first to arrive. There was some crusty bread on the table, and she promised we'd get tapas later. Then the young person she'd been chatting to approached me with a programme, and a small brown envelope, which it turned out contained a nametag. I was rather pleased to get "Ernest Hemingway".

Other people gradually arrived and were given nametags. I must say, my table were a lovely, friendly bunch, and included one Spaniard. Also at our table was the boyfriend of the person who'd given me the programme and envelope - who turned out to be a boy, with an appearance feminine enough that I'd thought it was a girl. And this lad was, apparently, going to provide "interruptions". We were promised more envelopes, and told that they would contain instructions, which we must follow!

Mind you, that was all to come - we were being fed first. It was all taking so long that I began to get worried about my train home. I started on wine, but as the other women at the table were having cava, so did I. The tapas themselves were nothing special, but ok. The drinks were served by an enthusiastic and amused-looking lad, who looked too young to be allowed to drink them himself.

Finally, finally, the music and poetry started. We got to listen to a bit of it before yer man came around with another batch of envelopes and started handing them to people. Each contained an instruction. "Cover your ears with your hands." What?! Well, that was just lovely. My hands were getting numb by the time he gave me another instruction, and a pen - which I was to click continuously. As the lady beside me remarked, it was like being a tester in a pen factory. Then they started blowing bubbles. Bloody performance art.

The one activity I did enjoy was to screw up a sheet of blue paper and throw it across the room. I got piles of it! The one I really didn't enjoy was when I had to cover my eyes, so I didn't know what was going on. And I got left like that for ages - when he did come around, he apologised. As the evening progressed, the instructions got progressively more rowdy - people had to shout, people had to "use the objects on the table to distract the performers".

What did they perform? (There was a performance of music and poetry as well, you'll recall.) I have the programme to tell me - otherwise, I'd have no idea. I could hardly hear any of it. As the lady beside me remarked - we could have been at the pictures, instead of this! Nether of us had had any idea what was going to happen - there was nothing about it in the ad. At least, at the end, the poet explained that the idea was to mimic the Spanish Civil War, which degenerated from harmony into disharmony. Oh right, I get it now. I feel so enlightened.

And then we got a rather tasty cake, and as soon as I'd paid for my drinks I got the hell out of there. It was such a relief not to have to smile any more - they were such sweet and lovely people, and I hated it all so very much. The time I left at, I knew I'd be waiting for a train - but it was a mild night, and I was desperate to get away. Ironically, as I sat on the platform, the performers passed me on their way to the other platform, and thanked me profusely (again) for coming. Yeah, good night, and goodbye.

The train was full of drunks, late on a Friday night. One guy started lurching around the seats, introducing himself drunkenly to the lone female passengers, so at the next stop I hopped out and into another carriage, before he got to me. And when I disembarked, it was quite chilly. I pitied the girl walking in the opposite direction, who from a distance looked naked from the waist down (turned out she was wearing quite short shorts). I was glad to get home.

For tomorrow, I found a new Meetup group - I'm amazed I wasn't already a member. London For Less! is offering discounted tickets to a candlelit classical concert in Southwark Cathedral. Ah, that's better! And hopefully, not a bubble in sight.. the organiser seems quite conscientious - the only thing I have to watch for is planned closure for engineering works. I think I'll manage.

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