This travel and performance account was first published on 12 April 2026. Posters, dates and prices shown in the photographs are historical material from that visit, not current announcements.
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At 8:53, I left home. It wasn’t just a trip to Osaka. It was one of those days when something begins before it begins. I left Batre behind, and although I knew Batre was well cared for, part of me stayed there. I suppose that, too, is part of the journey.
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I arrived at Tokyo Station. Everything was in its place, but I wasn’t yet. I looked at screens, people, trains, and my mind was somewhere halfway. Neither at home. Nor in Osaka. Just at that point where I begin to leave behind who I was a few hours ago and become who I will be next.
And then the Shinkansen arrived. No noise inside me. No doubts. Just that moment when everything falls into place. I boarded and let the journey do its part.
From the train, Mount Fuji came into view. Majestic. Peaceful. As if it were in no hurry at all. And in that moment, I understood something without thinking: everything arrives when it is meant to.
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Osaka. The tablao. Keiko. And from the very first moment, warmth. The kind you cannot fake. Keiko welcomed me with joy, artistry, and a presence that makes a place feel familiar straight away. We rehearsed, and it went well. Very well. One of those rehearsals when I already know the night will hold something special.
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Then came the stage. La caña, with Keiko. And everything came together. My body moved on its own. Everything was in its place. That was when I understood that the whole day had made sense.
The first set ended. Then came the soleá. It came out full of flavour, joy, and something that truly makes all the difference: my fellow performers. Yukio’s guitar, the singing, the women’s palmas. It wasn’t just accompaniment. It was support. And then something happened that doesn’t always happen: that rare and precious feeling of being at home while far away.
Then came the second set. And, as always, some things didn’t turn out exactly as I had imagined. But that is where the beauty lies. Because flamenco isn’t about avoiding mistakes. It is about making them bigger. Taking what didn’t come out perfectly and turning it into a path.
Perhaps that is why flamenco is so much like life. I make a mistake, but that mistake isn’t the end. It has flavour, too. The flavour of the imperfect, of what I have lived, of what is real. And without that flavour, there would be no step forward.
The tablao performance ended, and no tension remained. Joy remained. Truth remained. The audience was incredible: warm, alive, present. The kind of audience that doesn’t watch from the outside, but is there with me.
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Miguelón was there too. And there are people whose presence alone makes everything worth more.
Then came the sushi. The laughter. The calm. Keiko, a wonderful host. The gift of a beautiful scarf. But it wasn’t just the object. It was the gesture. It was a way of saying: something beautiful happened today, and it deserves to stay in our hearts.
Back at the hotel, with the day now quiet, only one word remained: happy. And it is curious, because it is a simple word, but not always an easy one to reach.
Thank you to Keiko. To my fellow performers. To the audience. To the people who make these wonderful, beautiful moments possible.
Because some days pass. And some days stay. And this one stays.
—Beni
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If you would like to keep sharing this journey between Japan and Andalusia, you can visit BG Flamenco Academy, follow everyday life at @benitogarcia_japon, and visit the BG Flamenco channel for more moments of performance, class, and truth.
BG Flamenco Academy · @benitogarcia_japon · BG Flamenco YouTube