The night before the premiere, La Paquera dined together with her entourage at one of the 'tablaos' which serve as a showcase in Tokyo for young Spanish artists. The 'cantaores' and 'bailaoras' taking part in the show can't believe their eyes when they see her enter. One of them can't contain himself: "Jesus, that's La Paquera!" "It's twenty years since I went to a 'tablao'. It reminds me of my days in Madrid. It's too much - you wouldn't believe how similar this is to 'Los Canasteros' ", the cantaora muses nostalgically.

La Paquera's opening night in Tokyo is a success. It must be the case, as she puts it, that a stage transforms her, because the day has been one to forget. This afternoon the 'cantaora' is upset and a little irritated. So far from home, the voyage is starting to afford some unpleasant surprises. This morning, during the soundcheck, she learns that Komatsubara wants her to sing to accompany dance. Her family interprets this as a lack of respect for an artist of her calibre. A leading figure in the world of 'cante' doesn't perform for dancers. But he who pays the piper calls the tune. La Paquera will sing while Yoko dances. The theatre's dimensions overwhelm her, a world away from the little theatre she pines for in Jerez. "It's much too big. When you reach to the dressing room you don't even feel like singing anymore. At Teatro Villamarta it takes me just fifteen minutes to get ready".

And there are other reasons too. On the trip from the hotel across to the New National Theatre, there's another incident. The chauffeur who has to take her there gets mixed up and drops her off in a different place. At first La Paquera is overcome by the thought that she won't arrive on time. Luckily one of the cameramen manages to explain their situation in English to a Japanese man, who obligingly gives them a lift to the theatre at high speed. "My God, what a lot of hassle. All because of some idiot who drops us off at the wrong theatre. But this guy is the greatest. ¡Viva Tokyo!"

As soon as the show's finished, Komatsubara and her aides whisk La Paquera and her entourage away to Channel 6 television studios, the country's main independent channel. The artist will be interviewed on one of the highest-rating shows, presented by Chikushi-san. On arrival at the studio and after a soundcheck, they inform her that she'll have to wait two hours to go live on air. And on top of that, they ask her to sing - something she hadn't banked on. The group is increasingly under the impression that the Japanese are just as tricky as some on the flamenco scene can be. It's midnight. "What's the deal, Yoko? I haven't had a bite to eat. I'm dry as a bone. Do you know how it feels to be dry, Yoko my dear? Bring me a home-made stew from Seville, or from Jerez!" bellows the cantaora, powerless to act and fatigued from the day's events. But later, in front of the cameras, she gives her all once again. She sings even better than at the theatre and drives the hosts and translators round the bend. The programme's producers are pulling their hair out. La Paquera does her own thing throughout the interview and it overruns. There's hardly enough time for the studio engineers to squeeze in the commercials. Meanwhile the young documentary-makers are splitting their sides with laughter watching the chaos the film's star is causing on the studio floor. "Did you see how they had to cut to the commercials?" Oscar says to the documentary's director.

La Paquera and Yoko in Channel 6 Japan
(Photo: Fernando González-Caballos)

Saturday, 19th January. La Paquera can't get used to the timetable of performances, two and six in the afternoon. "The idea of singing at lunchtime is alien to me. I mean, when I'm in the mood to sing, after eleven, they're already in bed." Yvan Schreck follows her all day long with his camera. "Every time I hear your sister sing," the Frenchman tells Pepe, "I come out in goose bumps. It's amazing!"

Monday, 21st January. Eleven in the evening. La Paquera lands in Jerez. Overcome with fatigue after another 26-hour flight, all she can do is make a vague plan: "I'm going to sleep for three days straight. I'm only going to get up to eat home-made stew". Throughout the week the cantaora has seemed pleasant enough, but not in very high spirits. A little taciturn. People say that's her nature, reclusive and introverted, and that she's transformed on stage. "I'm a quiet, family type. I like taking a stroll, a relaxed and quiet life," she explains. Before returning from Tokyo she opens up. She's been taking anti-depressants for a year now. The reasons: concern for her family for whom she is a matriarchal figure, and a certain difficulty in accepting that she is part of a world that has passed into the pages of history. She remembers those who, for thirty years, were a part of her life in Madrid: "Terremoto, Farruco, Manolo Caracol, Bambino, Lola Flores, Antonio el bailarín. All dead".

The overall experience has been bittersweet. La Paquera, who never did fulfil her wish to see the Imperial Palace, is visibly worn out from the pace of life in Japan and couldn't wait to get back home. On the other hand, though, the artistic results and the impact her performances made in Tokyo were impressive. Before leaving, the cantaora gave an interview with the Japanese flamenco monthly 'Paseo', with a circulation of fifteen thousand copies. The reporter was shaking with nerves as he posed his questions. Behind him another journalist was crying, unable to control her emotions. The question everyone was waiting for: "Will you come back to Japan?" The noncommittal reply: "Depends how I'm feeling at the time..."