Amor de Dios, Madrid

...dust, perfume, tobacco smoke, and the rat-tat-tat poundings of a hundred heels, echoing and re-echoing through the building

Maximiliano, Madrid

In the heart of Madrid, not far from the Prado, is a narrow street called (beautiful name!) Amor de Dios - the love of God. Handsome old buildings flank the street; once merchant residences, they today host cafes, antique shops, bars and restaurants. One of the oldest of these buildings, originally a palacio for a noble family, was used until a few years ago as a flamenco practice studio. One entered through a small door, which was set into a pair of massive doors, tall enough to let a coach pass through. Inside was a vestibule, on either side of which were large rooms with pale painted (and mirrored) walls and high ceilings. In here, the noise of Madrid traffic died suddenly away, to be replaced by the evocative sounds of guitar, castanet, footwork and cante hondo. My memories of Estudio Amor de Dios are of dust, perfume, tobacco smoke, and the rat-tat-tat poundings of a hundred heels, echoing and re-echoing through the building - even down the narrow stairway into the dimly lit basement. Here, deep deep down, under a low curved ceiling, red brick walls disappeared into darkness, a coffee machine sputtered and, at small tables, dancers and friends sat and gossiped. And who do we meet here, way back when?

Ciro sits in a corner, laughing; short, lean and lithe, his gimlet eyes dart from one person to another, as he is joined by his friend, the vivacious La Kangura. Several gypsies, with slick black hair and dark bedroom eyes, chat to the redhead Lolli who runs the cafe. The few dangling lightbulbs cast long shadows. Maria Magdalena comes in from a lesson upstairs, with her ever-present cane. This stout stick is her trademark. She uses it when she teaches, pounding the floor with it, thump thump thump, to mark the beat as the assembled skirts before her swirl in a dazzling rainbow of colour. That's it, that's right, she calls to the class. Eso es, eso...

Ciro in performance

Ciro and Nina at Amor de Dios

Louisa, La Kangura

There's a guitarist sitting opposite you, strumming his guitar. He's from Japan, and the ash on his cigarette, balanced carefully on the table, grows longer and longer as he carefully plucks the strings. Elke appears; German, statuesque, glamourously Wagnerian, a flamenco dancer known locally as La Vikinga. Roberto Amaral is here. A dancer from Los Angeles, he relaxes today in the little cafe after practicing his bulerias. He flies back home soon.

Nina is here, too, ash blonde, articulate, gregarious - originally from London and now very much a Madrileña, at home in her attico apartment in the city after youthful years following the bullfights (and bullfighters). With her is Maximiliano, from Canada and before that, Australia - lean, dark, passionate, just back from touring with festivales de españa and filming with Mariemma in Aranjuez. Now he'll check out new choreography for his flamenco group, Los Hispanicos, back in Toronto. And Veronica (if she wasn't sleeping in after a late night tablao) arrives with a smile, a story and with a bagful of vegetables for tonight's dinner, just purchased from the local market. Hola! Que te pasa?

Maximiliano and (below) Veronica

Amor de Dios was always a memorable mix of cultures and languages, and now it has gone - all that noise, all that dust, all that colour, all that drama - to a new location, happily keeping its name as a reminder of the ambiente it offered us in abundance.