Madrid, Spain.

I remember getting lost in La Latina searching for Flamenco shoes. Finding a small shop and being fitted with these black leather, heeled works of art that looked like artifacts compared to the costume shoes I used to wear in dance performances growing up. I splurged for a skirt. I went back to my place in Salamanca and tried it all on, with a black leotard, put my hair in a low bun and tried to make my best Flamenco face. I took out my map of Madrid and tried to memorize the way to Amor de Dios, so I wouldn't look like a tourist. A visitor. Someone that doesn't belong.

I wrapped up in layers, it was fall, and walked to the metro. Took the blue line to Antón Martín and took a peak at my map. I wandered the old cobblestone streets, past la Jamonería, past Cine Dore, through a market, up the stairs and stumbled into a bare room. Christián was the teacher. I was never the same.

I've always been inspired by Flamenco -- the passion, the music, the style, the movement, the arms. Even though once my sister and I snuck out of a performance half way through, because we couldn't take any more wailing, I love it.

Here are some photos that inspire me and I hope inspire fearlessness in you!

Here are a song from Christián's flamenco cd that he gifted me when I left Madrid:Flamenco de Christián uno