The theatre is tucked away like a secret: small, deep red, and just theatrical enough to make you wonder whether you've stepped into another decade.
The staff were friendly, the sort of people who keep things moving without making a performance of it themselves.
Booking was super easy with a few options, and a few shows a day.
Before the show, there was a brief explanation of flamenco, useful for those of us whose expertise extends no further than recognising that stamping is involved, guitars are used and clapping is mandatory from the performers.
Drinks are available, although the selection is thinner than the menu suggests, and ordering needs to be done before the lights go down, just out of respect for the show. No to meals, but they offer tapas at a nearby restaurant if you are feeling hungry, just a few minutes away.
Then the dancers arrived and any minor logistical concerns became irrelevant. The quality was exceptional. The swirls, the singing, theanic stamping and graceful movements. Precision, power, grace—all delivered in a space intimate enough that every movement landed with force.
For an hour, the audience sat collectively spellbound, in side booths or tall tables or center stage, watching artists who made something extraordinarily difficult look effortless.
It's a cosy, old-fashioned venue with none of the anonymous slickness that infects so many tourist attractions.
The theatre feels authentic, the performance even more so. We left impressed, slightly dazed, and with a renewed respect for what flamenco can do when it's performed this well.