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i rang the doorbell. shortly after, a small, brown-skinned, pleasant-faced girl answered the door.
"puwede bang mag-inquire tungkol sa classes?" i asked.
"opo!" she said, beaming, and ushered me in.
i made my way up a narrow, cream-colored stairwell, whose three flights were lined with posters upon posters mounted on thin, hard wood. these posters had come from all over the world, it seemed, heralding performances upon performances by a singular, striking figure: world-renowned flamenco dancer clara ramona.
this house had become her home and her studio.
lady of the house
when i first started getting interested in flamenco classes, jeline told me about hearing the distinctive of flamenco shoes as she was walking down algier street one february afternoon. looking up, she saw a huge tarpaulin plastered on a house. it said: clara ramona centro de danza flamenca. after falling head over low-heeled, stomping feet in love with flamenco in granada last november (more on which later), naturally, i just had to check it out.
i remember googling "clara ramona" and turning up results from boston, taiwan and madrid, among others. "there must be some other dancer named clara ramona," i thought to myself. "the one stuck teaching in manila can't possibly be the same woman who's done all of that."but, as i found out that saturday afternoon, she was. not only that; she was filipina!
i sat in the rear of the room as she led a handful of students through the graceful, dignified movements of her classical spanish dance class, which kind of looked more like ballet than flamenco. she was clad in a tight brown top and flowing skirt wrapped around her and tucked into her waistband.
as she moved, i caught her eye in the mirror. she smiled at me, almost as if she knew me.
to be continued
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