The sunny days in Andalusia fill the beach restaurants with locals and foreigners.
The seafront of La Herradura, on the tropical coast of Europe, oozes the scents of salt and flowers.
In crops: Avocados, custard apples, mangoes, papayas …
In the gardens: Hibiscus, mandevillas, flowers of paradise and passion.
It is spring 2014, and on Sundays there is flamenco at Las Maravillas restaurant.
While diners enjoy seafood rice dishes and splendid fish dishes, live music resonates throughout the bay. And the walkers, pilgrims from the shore, little by little are left stranded in the vicinity of its covered terrace, where a beautiful woman dances in front of the sea.
Her name is Beatriz Bravo Escudero, and she has flamenco art embedded in her genes.
The blatant honesty of the children drags the older, more cautious, and forces them to remain watching her, near the establishment.
No one escapes being hypnotized by her dance.
Alegrías, bulerías, Colombianas, Sevillanas, soleá, tangos … His duende is absolutely feminine. His steps and gestures keep alive the charm of the precious classic style.
I remembered the flamenco of my childhood, when the females of this Andalusian land expressed their power with flirtation and grace.
And I fell in love with him again.
She dresses with insolence and sweetness,
she dresses up with impudence and spell,
she wiggles like the waves
and move like air her hands of the sea.
In feminine singular,
she is a flamenco dancer.
– Elvira Maurandi –