Albuquerque is a sleepy little town. If you are a sleepy type person, you would appreciate the declining, but now affordable property, with its quick delicious meals at the Frontier Restaurant. Slooowww paced Albuquerque - it is a city of abandoned buildings and homeless vagrants wandering the streets. We asked several locals what they did for entertainment. The answer: Watch cable and drink. Yeah, but thankfully, for these few weeks, there does exist . . . The Flamenco Festival.

Upon our arrival, we asked a local where to get some good grub. We were directed to the Frontier Restaurant, located across from the university. Fortunately, Scott, the effervescent Hertz guy, recommended the Frontier for its tasty, fresh food, refreshing service and freshly squeezed orange juice - "fresh" is the buzz word here. (By the way, the tortillas are also FRESHly made, and the meals are inexpensive, but BE FOREWARNED! It's covered with wall to wall horrendously grotesque and cheesy God-awful artwork.) So, on our way to get some eats, who should we meet but Torombo - good naturedly, he graciously allowed us to take his photo. Relief - good food and a kind artist - this was an excellent sign and seemed to bode of better things to come. Perhaps something wondrous would happen here after all.

Soon after our brief encounter with Torombo, we decided to visit the campus and its workshops. In the hallways, flamenco students were busily jockeying for post positions, as though they were edgy horses in the stable ready to run the Santa Anita Handicap. Confusion was rampant; posters not available; festival shirts not printed yet.

With all these flamencos and wan-na-be flamencos wandering about, we happened to run across the innovative Teo Morca. (He, too, was kind enough to allow a photo.) In speaking with Teo, he enlightened us with a hilarious story concerning the great Antonio Triana (Luisa Triana's father). It was just too funny; so, we have to repeat it to you. Evidently, while studying with Mr. Triana, Teo inquired about a particular step which Mr. Triana performed, wanting to know when Mr. Triana would teach it to him. Mr. Triana responded by saying, "This step is ONLY for the great Triana." he said that back then, he was a little naive. He had an apt response to Mr. Triana's comment, but we won't print it here. Suffice it to say, Teo is a happy guy, friendly and full of laughter. This was a delightful surprise to us since his past stage performances were always so dramatic. It was wonderful being in the presence of Teo's lighthearted personality; oftentimes, we meet North American flamencos who are tiresomely serious. (By the way, Teo has a new book out - you might want to read it.) Gee, our flamenco journey into "Flamencofestivaland" in Albuquerque was getting better and better.

Leaving Teo, we went to check the workshop schedule - Belen Fernandez was teaching down the hall. I had seen her in Madrid and thought her to be an effective instructor. So, I popped my head in for a moment to check her out. Glancing at Belen's class, I thought that it was beginning; instead, it was listed as advanced. "Ugh." That's the problem with workshops; people sign up who really have no business being there. Oh well.

Sitting outside the studio building, we also met Joaquin Encinias, who was described in the festival program as "the premiere male flamenco dancer in the United States." Unfortunately, we are unable to verify this; maybe, we'll review him next year.

Now, it was time to head back to the hotel and get ready for tonight's performance by Manuela Carrasco and Company. At first, we were concerned with the seating arrangements at the theater; we were on the stage, at stage level with the performers. As the show progressed, we soon realized how advantageous this was, and that we would truly participate in the Manuela Carrasco "experience."

O.K. . . Let' start with Torombo - Dez wanted to call him jokingly, "El Paunchy," but I would have nothing to do with it. Yes, during Torombo's performance, something was wrong. His pants were unquestionably falling down and because of this, his trademark red boots were catching the cuff of his pants (because the pants were buckled under his belly). It is evident that his weight is perhaps taking its toll on his effectiveness as a dancer, but also the floor was sticking. (I'm not making excuses, but Manuela's shoes were also grabbing the floor.) Yes, he does have a paunch now, and true, the pants did not fit properly, but I also know that Torombo is humble and thankful that he still has the opportunity to perform. (When I first spoke to him about flamenco three years ago in Barcelona, he spoke humbly of his talent.) Although Torombo had an "off" night, and I, his staunchest supporter was honestly disheartened by it, he did make up for it with his percussion support, and especially with his foot accents to Manuela's choreography.

Now, for the other performances - Manuela's daughter, Zamara Amador, began singing her lament from her seat, then suddenly bolted to the middle of the stage, to the absolute, undeniable surprise of her fellow performers. Her singing was almost what can be described as "eerie." Her intense demeanor, and abrupt exit made us realize that we had witnessed something special. After Torombo's performance, Rafael de Carmen performed a "bright" Solea por Bulerias with perfect footwork and sharp arms - his movements likened to a hummingbird -fluttering around - light and airy. The nephew, Jose Carrasco, was unbelievable; he tapped out the footwork on the cajon meticulously, never missing a beat.

Nowadays, with a strong cajon player, such as Jose, a dancer can easily give the impression that s/he is performing footwork when s/he is not. What has drastically changed about flamenco is that never before has a cajon player carry the footwork. This talented nephew played "steps" even when the dancers missed them. In the old days, dancers had to be right on - no flubbing around. We also noticed that the singers, dancers and cajon player carried Manuela's footwork. She, like Torombo, was having a problem with the stage "sticking" and the "dead" sound. (Even though there were about six floor mikes, we couldn't hear anything.)

The husband guitarist, Joaquin Amador, was absolutely incredible. We have not heard the caliber of his talent for eons. During Manuela's solo, she pointed to him to take his moment - he displayed such rapid-fire thumb work - so clear and beautiful that the crowd went absolutely wild during his spotlight solo. He truly is unbelievable, and we are thankful that we were but 10 feet away from this outstanding talent. Flamenco heaven could not possibly be any better than this!

The program notes were incorrect; Manuela was listed for three numbers, but only performed two. In Manuela's last number, Siguirrillas, she looked as though she was looking straight at us. Dez remarked that he felt like a frightened little mouse trembling, with Manuela glaring head on, moving towards our seats - like a snake ready to strike and devour our poor minuscule souls. Her head was thrown back, nostrils flaring, back arched with arms fully open, ready to strangle the life out of us. It was as though she could smell Dez's fear; she breathed slowly, walked across the floor and hypnotized him with her gaze. Dez mentioned that he sensed an undeniable tension, and twice felt a tingling sensation crawl up the back of his spine. Poor frightened little Dez.

In conclusion, mounds of credit must be given to Manuela's team of performers; the "Percussion Machine," as we refer to them, drove the final number to a furious finale. We feel great sorrow for those who missed this astounding performance in the sleepy little town we call affectionately, "Flamencofestivaland."