Lavapiés is a neighbourhood of extremes. It was recently crowned the coolest neighbourhood in the world by Time Out Magazine, but is also one of the most multicultural – and poor – in Spain.
It is only by chance that a small bungalow in Madrid bearing the scars of Nazi shelling still survives. And it is only by pure coincidence that, just a decade ago, this fact came to light when photographer and archeologist Jose Latova stumbled across a photograph taken by the Hungarian war photographer Robert Capa. Its residents share their stories.
As Madrid remains the European epicentre of the coronavirus crisis, the city's most marginalised groups have been pushed even closer to the edge. Once dependent on charities and local organisations, many migrants are suddenly fending for themselves, but not if the Lavapiés Dragons have anything to do with it.
At 94, Abuelo's physical health is enviable to many who are decades younger. These days, his biggest health worry is not coronavirus-related, but that "estas piernas se me están resistiendo".
A year ago, my photo series of 100 of Madrid's no-frills bars reignited the nation's love for a time-honoured aspect of Spanish culture, but around 20 of these no-frills bars are actually Chinese-owned.
This summer, children living in Sector 6 of the Cañada Real (Europe's largest shanty town, just a 15-minute drive from Madrid) were given disposable cameras by photographer Carlos Gutiérrez, who asked them to take pictures of their day-to-day lives.
For more than half a century, residents have been arriving and building makeshift homes along this ancient north-south cattle trail, which curves southbound around the outskirts of the city – now parallel to the M-50 motorway.
Spain's first McDonald's opened in 1981, replacing an old jeweller's on Gran Vía. Many predicted that this gran hamburguesería would be the beginning of the end of Madrid as we knew it. And they were right.
Secret gay nightclubs and bars were opening right under Franco's nose and the cornerstones of Chueca's infamous nightlife were being laid. By the time the dictator died, in 1975, Spain's marginalised communities were already organised and ready to begin the countrywide fight for freedom of expression.
What the lateros are doing is illegal and there are police everywhere. If they're caught selling beer, their stock, which they purchased themselves, will be confiscated. But, for the tin men, it's worth the risk.
In one of Madrid’s many stark industrial zones, a Nigerian church provides an oasis of soul for its community. On any given Sunday, the area would be empty and silent, but for the rich gospel being performed to a lively crowd of parishioners.
For the past few centuries, Spaniards from all over the country have been packing their bags, saying adios to their towns and villages and setting sail for the big city. When they arrive in Madrid, they disperse into many different lines of work, but there's one business over any other that harks back to the most recent migration boom. You guessed it: Madrid's no-frills bars.
Five years ago, Mercado San Fernando was close to giving up the ghost, but this little bookstore arrived just in time. Now, the market is rampacked with locals enjoying craft beers, ramen and vegan food, but has it gone too far?