Salsa

written Wednesday night (late!):

I had quite the experience tonight. It stated out very innocent with a dance class at the school. I was a little nervous about it being so late (it started at 8) because I would have to walk home by myself after 9. When I arrived, I saw one other girl and thought that this whole experience would be quite embarrassing. I had never actually been Salsa Dancing and I knew my novice status would shine quite brightly. I had spent the afternoon at my favorite coffee shop (once again) and then met Randi for dinner. I walked with her back down the hill and we headed out separate ways. I was very set on NOT going dancing at a club after the class so I intentionally wore the same thrift store T-shirt that I had been wearing all day that I had bought the weekend before that has the letter “XFL” across the chest (that was a long sentence. Sorry for the poor structure). Anyway, I walked into the school and saw the director and he greeted me and introduced me to his friends who were there to dance also. Soon, the room filled with the other girls (all of the Holland girls) and they separated us into beginners and advanced. To start off, it was just one other girl and I who were the beginners. Soon, all of the other men jumped in with the beginner class and we were following the 1-2-3, 5-6-7 step pattern. We added turns and different directions and I was please with my progress for the evening. We finally paired off and I danced with my teacher from last week, Juilo (sidenote: He is a wonderful guy, a great teacher, and probably weights a buck 10.) We danced until we got some of the basic steps down and as the hour closed in on the lesson, all I could think about was my charming bed (hard, a little lumpy, and not too comfortable, but I like it all the same). After I grabbed a glass a water (you work up quite a sweat) I gathered my things and headed for the door. I didn’t get two steps when I was bombarded with the question of where I was going. I was going home, of course! Well, it didn’t take long for 4 Guatemalan men and two Dutch girls to convince me otherwise. I was going dancing, ‘XFL’ shirt and all!

We arrived at La Parunda, paid the two dollar entry fee, and made out way to a table in the back. There were Salsa lesson’s going on in the form of a line dance and the Dutch language filled my head. It didn’t take long before a few of us were back on the dance floor practicing the moves we just learned. We soon returned to our seats as a few of the ‘experts’ were showing all of the Spanish school students how this was really done. (Sidenote: This place was FULL of gringos. I think there was a representive from every Spanish school in Xela and considering there are more than 20 schools here, that’s a lot of non-Guatemalans). Soon, the ‘experts’ left the floor and it was open to all the newbies. Well, the men from our school didn’t hesitate too long before coming over and covering the first shift of dancing. At this point, there is a nervous stirring in my stomach as I have flashbacks to junior high wondering if I am ever going to make it out on the dance floor. There is a fear that resides deep inside me that only shows up at times like this. Here I am, in my chacos, hair pulled up in a pony tail, jeans and my thrift store t-shirt (which at this point, I was wondering what the XFL stood for and I prayed that it wasn’t anything offensive or promiscuous).

It wasn’t long before I was out on the dance floor with a man who has 10 years on me with a name I can’t pronounce. Luckily, I have spent my fair share of hours in country dance halls and I know all the fancy spins (they are no different in Salsa, just a different basic rhythm to follow, that happens to be very fast). I picked it up very easily and my partner was pleased with my ability to get around on the dance floor. Yes, there were times that I missed a step or spun the wrong direction, but it again shows me that there are many other ways to communicate without using words. I ended up staying until 12:30. All of the Holland girls had left and the men of the school had ‘rescued’ from all the Dutch and expected me to speak to them in English. As much as I appreciated the gesture of making sure I was having fun, I really didn’t mind not having to speak at all. For the next 45 minutes, they made jokes about how strong I was (I’m glad they realized I could break them in half) and spoke very slowly so I could understand.

It ended up being quite an evening (and a late one at that) and one that I won’t forget anytime soon. One of the men walked with me to get a cab and even made sure that I made it to my house. My only fear is that my telephone will ring soon (the guy ended up getting my number, ‘just in case something happens’) and the only thing that will be spoken on the other end will be Spanish. (update, I have had two unknown numbers call but I'm scared to answer because I don't want to sumble through my Spanish...let's see how long I can avoid this!)


A few other things:
While at school today, Letty and I were talking with another teacher and student and somehow the conversation turned to my legs. They went on and on about how big they were and how I shouldn't wear shorts (in a joking way) on the street because they would be a distraction. What they don't realize is that in the US it is not okay to talk about how I would 'snap a Guatemalans neck with those legs' or describe them like the trunks of arbols (trees). Oh, the life in a different culture! They just don't understand that I am a Cromwell!!!