Learning to salsa dance
Salsa albums I bartered for before they got ripped off at the Bogota airport.
Oct. 6, 2010
People are scared of things they don’t know.
So for most of September I was the only white guy taking introductory salsa at the Dance Academy of Salsa & Modern Latin Dance in the Humboldt Park neighborhood of Chicago. The storefront studio is not far from my home and before my first lesson I circled the block with the windmilled apprehension of a first date.
But on my first visit I cut the rug with awkward Puerto Rican men, a fun Cuban woman, a shy Africn-American guy and an African-American woman who said I made her laugh.
I did not pursue further questioning.
I am half Dutch and a big part of my legacy is wooden shoes. And it felt as if I was wearing heavy butternut shoes as I tried to master the snappy 4/4 time of salsa. Let’s review: 1, right foot forward, hold on the 2, back left on the 3, hold on the 4. I suddenly discovered the balls of my feet.
I was heading to Cali, Colombia for a travel assignment. Located in the balmy western part of the country, Cali is the world capital of salsa. I had to know something. You don’t go to New York without a Sinatra song.
My instructor Miguel Mendez gave me confidence and claimed I progressed through each of my four lessons (at $15 a session). But just like close dancing or a long distance relationship, it was two steps forward, one step back.
I don’t even like mirrors. The academy is filled with full length mirrors so dancers can check themselves out. One tall beautifiul woman with stilletto heels always arrives for the advanced class at the end of our class. She never looks away from the mirror. I want to tell her that one of my favorite country songs is Lefty Frizzell’s 1973 hit “I Never Go Around Mirrors.” Maybe when we get to line dancing.
Then, “Dancing With the Stars” debuted as I left for Colombia.
I have never watched “Dancing With the Stars.” But on my plane ride I read about contestant Michael Bolton. Eech.! People have said I look like him. Now I think I dance like him, too. Bolton echoed my thoughts when he told U.S.A. Today what hurts as he dances: “My brain. The hardest part is grasping all the moving parts and executing in a fluid form.”
That’s my problem with salsa. I love the music, especially Tito Puente and
Joe Bataan. I worry about the steps I take. I think about my partner. I try to keep my head level.
Its like raising a family.
Many years ago my pal John Hughes and I learned how to dance the merengue with a couple of Dominican women in a rural bootleg bar outside of Santiago, D.R. We figured that out in one night. Its pretty much back and forth which we covered at my dance academy.
But I am becoming a willing participant is all things salsa. I learned how the “cumbia step” is deployed in Colombia, which impressed absoultely no one when I shared that factoid in Colombia. At the end of each hour long session Mendez sells tight fitting black salsa tee shirts and instructional CDs and DVDs. I forked over $15 for a 1/2/3/4 salsa CD which I’m sure thrills my downstairs neighbors. Fortunately, I did not lose that CD when my laptop and briefcase (with a couple of vintage salsa LPS) were stolen in the Bogota, Colombia airport just before I flew home.
I’m not that outgoing and salsa dance lessons are a good exercise to get me out of my comfort zone. My life coaches Colleen and Jackie at the Matchbox approved of this new turn in my life, probably since it will keep me away from their bar moaning and complaining. Now that winter is around the corner, I’ll probably continue with my salsa adventures. Watch out. I’m stepping out when I’m not stepping on your toes.
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