So, despite the fact that every Spanish man I have met so far claims he cannot dance, I managed to find a bunch of places where there are free salsa nights. Today Paula, Vitty and I wandered around the corner from their soon-to-be-new-apartment (they are moving out of the family homestay, which turned out to be an enormous rip off). There, we timidly entered a bar called Merengue, which we had been to before, but that had been stuffed to bursting (sarcastically speaking). This time there were more people, the youngest being mid forties. I quickly threw myself into the looooooonnnnnggggg line of middle aged women who were busting out their best latin dance moves. The professor was leading them in a previously practiced choreography that I tried, without success, to pick up. Vitty and Paula sat on the bench that first bit and smiled uncomfortably as their strangely large, blonde friend was knocking elbows with the local salsa biddies. As usual, we were stared at. There is no social rule here that one cannot outright stare at someone. It has literally happened that an entire restaurant turned to stare at our group as we walked in. I have gotten very good at staring, without ever really seeing anything. If I don't "space out stare" I tend to turn extremely red. But so red that sometimes my eyes even tear up. Not attractive.
Soon the instructor wandered off behind the bar and it was free dance time. Vit and Pau got up and we busted a move on the dance floor. The old men could not keep their toupets from flipping up. The old women could not control the ridiculous flapping of the tassels on their too-short salsa dresses. What it comes down to is that it turns out we are the BEST latin dancers in Spain.
BAM.
No comments:
Post a Comment