Dance dance dance

It was probably the beer that did me in.
Or the huge shot of mescal.
Or what I ate for lunch (corn fungus, anyone?).

Mexico has been a culinary delight, but my gastrointestinal tract is going to be happier when I return to the White Bread land.

At any rate, I had a rough morning of it. I got up around 11, and only for some aspirin and water. I mooched around the apartment, surfing the net, resting, until around 1pm when I finally felt decent. I ate a cup ramen soup, and tried to make up my mind whether to go salsa dancing.

My former co-worker, Adal, in addition to his graphic design repertoire, also teaches salsa, and I got the address and the time for the studio.

Every time I see people salsa dancing, I am filled with envy. It  looks amazing and it feels amazing, and being here in Mexico, one of the big salsa countries in the world, I felt bad about not taking advantage of it. So I decided to go.

Not knowing which bus to take, I flagged one and figured out that it was heading in the direction I needed, I paid and sat down. I always forget how slow road travel is here in the city.
Speed is tricky in Mexico City. Depending on the distance you want to travel, your destination, your origin point, and the time of day, fastest could mean walking, paseros, metrobus, metro, or taxi. If the distance is far and A and B are within a ten minute metro walk, metro is always fastest. But I can walk to work faster than I can get there on metro, and the metrobus even at rush hour is faster than both walking and metro.

Anyway, classes were supposed to start at 2:30, and I got there at five till 3. I hovered at the adjacent corner debating whether to barge into the class or to just bag it, when my friend Adal stepped out and hollered at me.

It turns out the classes are small and informal, and most people show up half an hour late anyway. We went into an old large practice room, about the size of a basketball court, with wood floors, handrails, and mirrored walls. There was a giant motivational poster of Russian Ballet star Mikhal [somebody] on the wall, and a stack of prom gates and photo backdrops against the wall in one corner.

The class was about six or seven people, and it was never really clear to me who were teachers and who were friends who just danced all the time, and who was there to learn to dance. I'm not complaining- everyone knew each other, it was fun and casual, like a bunch of friends teaching each other to dance.

The main teacher took me and this other girl who was also very inexperienced with salsa aside, and we spent most of the hour class just learning to move around using the basic salsa steps. Here's cumbia in place, here's the front and back, and side, and here's how to walk forward, and to walk back, and the steps for moving sideways, always to the 1, 2, 3, pause count. I did pretty well with catching the rhythm, and doing most of the steps. My hips remembered the cuban sway, but I totally fell apart at trying to do the simple salsa in place. Threw me off every time.

The instructor was nice enough to speak in english- I guess the girl knew it well enough too. By the end, we were practicng as couples, although with mixed success.

Dance classes are a mix of frustration, embarassment, and pleasure. I need to get over my self-consciousness and practice if I want to improve, which I really do. The main instructor waived my first class' payment, normally 70 pesos. He said he wanted it to be an incentive to come back. Which I think I will.