Salsa in Colombia

(06/11/2016)

Moonrise over Cali.

I volunteered at a salsa school for two months in Cali, Colombia. I spent my days assisting other students in salsa classes, because of course, it's better for the guys to practice with someone who is really good at science, hula hooping, skateboarding, etc. Everyday I woke up to the rhythm of salsa - the uno dos tres, the maracas, the pulse. All day dancing, all day getting caught in a web of twists and turns, then laughing myself out of it with a swift shimmy. The school functions on a deep passion for culture and dance, founded by the most beautiful spirit. I soon found myself immersed in a dynamic community from Colombia and all over the world, all of us there for a love of dance. The actual learning process was difficult - balls of the feet, steady posture, sexy hips, style. Harmony between dancers was the most important element, reading each other through interlaced fingers, rearranging gravity with a forwards and backwards motion, sideways and down, until movement syncs with the beat. The city of Cali is dense with humidity and fire, everywhere music, everywhere life. The streets hum with a shifting tempo, as salsa kicks through the walls of restaurants, of houses, of stores, the overhang of palm leaves sweating out sound. One time I went into a cafe and the barista wouldn't stop dancing. I was like, 'that's cool, but it's early and I really want a coffee.' After he ignored my request in Spanish and English and continued with his footwerk, I pulled an 'alright I haven't had coffee this morning stop please' half dance and he winked at me and started making coffee. That's when I realized that maybe I could live there (definitely not). I felt that I could live in Cali most of the time, though. One night I was getting ready to go out dancing at my favourite salsa club, and my friend told me: 'vamos a conocer el amor de la vida, vamos a bailar.' And truly, dancing is the love of life. When the moon rose and the bass thickened, we set out to rumba. In the darkness, language gave into rhythm and energy, held in the clutch of a song. Senses engaged, red lips and damp skin, with symmetry between dancers and everything that makes a heart beat. I often found myself faced with the crippling dilemma: if I have one more drink I won't be able to dance salsa anymore (you can probably guess which option I went with). Still, we danced and we danced, until the sun burned through the dark blue corners of the night. Cali, mi amor, I will be back.