Salsa
I sat in the local Pasteur shop and tried to play catch up.
I’ve been sleep deprived since this week started. However, I suggested a night of dancing out this week and was determined to go: it would accomplish two things:
1) Get me away from my desk, over-working, and obsessing over trying to get things just right, and
2) I did suggest taking dance classes to get Mona out too, and hopefully it’d give both of us an outlet for meeting new friends
The fact that Fred was teaching the intermediate class didn’t quite factor in. I think that chapter closed with a whimper, and I had no other place to go for lessons.
Perhaps I was also worried that the part of me that was developing an interest in her would grow. I can’t do this anymore…I have to focus on what I need to do.
The class went well. We headed down to a place not so far from the Notre Dame church, a place that took on the modified name of Havana, Cuba.
I struggled with the idea of whether to stay at beginner vs. intermediate class. The former (intermediate) would have let me challenge myself a little. Fred aside, it might have pushed me back to where I once left off but I’ve always known that salsa was just one of the little interests of mine — something I never took so seriously because I enjoyed it that much.
However, dancing in Vancouver exposed me to really picky and fussy dance partners who took it too seriously. That made me be more of a clown when I danced - I dance for a laugh - but stuck up dance partners also drove me away from it.
Taking beginner lessons would bring me back to a comfort zone, you’d think. Perhaps one can argue that it would be a waste of money. I have a respect for going back to the basics, and I approached it from that angle.
The Havana is a cute little joint, with food and drink at extravagant prices. Mona and I sat down for a pre-class drink, just to kill time and loosen the nerves. Her man was out tonight playing golf, leaving me to be the non-gay gay friend.
By the time class started, the bourbon was making me really relaxed and giddy. Mona was ok though a little nervous.
“Normally,” the instructor began, “I get a number of men show up, and it’s a little bit of a gamble, but you!” He paused to point at me.
“You are special!” He finished his sentence.
The class laughed.
I was the only man in the class.
*******************
As class ended, I thought about asking Mona to stay behind with me so I could see Fred’s class, but it was about time to go.
As I left, I wondered about next week.
Mona and I walked about the different city blocks of the D1 core, looking for a cool place to camp out and have a post-dance drink.
HCMC has a lot of night life in its veins.
Unlike Vancouver, it has a thing about it, a non-stop feel of things to do. Even my photocopied copy of the LP, boasted of hotspots to go when partying is what you want to do til the sun rises.
I haven’t tapped it yet, but maybe I will someday…when I can deal with overworking.
We finally made a circuit and gave into an ice-cream place at one of the many roundabouts this town has. Two coronas later, we were talking about life, travel, and serendipity.
Being here felt like the promise of opportunity was just below the surface.
Serendipity could be found, just like cheap cigarettes and beer from one of any of the little street vendors.
Common as hot dog stands on a North American street corner, it felt like one couldn’t spend any amount of time here without finding some thing.
Maybe it’s the bourbon talking.
Tags: September 2009
