Salsa at Bar Salsa

Salsa at Bar Salsa

21 July, 2008
by: Sherbet

If salsa is the food of love then the beginners dance classes at Salsa in Leicester Square are a broken marriage. You’d think the format for a salsa class for those new to the world of hip swaying and rocking should be pretty basic. However, when the dance floor of this undersized bar gets packed with Patrick Swayze wannabes and Salsa divas, you’re guaranteed to have some trouble.

With over a hundred senors and senoritas squaring up ungracefully, the lines stretch beyond earshot of the instructor and spill into the restaurant area and the upstairs bar. Lacking a microphone and a few inches in height, the class begins with couples up on their tippy toes trying to hear and see the fancy footwork of the instructor.

No matter how many issues the class might have, the atmosphere is electric. Couples nervously hold hands, facing each other perhaps for the first time and the dancers next to you laugh when you move left instead of right. A few bumps here and there are met with a gracious smile.

With a 5-6-7-8, we’re off. Eyes focused on your own feet and painfully concentrated expressions are the specials of the day. Those slightly more confident or trying to show off might risk a moment’s eye contact, a quick smile and then back to the feet again.

As the night progresses and the moves become more advanced, the pressure becomes intense. During your 1-2-3s, the expert couples that come every night squeeze into any gaps on the floor and things start to become aggressive.

Salsa dancers will tell you that Latin dancing is about passion, timing and having rhythm, but what they don’t tell you is that you also require buns of steel, and rock hard feet. With the new blood on the dance floor mixing it up with the old hands, inadequacies are no longer met with a smile but with a push and the threat of a fight. Like any well-orchestrated football match, when the referees aren’t looking you feel the occasional rake down the back of your leg from a 4-inch stiletto. Not enough to draw blood, but enough for you to remember that with passion comes consequences.

As the music intensifies so too do the movements, and the beginners slowly get edged out of the floor with a well-timed bump from a hip or an elbow to the ribs. Beaten and bruised we head for the tube, vowing to return another day, in flat shoes, and elbow guards. We owe it to ourselves that we should practise at home, passion is not just for the Latinos after all.

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