So You Think You Can Salsa?
By Margie Harrell
July 2006 Guadalajara-Lakeside Volume 22, Number 11

     To me, salsa was always just something you ate until I moved to Mexico and discovered it is a wonderful, fast-paced dance. Take my advice though, if you don’t know how to do it, don’t try and fake it.  I didn’t and did, and it wasn’t a pretty sight.
     It was girls’ night out at a local cantina in Chapala. The music was lively and inviting as we three sat with our toes a-tapping and our butts a-wiggling. As usual at Lakeside, there were more ladies than gents so it was time to get the chins up and the chests out and see what developed.
     It didn’t take long for a brave señor to approach us and, thinking he only had eyes for each of us, we all stood up at the same time. I had a good three inches (in height, that is) on the other girls so I won, literally, by a nose. As he led me towards the dance floor he whispered in my ear “Salsa?” and I replied, “Sure, after we dance.”
     Our first problem was that I always seem to want to lead; but after a few awkward steps, off we went but not very far. Salsa dancing and my footwork just didn’t get along and in a split second I was down on the floor, spread-eagled for all the world to see, all the while mumbling something about slipping on a piece of ice. To make matters worse, as my partner tried to help me to my feet, my foot slid again and I jabbed him in the shin.  As we both limped off the floor, something told me I wouldn’t be joining him later for salsa and chips.
     The next day as I nursed a bruised ego (and rear-end), I decided I wanted a rematch but first some lessons were in order.  The Latin dances come easy to the natives, but for this uptight gringa there was a lot of work to do.  Soon my friends convinced me that all dancing has similar steps so I signed up for...line-dancing. The logic of this move escapes me now but I am sure at the time it made perfect sense. Mind you, there is one small difference in the dances; line-dancing doesn’t require a partner and salsa dancing looks a whole lot better with one—no matter, I would work that out later. In Mexico everything is no problema!
     What a klutz. I spent weeks trying to master the steps while everyone else kicked and sashayed around me. I felt as though I was brain dead, nothing was sinking in. I remember in my youth I was a pretty good dancer, but this was a whole new ball game. But, if at first you don’t succeed...and so I tried again, and finally it all came together. I think it was the cutesy outfits we used to wear that did the trick. Once I had my “uniform” on, there was no stopping me, I was ready for a rematch.
     The “in” place to be in those days was Bananas on the carretera.  They tell me it is gone now, but I recall many nights of good food, fun and dancing. This particular night we were entertaining a visiting friend of a friend.  Four ladies lined up can be a daunting sight for any male, but it wasn’t long before one brave soul approached us.  Before I had a chance to flip my hair and smile at him, our friend jumped up and grabbed his arm as the salsa music began. The rest of us just stood there with our mouths open, but as soon as they started to dance we could see it was a perfect match. They danced beautifully together, and as we sat and enjoyed the show, secretly I was happy I hadn’t won the draw that night. I was no match for Fred and Ginger but at least now I knew who to go to for some quick lessons.
     My debut never did come to pass but I didn’t mind. In life, I have learned, it’s not always the destination that is important but the journey in getting there. Nowadays the only salsa I indulge in is on a taco but I can still do a mean electric slide.