My inner salsera

I have a salsa lesson tonight--specifically a ladies-only, styling class, However, unlike my last, more traditional class, where a series of new turn patterns and footwork was taught, I am not looking forward to this session.

Ladies styling is a class that separates the men from the boys, or in this case, the women from the girls. It is the difference between someone who dances salsa and a bonafide salsera--the rare creature who turns even the most basic steps into art, interpreting the beat and rhythms using stylish arm and body movements that defy laws of nature.

Well, after only two classes the only thing my body is defying is the laws of how a 40-something woman ought to move. And it has become clear to me, every time I attempt to do a proper body roll and end up looking like Elaine from Seinfeld, that the only inner salsera I am going to find is in a jar with an Old El Paso label on it.

Dancing Queen

I don't claim to be Ginger Rogers, but blare a little music and my feet can't help but move. Before marrying and moving to the rolling vineyards of Germany, where life hushes down to a whisper after 8pm, I spent many a lively late night shaking my bumba to a rumba or doing my thing to swing.

In all, I can carry my feet, for better or worse, to no fewer than 12 different dances: fox trot, rumba, waltz, east coast swing, west coast swing, cha cha, the two step, bachatta, merengue, mambo, rueda, and salsa. But of this not-so dirty dozen, my absolute passion is salsa. No matter what external forces have me down, the tropical rhythms of the clave make my spirit sing. In the pre-Max era, I spent years pursuing a goal of becoming a bonafide salsera. And even though a lack of natural talent would prevent me from ever winning Dancing with the Stars, I did become, at least, a competent salsa dancer.

But that was then.

Aside from a monthly night out dancing with Max, I hung up my ballroom shoes once I settled down, married, and moved to Germany. But to be completely honest, I've missed the opportunity to pursue my favorite hobby more vigorously. Fortunately, moving to a bigger city gives both Max and I both the chance to rekindle our love affair with Latin dancing. And so, with Max's blessing and after a little research, I located a salsa school only 3 blocks from where we will live and e-mailed the director about registering for classes, which start the day after I arrive. Sounded easy enough, right?


"You'll need to come by and dance with an instructor first," the school's director replied. "We will need to assess what your level is and what class would suit you best."

Don't get me wrong. Trying out for a class didn't strike me as a bad idea, but I haven't really danced with purpose in years. Suddenly, I felt pressure. My competitive nature got the best of me. I wanted to do well, place in a higher level, and prove to my self I could still keep to the beat with the best of them.

But could I?

I worked myself into a frenzy before tryouts and was literally shaking by the time my chance to dance with the first of three instructors came.

"Relax," the professor of Cuban-style salsa said. "Just enjoy the music and dance."

But somehow, I couldn't calm my nerves. I never did like being tested and couldn't shake the feeling that I was being rated. Still, I did well enough and landed in two higher-level classes, which will give me something to do every Tuesday and Wednesday evening for the next three months. For his part, Max opted for private classes because of his hectic and unpredictable travel schedule.

Regardless, we're both very excited to dance again and also hope to make a few new friends along the way. And, I'm already having visions of hosting "salsa by moonlight" parties up on our apartment's private, roof-top terrace this summer. Pretty cool, don't you think?

Lord of the Rings

In my case, the old adage proved true: Love finds you when you least expect it.

I wasn't looking for my next great love because I mistakenly thought I'd already found it. I had taken up salsa dancing a couple years earlier and fell hard for its sometimes sensuous, always complicated, moves and upbeat tempo. It became my passion and addiction. I spent thousands of dollars on lessons ( a futile attempt to improve) and danced till the wee hours of the morning four nights a week.

On Thursday nights, you could find me at the Red Room, a tapas restaurant every other night of the week, but a Latin hot spot on this night. The thought of actually meeting someone, let alone a non-salsa-obsessed dancer, seemed out of the realm of possibility. I knew everyone who showed up on Thursday nights...

or so I thought.

I was dancing with one of my usual partners when Max walked in the door. Our eyes met, but he continued to his table, where a number of Latinas awaited him. I, on the other hand, continued dancing. Given the setting and his companions, I mistakenly assumed Max was also Latin, perhaps Puerto RIcan or even Cuban.

After a night of fierce dancing, I made my way off the floor to rehydrate. When I got to the bar, I looked down to find a cocktail menu and, instead, noticed a ring on a man's hand. The emblem carved on the ring, for me, was unmistakable--Alexander the Great, the young, famous Greek general, who had ruled the known world and led Greece to it's golden years until his untimely death at 34-year old. He was a Macedonian and hailed from the same part of Greece as my father.

"Oh, wow. Alexander the Great," I exclaimed. I looked up to see whose hand I was admiring, and there stood Max.

"How do you know that?'" he asked, clearly surprised to find someone who recognized his hero.

"Because I'm Greek."

"You're Greek?" Max seemed a little surprised that I, a blonde hair, blue eyed Salsera in North Carolina, claimed Greek origins, but he happily pounced on our common interest.

"I grew up in Greece," he continued.

And so, a new dance began...

Things are looking up

For some reason, I didn't expect that my travel research would uncover a Latin dance club in Cairo. But, see for yourself. Somthing tells me that Max and I are going dancing next week!