And, He Extends His Hand With a Smile

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It’s no secret that I’m a sucker for a dance floor, almost any dance floor and if it has a live band that understands rythym, there’s not a chance I’m sitting on the sidelines and watching. It’s hard to pass up in any country, but when you’re in South America, where you have a strong chance of getting a partner who has actually been trained to dance, your mind speeds up and you start to imagine an evening where you’ll be dancing every number without a break.

How can a girl pass up an opportunity when a man politely extends his hand? A hand, which beckons you to dance? A hand which promises you fun and laughter without having to slip under the sheets or exchange a word?

Cafe Eucyalptis called me in as I passed it one night on the way to an exquisite 5 star dinner on the other side of town Ecuador’s Colonial Cuenca, a town which is becoming increasingly popular with Europeans and Americans. As I poked my head in and saw the Gypsy-like ambience, the dimly lit candles and the red glow, I knew I’d rather have chosen “it” for dinner rather than my expensive meal yet to come.

It set the mood and the mood was one for Latin music, candles, a hardwood floor, Pad Thai or some Jamaican Jerk Chicken and a Margarita. And so, after the meal, we returned, only to discover that the band was playing it’s last number.

No, I pleaded in my horrific Spanish as I glanced at the Bongo Drum being packed up to my left. “But,” he smiled, and continued in his horrific English, “We are playing at another venue near the Stadium on the outskirts of town.” When would that be I thought and asked, looking at my watch which was moving towards 11 something. Sometime between 11:30 pm and midnight, the band would start again at Bar 80, and he scribbled the address on an already crinkled piece of paper, which the taxi driver couldn’t read. And so around and around the stadium we drove until we finally saw a few not-so-bright lights on a corner.

The bar was cosy with small wooden tables on the third floor – candles in rustic candle holders sat on each table. I spent a few songs getting the lay of the land, assessing whose style I liked, who were the best dance leads and who might be a tight couple — in other words, don’t ask “him” in “it” to dance. But I forgot – I was in Ecuador, so of course there’d be no waiting around or proactively asking a man to dance.  A few Ecuador female friends told me, “our guys have a ton of passion and they fall fast.” If you’re not up for that, I’d suggest heading to the airport and boarding a flight to Austria, where convention is the rule and passion, well, it goes to music.

It wasn’t long before I was pulled onto the dance floor and led with vigor. After about three songs, enough for me to ‘get the tempo,’ and watch the footwork, I looked up to an extended hand. My mind raced – meringue, salsa, mamba? Man, I didn’t research the dance scene in Ecuador for some odd and stupid reason. What would he know? Where would he take me?

Luck bestowed me. This local thirty something year old was not only sculpted and knew how to lead, but he was creative, both as a solo and partner dancer. He knew his “breaks,” and wanted to play before and after them, which changes the entire dance…..for the better of course.

We started with a Latin version of Swing and then moved to a local variation of the Cha Cha and then he stopped as if he was responding to a ‘break’ in the song, his feet equal distance apart. From his ‘center,’ he balanced me and grabbed my hips and grounded me so I was in sync with his ‘center,’ and off we went again. Thanks for the gift Carlos. The dance lesson continued. The gift continued. “Move from your hips down not from your hips up,” he was saying with his eyes since he didn’t speak a word of English. He centers me again and demonstrates ‘hips down’ movement which is different from how I was first trained in classical swing.

We then begin to do a few solo jams, both catching all the breaks in unison. Joy exudes from his face because ‘solo jamming with a woman isn’t so common,’ someone later translates for him. After we play solo for thirty or so minutes, he once again extends his hand and once again, he is in control of the dance and of me. I must surrender to the dance and to him. The energy overtakes me as does the music and I feel alive. Thanks for the memory Cuenca.

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