An unexpected outcome…

Champion’s League (and certainly the Finals) gives me a perfect excuse to nip over to the local salsa hangout on Haarlem Station, which arranges salsa parties in the weekend. I texted my friend W, but as she was at a party I had no choice but to go on my own. I was secretly hoping that my previous salsa dance partner E would already be there which would mean I would be in full swing within less than minutes.

I went upstairs to the bathroom and put on some salsa music, one of my favourite’s being Rumba from La India. As I was applying my make-up, a top that had started to sag over the course of the day, to a tight Filippa K version, I was making some moves getting into the rhythm of La India, Hector Lavoe and Frankie Negron. I was feeling good.

The evening was still warm as I headed the 500 metres to the station. I noticed one or two guys giving me a second look, but then again not so strange as most girls were adorning their jackets as darkness was descending and promised a chilly night. But those concerns were not of mine as in less than a few minutes I would enter a steamy salsa floor.

I walked inside and was asked to hand over 8 euros as entrée fee. After this brief exchange of money I went over to the counter to buy a diet coke. Anything to mitigate my previous alcohol infusion taking place over a heavy dinner. Salsa dancers are not the greatest drinkers, or at least not the girls attempting triple spins.

I took my coke and stood overlooking the dance floor. If anyone took notice of me, they didn’t show, at least not with action. I must have stood there for about 10 minutes, when I decided to try my luck elsewhere. So I sat down on one of the chairs strategically placed on the side of the dancefloor. I was sitting there for another good quarter of my hour, having almost finished my diet coke when a guy asked me to dance. He wasn’t he most handsome of the pool of opposite sex, but then again that’s not what salsa is all about. As long as he’s a good dancer, smells good and has dry hands I’m all in! The guy fulfilled 2 out of three, but to my dismay he was a beginner. A real beginner, only doing the mambo and a couple attempts to what appeared to be a personal version of sidebreaks. There I was standing, mirroring his efforts and within seconds my own sassy sways were but a memory.

It took at least 20 minutes before guy number two approached me. He asked if I was a good dancer. Keeping in mind my previous less than impressive performance, I said I was somewhere between a beginner and semi-advanced. He nodded in acceptance, like this was exactly what he had been looking for. It took a moment or two to register that he was in fact friend with guy no 1. And so I was stuck for another dance consisting of basic mambo and some cumbia. When La Rebellion, by Joe Arroyo ended, I gracefully thanked for the dance and walked away to a spot as far away from the two beginners in hope of meeting someone more advanced. In the meantime I ordered another coke. Another 10, 15 minutes must have past before someone walked up to me. The only guy marginally looking good, like a cross between a banker and a marketing executive, I was intrigued of his dancing skill. Although salsa is for everyone his dresscode was far from average. When he asked why I was texting on my phone, I said I was attempting to blog. But this wasn’t apparently enough to make an impression and he walked away.

After another 10 minutes I was asked for a bachata dance, and then a couple of salsa dances. But the result was meager. I stood there savouring my Coke as I was contemplating this unexpected result. I was (in my own humble opinion) good looking, my salsa dancing was on par with the more (semi-)advanced dancers, and I was alone, thus making an excellent target for someone asking for a dance. But I remained a wallflower throughout the evening. At midnight, as to break the curse that had hung over me for the past 2 hours, I made my escape, interestingly enough getting my shoe caught in the door opening. And so the wallflower transformed once again to the Cinderella she really is…