Learning to salsa in Trinidad

My very first time in Cuba I booked a two-day bus tour from Havana through Central Cuba and back. Our group was small – only ten people – so within two hours we were like a large family dropping in on Cuba. At 11 a.m. on the second day, our bus driver let us off in Trinidad, a wonderfully photogenic colonial town.

After a short walk over cobblestones, Bertha, our Cuban guide, led us through saloon doors into the welcome dimness of Trinidad’s Casa de la Trova (house of music). About ten musicians, sporting the usual sunglasses and straw hats, were already singing and playing guitars, woodblock, maracas, bass and conga drum.

We sat down and ordered TuCola (Cuba’s answer to Coke) or fresh pineapple juice, feeling surprised, alarmed and thrilled that we’d landed in a place that looked a lot like the Buena Vista Social Club. Surprised, because Bertha hadn’t warned us; thrilled, because all the musicians resembled Compay Segundo; alarmed, because it was starting to look as if we were expected to do more than just sit there and watch.

The only other guests in the place had suddenly stood up, revealing that they were professional dancers dressed in sexy leotards.  Young, tall and beautiful, the couple carefully demonstrated the cha-cha-cha, making all the moves look easy. They exaggerated their steps. They smiled encouragingly and repeated…. No takers. Then came  salsa. Our faces hardened, eyes narrowed. It wasn’t going to happen to us – we weren’t going to be lured into touristy salsa lessons, especially not under the scrutiny of fellow tour members. By way of example, Bertha jumped up and started dancing with the band leader, who was easily thirty years her senior. They stepped and swayed together smoothly, as if dancing was their favourite activity.

Next, the male dancer asked our Linda to dance. Being from Colombia, Linda had a head-start in the world of Latin American movement. She looked good right away. This did not reassure the rest of us. Next, the female dancer pulled Antoine from Geneva to his feet.  He was definitely less agile than Linda and did not seem to be enjoying himself, although he stumbled through the steps with a fixed smile on his face.

One by one, the rest of us were invited – or pulled – onto the dance floor, where the professionals worked hard to make us look good. In the end, if not totally relaxed, we were at least all moving to the music and mentally composing postcards home about one more incredible Cuban moment.

Trinidad musician

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