Quick, quick, slow

Against all odds, I am learning to salsa. Every Thursday at 7pm, I take a lesson at the Bali Dance Company, a studio recently opened by my teachers Made and Tasha. Located on Jalan Seminyak, very close to my house, I can get to the studio in less than 5 minutes on my motorbike.

Made and Tasha dance salsa competitively. I love to watch them move, they are an inspiration. And Made, as my primary instructor, is a dream of a dance partner. I just melt every time he holds out his hand and gives me “the look.” “The look” that says, “Carrie, let’s dance.” Not surprisingly, there are mostly women in class, so most of our time is spent waiting/yearning to take our turn with Made. He makes everyone, no matter what level they are at, look good.

I’ve barely gotten past the stage of looking down at my feet and chanting “quick, quick, slow, quick, quick, slow” as I struggle to catch the rhythm of the song. Eager to move us past the basics, Made is always introducing more challenging maneuvers. Despite his constant reminders like “Shift your body weight,” or “Not so big steps”, I regularly stumble, which causes us to both break down in fits of laughter. I don’t think I ever laugh so much or so hard as I do in salsa class.

While I do get frustrated sometimes, I am always completely in the moment. During the difficult first few months of this year, salsa class was one of my only respites from the pain and loneliness I was feeling, one of the few times I could get out of my own head. Then, as now, salsa class provides a guaranteed dose of giggles and joy.

It didn't help matters that I used to show up to class in flip flops. You can’t dance salsa in flip flops. Luckily, Tasha has developed a line of dance shoes with a local factory, so I recently ordered a black pair with ankle straps and a 1inch heel. And even though they make me feel like an Amazon in a chorus line of pygmies, I love them. They make it easier to do the steps and I feel sexy wearing them. It doesn’t matter that I look like the leaning tower of Pisa next to the always perfectly aligned Made….those shoes make me feel like a million bucks. And they only cost 350,000 rupiah.


Sometimes I joke that Made is the only man in the world that I can dance with. Hopefully this will change as I get better and learn to follow the lead of other partners. Several of the clubs in town have regular salsa nights, so I actually do have opportunities to practice, though the selection of dance partners is always severely limited. The last time I went to Bahiana, my choices were the one male instructor who was paid to dance with patrons and a couple of lusty Argentinians for whom each dance was an opportunity to bump and grind against a new female pelvis. In those situations, as in life, women must rely on each other. So who cares if there are no available men? Let’s just dance…