The old lift creaks and shudders all the way to the 5th Floor and I hope it doesn’t break down again like it did earlier today. I was so glad that I was not stuck in the lift on my own at the time. The young woman with me, managed to call out for help but luckily it shook itself back into action on its own.
I’ve been in Havana nearly a week. The place is becoming familiar. My days have settled into an easy routine -4 hours of Spanish with my “professor” each morning and 3 hours at the dance studio after a quick lunch and rushing to the corner of Neptuno and Industrial to catch a "collectivo" taxi.
Today I caught one going to the wrong place and ended up being 15 minutes late. I can’t be sure if the driver misheard or if he just thought he would literally “take me for ride” When I rush through the studio doors, Elizabetta my “movimento” teacher is doing some pilates. She was a professional ballerina before she “retired” to teach and she is one of the smartest, funkiest, funniest women I have met. She has been very patient with me while I struggle to shake my shoulders and make my boobs jiggle (I know, I know, hard to believe) without moving my hips. I find it just as difficult to move my hips in a slow circle, then slowly turn around on the spot still moving my hips (supposedly seductively) moving one foot forward while dragging the other behind. I try my best, but succeed only in looking like someone with a serious neurological disability! I start laughing and she follows suit and we both collapse in a heap!
I am convinced Cuban women can only move the way they do, because they literally dance out of their mothers bellies. It is just part of their DNA that they can move so amazingly.
Elizabetta puts her hands on my hips and tries to encourage my body to follow her movement.
“Circolo Circolo”, C I R C O L O ……C I R C O L O! Monica
I wonder if Elizabetta is hoping that if she just keeps emphasizing it, slower and louder each time, that I will somehow absorb the movement into my body by some kind of osmosis.
Miraculously though, for just a few seconds a neural network in my brain seems to do just that, and my hips are moving in one fluid movement in a continuous circle! “Eso” Eso” she shouts in encouragement and I get into the spirit of things even more.
Somehow after I “relax” my body remembers what I have done so easily this morning in front of the mirror at Gustavo’s house and Elizabeth smiles with a self satisfied grin. Yes Eso Eso Monica keep going.
We have just started what Elizabetta calls the “torax” exercises, a very provocative chest thrust when the lights go out and the music stops. In spite of numerous attempts to fix the electricity we continue without accompaniment. Then Elizabeth starts making up some music. Ba ba ba ba ba tuk tuk tuk tuk ba ba ba ba ba ba ba tuk tuk tuk tuk she keeps improvising and using her voice as a kind of drum to keep the beat… I respond with some other nonsense and soon we are making up our own version of a very bad MTV video clip.
The music-less salsa class that follows with Luiz and Alex is less enjoyable but a sweaty work out nevertheless. Back back under now, right, left, turn spin. The boys can sense my frustration when I get it wrong. “This was supposed to be fun” I mumble petulantly under my breath and then get excited and stop pouting when I get it right.
Let’s be clear for a minute. I will probably never be good at this salsa dancing thing, my goal was always just to be able to get up and dance confidently and enjoy it. That’s all, and so far I am going in the right direction sans the right shoulder and hip action, so I’m pretty happy. Now I just need someone to practice with.
The time passes so quickly when I am dancing. Luiz tries new steps out on me, pushing me to stretch a bit more each time. He is working very hard and each time we get a sequence right, his face beams with pride.
All of a sudden it seems, time is up and another “work” day ends, and with Hasta Manana’s all round ( see you tomorrow) I head off to flag down another collective taxi- I may as well contribute to the pollution that I am breathing in in such vast quantities.
(As I sit here writing late at night, the Calle outside is still teeming with people and cars. My eyes are streaming and my nose is running. I can’t decide if it is an allergic reaction to the smog or a proper cold, but either way my lungs are burning and it feels like I have inhaled more toxins in this last week here than in my 6 or so years in Hong Kong.
I can hear children playing and music blaring from one of the bicycle taxis that passes by. Neighbours call out to each other in greeting and the whirr of the fan is competing with the sound of the TV blaring from Gustavo’s room.
I’m feeling tired but happy to be here.
Hasta manana
Mon x
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