salsa is delicious but hurts my feet

Admittedly, I wasn't feeling pumped yesterday, which is rare for me. I should've known all I needed was a little YOTY in my life. (Note: YOTY = "Year Of The Yes", where I say 'Yes' to everything physically and financially possible for 2011. This has brought me much joy, as well as a few battle scars.) So when I finished a delicious lunch of Seco de Carne with my fantastic roommates, we all returned home for a siesta, and I was pretty much set on staying in and reading. What was holding me back? I have some family stuff going on, but I'm 3,500 miles away and I need to take advantage of this very moment in my life.

So, I took a nap, fixed a rum drink (extremely popular here), threw on some make-up and a snazzy shirt, and marched down the hall in heels, shaking what my mamma gave me. Boom, let's do this. My American roommate didn't join us this evening due to obligations, however my Ecuadorian roommate led the way as his beautiful and hilarious friend, Alejandra, drove us to the Club District.

As a tall, auburn-haired, blue-eyed, freckled gringa (in heels, dammit) walking into a Salsa club... Ya turn a few heads. Now, I was told by a couple of Ecuadorians back in the states that I would never find a boyfriend in Ecuador because they will not find me attractive or sexy.

Bullshit.

Let's be clear; I am definitely not looking for a boyfriend (or otherwise) during this chapter of my life. However, that's a strange thing to have floating in the back of my mind as I step of the plane:

"Wow, Amie, you just move to Ecuador. Alone. Hell yes. You're a badass and you're living your life... But get used to it because the Andean men won't look twice, gringa."

So, as we strolled to the bar to get our drinks, I felt eyes upon me. And by "upon me" I mean "molesting me". Hmmm... Could those strange men have been wrong? Meh. I'm here for Salsa music- and dancing, hopefully- not the approval of the men of Quito.

I took in everything I could... The concrete floors, open-faced brick walls, the modern looking bar with an orange glow emanating from below, and even the disco ball that rotated slowly above me. My crimped hair fell over my shoulders, but the turquoise lace long-sleeved shirt and tight jeans probably gathered more attention than my freckles this time around.

A slightly older gentleman approached me and reached out his hand for mine. "¿Quieres bailar?", Marco asked me. I smiled and informed him, "Primera vez"... It was my first time. He was kind, taught me a few moves, and then asked to see what I could do. His white shirt, unbuttoned a few buttons to reveal salt and pepper chest hair and a massive silver cross, moved with him and he was leading me around enough to help me fit in. Part of me felt alive, part of me ridiculous. Either way, I knew I wasn't going to have an early night.

Thankfully, I have rhythm for a white girl and didn't embarrass him (or myself) too badly. My roommate & Alé ran into some people they knew and my favorite part of the culture became eminent: The introduction.

When Ecuadorians introduce one another, or even greet each other, they always say "Hola" or "Mucho gusto" and kiss on the cheek. Men and women or women and women, men will shake hands, and often hug if they are akin to one another. I've met dozens of people thus far, and the side-kiss has yet to get old. I look forward to the moment where my roommate introduces me and I am welcomed into the moment with a complete stranger.

We greeted and kissed one another and my roommate leans over and informs me that the men he just introduced me to are professional Salsa dancers. Grrreeeaaaaaat. I'm the white girl from LA who speaks un poco de Español and you brought me to a club (pronounced: cloob) with the pros? Ppshh. Screw it. You only live once.

Saíd (Sa-yeed), with clear eyes, mocha skin and a ridiculous upper body, took my hand and led me towards the disco ball... Damn, why the best of the group? Why the instructor? Why not. "Primera vez..." and Saíd smiled a big, Ecuadorian smile and said with a slight accent, "I teach you, Amie, don't worry". YOTY.

I was told I had rhythm, the hips, the legs, and I could feel the movement of the music. Me? Hell yeah! Let's dance til I can't feel my feet! Oh, shit, I can't feel my feet.

I took a brief break, threw my sweaty mess of a hair up, and watched my roommate twirl around a little Latin lady on the dance floor while I talked to Alé. Then a much older man, we'll call him 'Tío' because he looks like someone's creepy uncle, took my hand and dragged me on the dance floor. I am a lady, and I tried to make the best of it, but Tío was some sort of mess out there. He kept yelling, "Let's go!" uhhhh.... Go where? This dance floor is packed and you've kicked me three times. I thanked him and wandered off to find my posse, and as I begin chatting up Alé in an attempt to catch my breath (damn altitude) this pale, blonde-haired man with red pants on asks me to dance. Sabestián, he informed me, is from Quito and was a decent dancer. He spoke to me in perfect Spanish through two songs, surprisingly I kept up, and bought me a drink, which apparently comes with a phone number.

Saíd's fellow dance champion, Orlando, grabbed my hand and snatched me away from my hipster Quiteño. He spoke quick, nasty Spanish and I didn't understand a single word, so I just answered with the typical answers in English and relished in the consistent surprised faces when I tell them I will be there for a year to teach English. Kike, another professional dancer, didn't understand a word I said, and his ebony, muscular body wriggled all over as I towered almost a foot above him. This is worse than Tío's sweaty palms and incessant yelling.

Women's long, dark hair swung around all throughout the dance floor and men's shirts clung to them, drenched in sweat. The live band- comprised of a half dozen Ecuadorians, a handful of Cubans, and a Russian bass player- sounded off endlessly with beautiful brass sounds from the stage. The lead singer, a bald and chubby man with squinty, kind eyes, had his goatee braided and adorned with multicolored beads.

Around 2:00 am we finally pried ourselves away from the hips and kicks of Salsa at El Aguijón and, dripping with sweat, head back home to ease my aching feet, relish in trying something new, and laugh at how many times Saíd dipped me. The lights of Quito remind me that I'm here for a year and I need to remember to say "Yes" and appreciate how random and amazing my life is. The first time I go Salsa dancing, I go in Ecuador and am taught by professionals. I. Love. My. Life.

xx.a