Alors On Danse

On Thursday and Friday of this week, I went in to Lycée Pasteur for a few hours to meet some of the professors, students, and other language assistants.  When I first arrived at the door of the lycée, the teacher on duty started yelling at me because she thought I was a tardy student.

“Excuse me, but do I look like I’m in high school??”  I was particularly dismayed by her mistake, because (being fully aware that I may be closer in age to some of my students than to the other professors)  I was wearing what I hoped was my most professional and “teacherly” outfit:  a high-waisted pencil skirt and a white blouse.  I was even wearing my glasses for God’s sake!  I squared my shoulders and said with authority.  “Je ne suis pas étudiante.  Je suis professeur d’anglais.”  I am not a student.  I am an English teacher. 

The other teacher squinted at me, trying to decide if I was indeed a legitimate adult, or if I was just pretending.   Finally, she sighed and directed me towards the teacher’s lounge where I was supposed to meet the other English professors. 

The teachers were on their lunch break so I got to sit around and chat with them for an hour.  Unlike Americans, French teachers wouldn’t dare grade papers or do any kind of work during their break.  Lunch is sacred here. 

I got to talking with one of the Spanish teachers, and told her I loved to dance.   She got a huge smile on her face and told me that she was a salsa dancer.  “I go to a class every Friday night,” she said.  “I would love it if you can come!”  She told me the class was held at a bar called “Mad’s” in downtown Besançon.  “It’s a lot of fun!”  she assured me.  “Afterwards everyone hangs around and has a few beers.”  Ok, I thought, why not!

Now let me just explain something here- because of my ballet training I am usually able to pick up new types of dance much more quickly than the average person.  "How hard can salsa possibly be?"  I asked myself.  I will probably be killing it by the end of class….

So I was humbled.  Salsa is amazingly complex and esoteric, especially when the class is taught in French.  I had brought along two friends – a Scottish girl named Charlotte and a South-African girl named Jannike – who are both also English assistants at high schools in Besançon.  Jannike (perhaps wisely) chose not to participate, but to sit calmly drinking her beer a few tables away from the dance floor while pretending not to laugh at Charlotte and me. 

To begin class, the teacher taught us a few basic salsa steps, then we were asked to partner up with a member of the opposite sex.  Seeing as Charlotte and I were the perhaps the least experienced in the class, no one jumped to partner with us.  Finally, a boy who seemed slightly unsure of his own salsa prowess held out his hand to me.  Together we stumbled through the moves: casino, salsa, casino, cortico, casino, salsa, casino, cortico…. And so on. 

Antoine’s Mom

After class, my dance partner Antoine sat down to drink a beer with us as we cooled off.  He is twenty years old, outgoing and goofy.  “A wee lad,” as Charlotte, my new Scottish friend, says. 

After a few minutes, a tall, beautiful blond woman, sauntered over to the table and slid into the booth beside me, after leaning across the table to give Antoine a kiss.  Antoine’s mom looked like she was about thirty-five years old, though she must have been older. 

She turned and started speaking to me as if she had known me all her life.  “Did I like salsa?”  She wanted to know.  She said she has been coming to salsa classes for seven years now.  It’s her passion.  

“It makes me feel strong and powerful.”   She looked strong and powerful.   She told me she especially enjoys dancing the man’s part because she gets to lead.  (In this class, she had been acting as a man because there weren’t enough to go around.)

I told Antoine’s mom that I had a pretty extensive background in ballet, but admitted that I felt slightly inept at salsa.  “Salsa is the opposite of ballet,” she declared.  “You must promise me you will keep at it for a few more weeks.  I think you will notice a huge difference.”  I promised.  

Antoine’s mom asked why I was in Besançon, and if I liked it so far.  I told her, “I love it!”  She said it was great to be traveling at my age – to live somewhere “foreign,” and said she had taken a year off from work and school to travel around the world when she was young.  “I was a bit of a hippie,” she confessed. 

Then the salsa instructor called Antoine’s mom over.  He wanted her to help him demonstrate a particularly difficult move.  I stared after her in a mixture of amazement and envy.  I turned to Antoine and said, “Your mom is so cool!  I want be like her!” 

“I know,” he said.  “Me too.  Why else do you think I am taking this salsa class?” 

So I think I have found my newest hobby!