Sancti Spiritus
I spoke to my husband last night. “You have to go dancing. When will you be in Trinidad again?” he chided and of course I bristled. After riding in the hot sun all day, staying up to dance until 10, even in the salsa capital of the world, seems like a tall order. But before the words even completely left his mouth, I knew that he was right. It was a dare of sorts, a game we often play, and he knows that I am a sucker for dares. Besides, I am here to experience all Cuba has to offer, and music and dancing is vital to their culture.
Weezie and I made every effort to fill the afternoon, without listening to the siren calls of our pillows. We took a ride out to a small fishing village and found a group of kids to play with, an excellent way to while away an afternoon. We jumped rope, taught them how to use a Chinese jump rope, kicked a hacky sack, worked on teaching them to count to ten and tried to master their spinning tops.
The tops are called “Trumps” they are made of a hardwood, carved into the shape of a turnip and have a nail sticking out the pointy side.
The kids wind a string around them many times and then fling them forcefully towards the ground, where they smack against the pavement with dangerous force and begin a frenzied spin. They chase them, trying to pick them up, in an effort to coax them to continue to spin in their open palms. It is very difficult. We didn’t master it, but we sure had fun trying and the metaphor was not lost on us.
The afternoon flew by and all too soon, it was time to put on our dancing shoes and hit the town. We sat by the cobblestone dancing floor at the “House of Music” and felt very proud of ourselves for staying up. We aren’t so old after all. When the music started, it was infectious and we immediately started swaying in our seats. “Come on!”, said Weezie, and so I followed her to the stage, using her bravery to my advantage, like I always do.
No sooner had we started dancing when an older gentleman grabbed Weezie’s hands and started to spin her. She smiled willingly and I was petrified. Immediately, I turned away from all the other dancers and clasped a tall wrought iron fence that ran the length of the stage. I said I would dance, I didn’t say with anybody!
I pretended the fence was my partner and I swayed to the movements of the bars. I watched Weezie rock her hips to and fro and prance her little spray-foam green Converse sneakers here and there and everywhere with utmost concentration.
It was the longest song of my life. The more grace everyone showed, the more acutely aware I was of my ripped athletic shorts, braless t-shirt and big gomby Teva sandals. I loved that fence.
Finally, the song ended and Weezie was released. I was so proud of her. She was cognitively exhausted from trying to keep up with her partner, her eyes wide with effort, while I meanwhile collapsed into a puddle of giggles and ran from the dancing floor before her fate could befall me.
I am glad we stayed up, the music was fantastic and seeing Weezie’s sneaks slap rhythmically against those cobblestones will stay with me forever. Rhythm here is everywhere. I sure wish I could bring some home with me.