Hello and happy Tuesday. Yesterday I started telling you about how I met these cute, very nice backpackers over my trip in Cartagena, and I promised I’d share part 2 of the story, so get ready for it.
That Monday night, after meeting Roman and that other Mexican guy, we went club hopping at Centro Histórico until Sebastian (my friend) and I found a place we didn’t entirely hate. It was a weekday so most clubs were empty and that annoyed me a lot, but we got to this gay-friendly place that had a respectable amount of people. I danced with Sebastian for a while and then this group of people came in. I’m an expert in spotting hot guys, or at least not-so-terrible-looking-guys, so of course when I saw this group of people I quickly identified the one I liked.
Here’s the deal: when you go to a club with just one person, even if it’s just your gay friend who also wants to meet people because we’re in a different city filled with, yes, you guessed it, hot foreigners, it’s really hard to mingle with other people because you’re sort of stuck together all night long. That’s what happened, so for half an hour I would just look at this cute guy while dancing with my friend. At some point, though, I sort of ran out of patience and very nicely asked Sebastian to tell me whenever he felt tired so that I could go ask the cute guy to dance.
Of course, that was sort of a bitchy move because that forced Sebastian to tell me to go ahead and dance with the guy while he sat down and stared into the distance, but I wasn’t thinking about that at the moment, really. (Peki, sweetie, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry for having being selfish but I’m not sorry about dancing with the cute guy.)
I hadn’t gone out to party in a while, but from what I remembered when I went out, I almost never had to ask a guy to dance, they were the ones who asked me. Still, I crossed the small space of the club and poked cute guy in the shoulder until he turned around to look at me. Even though he clearly was a foreigner (who else wears a cap in a closed space if not an American guy?), I stupidly asked him in Spanish “¿bailas?”, and I said this about twice until I realized he didn’t speak Spanish and I did speak English. So I asked him whether he wanted to dance and he said yes.
It’s safe to say I’ve never laughed so much while dancing with a guy and I’ve never made a greater effort while dancing. I don’t consider myself the best dancer, but I’m decent; besides, I’ve been doing Zumba for almost three years now, so I know the moves to all the basic rhythms. This particular song was a merengue by Juan Luis Guerra that I dance in my Zumba classes (okay, sorry if I sound like a bit of a snob here, especially to those not familiar with the song or the rhythm).
Merengue is a kind of music you dance with a partner. It has like three or four basic steps and is really easy. Cute guy, however, probably never danced merengue in his life and thought, like many foreigners do, that it was just about spinning his partner around. The first two spins were fun, but after that I was glad I’d had a light dinner and hadn’t drunk any alcohol because it wouldn’t have been cute to throw up on him.
At one point I just told the guy to look at my feet and try to imitate what I was doing, and that sort of worked. I was so focused, though, on him not stepping on me or spinning me around yet again that I didn’t ask him anything, not even his name or where he came from. He was older than the guys I usually go for, probably in his early 30’s, but he was okay for just that one dance.
After that, I went back to where Sebastian was sitting and ordered a bottle of water, which I drank almost entirely. We danced some more until it was almost 1 am and the music got super heavy and I wasn’t enjoying myself, so we left for our apartment and it was the end of our first night meeting foreigners.
Do you like dancing? What do you do when your partner is not a good dancer? Let me know!
Love, Miss Camila