One evening in Canoa, Ecuador, I watched fishermen returning to shore on a sturdy little motorboat, plying through the beach waves and onto the sand. Once they landed, two of the men carefully removed the outboard motor from the back, and one of them hoisted the obviously heavy engine up onto his shoulder. Then, at the end of his day, he gathered muscle and bone to calmly and carefully carry all that weight safely up the slope of sand as the rest of the crew, in a well-practiced sequence, rolled the boat across a pair logs to a resting point above the high tide line.
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| Ronald and me |
recently moved to Quito, Ecuador to work with Estudio Nacional de Baile, a dance school and professional performance team started by Caleños from the Swing Latino dance company in Cali, Colombia. When I visited Quito, Ronald took me to see the team training for the Cali salsa festival (coming up August 2nd-9th).
As we arrived, the team was refining the details of one section in the dance. Each couple practiced individually, then the director would run the whole group through that section together while he sang the music, then they would practice individually with his instruction, then run through it, etc.
After about half an hour, the director finally put on the music and they danced the whole performance, beginning to end.
Cali style.
At high altitude.
It was amazing.
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| Estudio Nacional de Baile - Quito, Ecuador |
When the music ended, they all hit and held their marks for a moment. Then, in the silence that followed - I wish I had a video - each dancer turned soundlessly away from the dance floor, scattering in every direction, into postures of fatigue: hunched forward with hands on knees, faces lifted with hands pressed against sweaty foreheads, gasping breaths. Some sat on the floor, others gulped water, and all retreated into themselves to recover from the exhausting demands of the dance.
Eyes wide, I covered my face with my hands, deeply moved by the power, grace, and commitment of what I'd just witnessed.
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Whether it's fishermen returning to shore at the end of the day or a group of dancers preparing a performance, some of the most beautiful and important things in life require teamwork, discipline, and a sense of responsibility to one another. I yearn for the meaningfulness of such connection and commitment in my own life.
I would like to join a dance team again some day. I miss tying into a rope and climbing up several hundred feet of rock with my life in my buddy's hands. I long for the powerful yet peaceful energy that arises in a room full of people, who've shown up week after week, year after year, to participate in the ritual of yoga together.
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So, where do I find this type of connection in Cali?
Mostly, it's in little interpersonal things. It's in the silent communication I have with a friend when we cook together. I find it in salsa lessons, cooperating with my teacher to work out new moves. It's there in sweaty dances at the discoteca when my partners and I listen so deeply to the music and to one another that creative new movements begin to occur spontaneously. I feel it in the presence of people who, for some mysterious reason, bring out the Spanish speaker in me, and the language flows though my lips like water. I see it in the grateful faces of new yoga students from all over the world as they discover the practice with me here in Cali, Colombia. It's alive among the extranjero community as we help one another navigate the foreignness of living here. I even find it on Skype sometimes, when a dear friend from home reminds me that I have deep, meaningful connections with people all the time.
(He's right. I do.)
But Cali salsa clubs have their own special ritual that brings everyone together: At some point in the night, the dj switches the music from salsa to a short set of Musica del Pacifico and funky Colombian pop songs, and everyone line dances. This would seem silly to me in any other setting, but here, it turns a night of paired off couple dancing (that not everyone can participate in equally) into a unified, group experience of rhythm and movement that anyone can join. We sing along with the lyrics, follow a couple of folks at the front, and get all funky together. It's fun to join in, and it's equally fun to watch. Tourists always break out their cameras to capture it.
I loved this group dance the first time I saw it, and I still love it even though it's the same songs every time and the same repetitive steps. For me, this part of the night holds a deeper meaning: it's a sweet reminder of our togetherness and an expression of our equality. On the map of the world, this unique ritual pertains only to Cali (as far as I know), and it's another piece in the puzzle of my love for this city.
