salsa lessons

I know I am slow in my blogging these days...

While in Cozumel last week, Mexico my friend and I stumbled upon a beach front bar offering Salsa Lessons and live music.  In truth, we came in for a drink and the hopes of finding out where there might be fun things happening in a city so foreign to us.  Imagine our surprise when an amiable local invited us to join in a Salsa lesson she was beginning momentarily.  We asked two questions – (A) Did it matter we were two women without male partners? and (B) Was it free? She answered, at least in what I understood, no to lack of partners and yes to it being free (gratis). 

We happily joined the ten or so others – a hodgepodge of expats, locals working in the tourist industry and friends of the establishment.  I must digress while my friend is an above average dancer having taken many dance classes in her day; I am not one to flourish in structured dance lessons.  In fact, when we signed up for ballroom dance classes a while back I, without exaggeration, got kicked out on the behest of another student and the teacher.  This is not to say I am not a good dancer, in fact I routinely get compliments on my dance ability when in a free form setting. 

After the dance lesson was over, we returned to our original table and it was clear to me I was no closer to mastering Salsa than before the class started but was happy to have joined in meeting some interesting friends.  We were looking forward to the band that was to arrive shortly.  We ordered another round of drinks trying to absorb the last night of our fun-filled vacation when our teacher stopped over to our table to demand our payment for the class. 

Of course the conversation started out nicely – but quickly got uncomfortable.  We never agreed to pay for Salsa lessons and understood the lesson to be free.  She insisted she told us no such thing and we needed to fork over the fee for the class like the rest of the students.  A man wearing all white and filled to the brim with Machismo we understood to be the owner came over to help rectify the misunderstanding.  Yes, indeed we needed to pay our fee for the class we took he confirmed.  We got our bill for our drinks deciding to just leave frustrated at the whole misunderstanding but confident we ought to stand our ground. 

Without exaggeration, the owner followed us up the walkway, blocking our exit and at one point grabbing my arm as to prevent me from going any further.  My friend was outraged – she got into more of a direct conflict the owner offering an ultimatum – what are you going to do, call the cops? she asked.  Yes, he pulled out his cell phone and called someone he obviously seemed to know all the while remaining in a position that effectively blocked us from exiting. 

Around this time, one of the other class members an ex-pat who sold time shares came over and we updated him on the whole scene.  The teacher and the owner had pulled the same stunt on the entire class and even though we stuck to our guns his entire group had begrudgingly paid the fees.  In truth, I think he was envious/proud of us for having such resolve and took it upon himself to be our agent a fire further fueled when I told him the owner had grabbed my arm.  As all but one of his group members left, he confronted the owner claiming he knew the other silent and absent owner.    The owner who was obviously just as stubborn as us was unchanged by our ex-pat agent friend’s passion. 

Sure enough the Mexican police, who I have lived most of my life fearing, dropped by and long before either my friend or I, the alleged criminals in this situation could speak to any of them both our ex-pat agent and the owner spoke at great lengths with them.  In fact, we were so irritated at the lack of access to the police we decided to go over and plead our case in so doing, the owner again blocked us a pivotal moment demonstrating how we had been held hostage the entire time. 

After much going back and forth, the police finally freed us to go. The first moral of the story – if you are ever in Cozumel, don’t take salsa lessons at Lapalapita.  The second moral of the story – stick to your guns no matter what.