Love, Novela [Completed]

11/04/17

11/04/17 ok really 11/05/17. It's really late.

We did touristy stuff today. We went to a neighborhood call Coyoacán (I think - yes Google confirms.) It was cute. If I had to compare it to something in the Midwest, maybe Grand Avenue in Saint Paul, because of the restaurants and coffee shops. Except not, and more historic.

We had dinner out and got back a little later. Everyone got an additional lecture in safety and situational awareness, although (thankfully) the reason for the reminder was not mentioned. I elected not to try to join anyone tonight as they headed out, and since they aren't even aware I tried last night, they didn't even ask.

I was about to admit defeat and resign myself to a night of typing my travels and then maybe watching something on YouTube (the wi-fi at this hotel is actually decent). 

Then Alex showed up. He insisted on remedying my failed Mexico City club experience. I protested; he insisted. He said seeing Mexico City was an important part of my education, and dancing was an important part of Mexico City.

Maybe it was because my own plans were pretty crappy. Maybe it was because there was no one I wanted to spend the time with more than him. Whatever the reason, I said, "OK."

He told me to meet him in the lobby in 20 minutes. I made myself as club-ready as I could with the clothes and makeup I'd brought, and went downstairs.

I didn't see Alex, but he showed up a moment later. I could almost smell him before I saw him. I had noticed before that he generally wears cologne - nice-smelling cologne, I might add - but he must have just refreshed it because it was exceptionally strong. I've noticed that Mexicans in general tend to use strong perfumes. I wonder if it stands out to them that I don't. Problems for another day.

Anyway, he ushered us outside to a waiting taxi. No more on-foot adventures for us.

He seemed to get antsy as we got closer to the club, kind of a Christmas morning kind of antsy. He got fidgety and seemed to be suppressing a smile.

I could hear the rhythm from outside the club, but didn't think much of it. As we got inside it dawned on me that the music that was blasting was different from the salsa I was used to.

Alex read my mind. He leaned in and said "cumbia" so close to my ear his lips actually brushed against it. I shivered. He smiled, and I could swear it was a mischievous smile.

He somehow had stayed glued to me with both his arms since he'd helped me out of the taxi. I assumed this was for my safety. I did wonder, though, where the greater danger lay.

I remembered we had a few lessons on cumbia back during our Latin Dancing class, but no one was much into it and it didn't seem to be played much in the clubs we went to in Guadalajara or Morelia. I waited for Alex to start leading, and the basic steps started coming back to me. Once I got the hang of it, it seemed almost simplistic compared to salsa. And the music more monotonous. But people were loving it.

We took a water break and watched the couples. There was something almost sweet about it.  Some of the better dancers incorporated more complicated turns, but overall the dancing seemed much less sexual than bachata or even salsa. There was less grinding and flirtation, and even the hip movements seemed more subdued. When a salsa set played I noticed that the way they danced salsa was similar to the way they danced cumbia, just with quicker, shorter steps. We tried it a little and it didn't seem to go very well, but had fun trying.

The music was so loud that our speech was limited to absolute necessity, shouted in each others ears in no more than three-word increments. I made mental notes of my observations and questions to ask Alex when we left.