Abuelo por favor permitame sentar!

My definition for grandpa is a person that is USUALLY caring, jolly and protective of the generation that could potentially be their grandchild. From my travels and life experiences -- I would say that generally no matter where you go in the world this is the case. I want you to keep this in mind as you read on.

I was positioned in the middle of la Plaza de Santo Domingo with a bunch of my friends. At night this plaza is vibrant with life -- many vendors and street performers. Gorgeous Colombian men and women shakin' their hips to the cumbia. I was mesmerized by the way these women could shimmy and shake. From listening to the conversation that was taking place between the people I was with it became obvious that I was going to need to make a decision on what to do. I could either go to la Plaza de San Diego for beer with my close friends. Or the other option was to dance the salsa with the Brit and her Colombian friend Andrea. Before I go into what I decided to do -- let me preface the rest of this with both the Brit and Andrea are professional dancers.

Lani looked at me for an answer, I was torn and didn't want to miss out on anything. With my eyes I gave her my answer and turned abruptly away from her. I gave the Brit an enthusiastic smile and accepted her invitation to go dancing. The three of us parted from the rest of the group and began to wander the mysterious streets of Cartagena. Andrea was practicing her English with the Brit and discussing some of the latest dance techniques. I on the other hand was daydreaming about the place that I was in when Andrea announced that we would be meeting her friend Andre. I thought nothing of the name at the time.

As she hustled ahead of us to meet her friend further down the road -- we bumped into our other friend from the hotel. Before I knew what was happening Andrea had returned with her friend. I just about fainted when I realized that I was going to go dance the salsa with one of my dance teachers (thankfully not the one that I love).

I could feel the knots beginning to form in my stomach. All I could think about was how embarrassing the next seven hours of my life could be with three professional dancers. Thoughts were racing through my head. Then I had an ingenious idea -- what if I just quickly clenched my stomach and proceeded to tell the three of them how sorry I was, but I was about to be deathly ill. Then it hit me -- this poor guy had repeated the same question about three times in a row. For the fourth time he said, "Megan, how have your other dance classes been going?"

I chuckled a little, let out an exasperated sigh and made myself comfortable with the fact that I was not going anywhere. I replied by saying, "You would be blown away by my progress. If your company is looking for a professional dancer I would be thrilled and honored." So thus began another fateful night of dancing in Cartagena.

I don't want to bore you with the minute to minute details, but I want to make the night come to life. Unlike my first dance experience in Colombia this is the exact atmosphere that my dance skills thrive in. I didn't have to worry about being spotted -- the lighting was obscure and I could have easily slithered into the back corner to hide. Quiebra Canto is a perfect place to dance salsa for the whole night. It has a balcony that overlooks La Torre de Reloj (The Clock Tower) and the view is magnificent creating a magical mood.

We all sat down at a table in the middle of the bar. Both Andrea and Andre turned towards that Brit. She was leaving Colombia in two days and they wanted her to choose the drink for the evening. The variety of liquor and alcohol in this country would blow many people away. Both of them told her that we had a choice of either ron (rum) or aguardiente (type of alcohol that Colombia is known for). The Brit's facial expression made it apparent to everyone that she had never tried aguardiente and with that the decision was made. One bottle of aguardiente for the four of us. I later found out that she thought it was a mixed drink. Nope -- not the case in Colombia most drinks 95% consist of either straight ron or aguardiente served like a shot or over ice. If you have never tasted aguadrdiente, imagine black licorice in alcohol form. Another name for this alcohol is English is "burning water" or "firewater."

Just as the bottle of aguardiente arrived at our table, Andre asked me if I wanted to dance. Without hesitating I jumped up from me seat -- I figured if I danced I would miss one round of shots. I knew I was in for it when I turned towards the dance floor. Picture this no one on it except Megan and Andre. The shot of aguardiente was looking more and more appealing. But now I had committed to dancing. Thankfully, every table in the place was filled so it would be like a recital or performance for everyone in the bar!

Uno-dos-tres-toque-cinco-seis-siete-toque. My teacher was counting every beat for me quite entertaining if you are Colombian and dancing is second nature. Besides laughing, thrusting my hips in the wrong direction and perhaps stepping on Andre's feet a couple of times, it was a successful first dance. I was thrilled with my progress and ready to sit down again. Again I began to practice the number one rule of dancing that I had learned my first night here --keep the eyes down and look enthralled in your conversation. If you follow this rule you can sometimes avoid dancing with randoms.

Ironically, I love dancing but don't have the technique or practice to blend in with my surroundings quite yet. Just a few minutes after sitting down it became obvious that I would not be sitting the entire night because I broke the number one rule. Now whatever direction I looked in a dance partner was waiting to sweep me off my feet. In the early hours of the night the place was packed with locals, but as the night progressed a group of foreigners wandered in. They too thought that I would make a perfect partner because I was foreign and pretty much clueless.

My first foreign dance partner of the night was a young man who lived in L.A. but was born in Kosovo. In slurred Spanish he asked me if I spoke English. When I respond "Yes" he immediately gave up all effort to speak Spanish. As he lead me crashing into every other pair on the dance floor, he somehow managed to explain that he was attending a bachelor party here in Cartagena. Over the music and excitement on the dance floor he asked me what brought me here and where I was headed. I quickly explained what I had been doing in Cartagena and how I was headed to Haiti to volunteer in the beginning of May. This is when I got dragged off the dance floor to meet his friend Pierre.

Pierre is a French kid who also lives in L.A. and is adorable. He too is going to Haiti in the beginning of May with a medical organization that he works with in L.A.. As we got to talking I was again pulled onto the dance floor. Now this kid could dance on the beat and was fairly talented foreign dancer. Probably because his motto was "Just roll with it." He figured that if we whipped and spun across the dance floor in every direction no one would know the difference. At the time it seemed like no one noticed two gringos killing it on the dance floor.

For the rest of the night I had numerous Colombian men asking for a dance. My favorite was Grandpa -- he seemed to know the moves and looked eager to teach me a thing or two. At this point it was about 2 o'clock in the morning and Grandpa was still riping it up on the dance floor. He extended his hand out to me just as I was about to take a seat and rest. Not wanting to be rude to my elders; I smiled, took his hand and began to dance the salsa. Things were going more smoothly now and some of the techniques and steps that I had learned in class were being put to good use. As the song came to an end I thanked him and began to turn away. However, he had obviously had about 50 years of quick moves on the dance floor and swept me into him. By this point it was too late and he had plopped a kiss on my check. He then began to alternate between my two cheeks.

As you can imagine -- I am a bit taken aback and in shock! After the second set of kisses on the cheek I am hysterically laughing and trying to pull out. In my head I am thinking "Abuelo por favor permitame sentar (Grandpa please let me sit down)." Then out of the corner of my eye I see Andre coming to my rescue.

The night was a hit! Learned many killer moves, made new friends and found out that Gramps can still shake it. Grandpa Colombia was just excited to teach me to dance. All I have to say is entertaining and hilarious!

Miss you all,

Megan

(Dedicated to J Deets)