A night at the club in Tamarindo, Costa Rica
On a dirt floored club in the West coast of Costa Rica you can dance to the same thing that you would in any club in North Carolina. My ears are filled with Snoop Dogg, Wyclef with Shakira, the speedy surf music of Dick Dale and the Deltones, and countless remixes of every Bob Marley song you can think of. Then the Salsa plays.The dance floor clears room for the distinguished dancers of tango. The drive is quick and disciplined but seems simplistic and sexual. The moves are similar to swing but without the machismo qualities of throwing your girl around like a rag doll. Typically if a girl tries to spin a man around to swing the dance will come to an awkward halt. Not so with Salsa, the man spins around as the lady insists but keeps his dominating macho quality by controlling his own spin. I don’t drive around singing along to Salsa tunes, but there is no music I would rather watch people dance to.
I watched a couple move memorized by their impulses as the man looked deep into the woman’s eyes with a killers sincerity as the woman just melts in awe with every fleeting move.
The accordions backing up the melody sound corny but the Caribbean rhythms have enough spunk to keep people dancing until four in the morning, which is what they did. In between the salsa the gangster rap would come back on and the dance floor loses quality as it is back to guys looking desperately for a butt to hump as the woman seek refuge behind whatever friend they came with.
You can travel anywhere you want to in the world and you may here people badmouthing America, much of the criticism may have logical base, much of it may be from ignorant jackasses, but while they may dislike much about America they all love our music.
Photos and review by Kent Kessinger
