SHINE BLINDNESS - LOST IN TRANSLATION
I have been dancing salsa for four years now, and there is always something new to learn, a move to improve on, some styling to add. But there is one element of the dance that has defeated me; my as yet unconquered frontier. My Salsa Everest.
It is a part of salsa that despite the very best teaching over the past few years makes my eyes glaze over in panic and all my sense of rhythm and timing run for the door. But I know now that it is a recognised condition. The technical terminology for it is: Allthelights- Areonbut No-one'sathome- itis, commonly known as shine blindness
During the lesson it all appears to go in: I concentrate VERY VERY hard, watch the teacher, listen to what is being said and done, and then attempt to translate it carefully from my mind to my feet. And sometimes it appears to work, but only for the duration of the class. Then, as if by magic, as if Paul McKenna has clicked his hypnotic fingers and said "And Now You Will Forget EVERYTHING", I Forget Everything.
There are four main explanations for this:
1. Lost in Translation: the words that come out the teacher's mouth say, for example, "mambo, single spin, double suzee q, step back, samba steps...., the words that go into my head are "mambo, single spin, double suzee q, step back, samba steps..", but sometimes, the words that go from my head to my feet are "I think I'll do exactly as I want thank you, and none of that salsa stuff. Actually, I think I'll tread on my own feet and trip myself up. And one..."
2. The Invisible Forcefield. There is a magnetic field around my head which prevents anything useful going in
3. Masking. My friend's six year old daughter has been known, when her mother is trying to explain her maths homework to her, just to sing - la la la la la la la....which translates as, "I don't understand, I'll never understand, I'm going to make a daisy chain now. Bye." The grown up equivalent is, "Did I turn the iron off, I wonder where that missing pink flip-flop has gone, Oh God, I left the grill on..."
4. I suffer from Shine Blindness, I can't do shines.
So, what happens when I go out is this: I dance well, style, laugh, wiggle, and probably look like I can hold my own doing some independent footwork, until I have to do some independent footwork, when I do a mambo, dig deep into
my brain, come up with a Cuban turn, then concentrate - if you look closely you'll see the seed of a shine flicker in my eyes like a faulty lightbulb - it flickers and then dies, phhht - then I smile apologetically and do a couple of Suzee Q's, which sort of peter out a bit, look at the floor, mutter, "I'm finished," then pull myself together and shriek, "I'm sorry, shines are not my best subject, hahahahahah ha, mmmm" 
Other people doing shines... .. life's so unfair....
BUT I have finally tired of this: going out and watching others and their little intricate foot patterns, their wiggles and flicks and confident smiles.
I HAVE DONE SOMETHING ABOUT IT, AT LAST, OH YES I HAVE.... my glazed eyes, panicked fixed smile and endless Suzee Qs have just been replaced by a knowing flick of the hair, a bewitching grin, and a five minute foot riff - well, hopefully anyway.
I had a private lesson with Yolande Lewis, eh viola, da da, I have learned a shine and it has gone into my brain and stayed there. Give that woman a medal - The Victoria Cross for Patience above and beyond etc etc
So, if you see someone executing a rather cute and stylish little shine, then breaking into a spontaneous round of applause for herself - its is me.
After all, it has been four years, four whole years....
Now, what do i need to work on next..
Salsa in Cyprus (No, I didn'r really......)
When other salsa-holics go on holiday they seek out salsa clubs to feed their habit. But, no, not me - I disappear off into an alternate holiday universe, switch the salsa music off in my head and replace it, just for a week or two, with the high pitched hum of cicadas, the gentle lapping of the waves, and whatever the local lingo is for "another mimosa, please".
But it's still there, in my subconscious, making me break into a mambo as I amble along a beach, do a bit of wiggling and shaking in front of the make up-mirror or throw a bit of styling in when I hail a passing waiter.
Let me set the scene - it is May, and I am on holiday in Paphos. The world has narrowed to my lovely hotel, its pool, palm trees, and the bit of deep blue sea it is attached to; I also throw in visits into town for eating, drinking, ambling and atmosphere.
And obvioulsy I have to revisit the authentic Cypriot music and Dancing Restaurant i had visited the year before , for the authentic dancing, exhuberant show, and the fire......
Firstly, there's the dancing, which is fabulous - it really is, and very, sort of, macho, really. Then there's the bit with the glass, and the bit where they get people on the stage with the fire, then there's more dancing, and the bit with the glasses and beer mats - basically the audience balances glasses and beer mats on a dancers head until it is many storeys high, whilst he undertakes body rolls, chair kicking and a bit of dancing...
I ineveitably end up on the stage, and whilst waiting for my turn to stand on a chair and place my glass and beer mat on said man's head, the Mel Gibson Dancer Look-A-Like, gives me a little turn to pass the time. Unfortunately, I am unable to just turn, I SPIN. Mel Gibson realises this and spins me again, then again, then several times, shouting above the authentic Cypriot music - Are You A Dancer??? Yes, I squeal, continuing my spinning, whilst he shouts at his partner, the George Clooney Look-A Like (alright, I had partaken of some Cypriot wine...), "She's a Dancer. Loook" And I spin and scream and make a spectacle of myself, just like any other Friday night at home, really.
Except I am in Cyprus in a restaurant.
I then have to be helped onto the chair to participate in the show, and weave off the stage, slightly dizzy, amazed that i have managed to slip some salsa into an Authentic Cypriot Music and Dancing Show...
But there's no time to think, as the tower of glasses gets higher, other victims have to climb on a ladder, including the bride - did I mention there was a wedding reception there as well...then we're conga-ing around the room, into another restaurant, then setting fire to the pavement...no, i was not participating in a riot...its all part of the show, honestly, officer....
Then, its back into the restaurant to calm down a bit, which is understandably a tad difficult
So that's my Friday night in Cyprus - meze, "cullture", and i've had a five minute salsa fix even if its to Zorba the Greek.
The moral of this story is - sometimes you can let the salsa come to you.
And some Cypriot dancers are very, very fit.