AsiaLIFE

A social activity, an exercise or simply an amusing way to spend an evening, dancing is a passion embraced for many different motivations. Lindsay Muscato gets into the rhythm of Phnom Penh’s salsa society. Photo by James Grant.

It’s no secret that Phnom Penh expats can be transient, and new arrivals cycle in and out with the frequency of rainy season showers. But the city’s salsa dancing scene can make anyone feel like they’re a part of something, no matter how long Cambodia is their port of call.

On a Saturday morning at The FCC Bar and Restaurant, Diana Minaroviechovais spins and steps away her last Phnom Penh afternoon in a sun-drenched practice room tucked away on the second floor. Diana’s gauzy dress swishes as she and her half-dozen classmates repeat the basic salsa step again and again. Instructor Jimmy Campbell claps and shouts the count over the beat, “One, two, three… five, six, seven.”

Classes are one entry point to experience salsa’s allure firsthand.They run on Saturdays at The FCC as long as there’s sufficient enrolment. No partner necessary—although female students are encouraged to bring a male friend to add to the mix, as the ratio inclines to more women than men. The varied levels draw students with a range of backgrounds, but, certainly at the beginner level, there’s no shame in forgetting how to count while moving your feet.

After the session ends, four of the women collapse into armchairs in The FCC dining area and order glasses of sangria and wine. This class was even more special than usual because it’s Minaroviechovais’s last day in town. She says that salsa is something she’s wanted to do for a long time. Before her year in Cambodia, she lived in Prague where most classes require a partner. “[Salsa] has always been on my list to do,” she says. “Here I don’t have to dance by myself.”

One of the city’s first salsa teachers, Michael Stahl, is the proprietor of the website salsaphnompenh.com, which lists events and information for beginners and vets alike. He explains that, similar to many forms of ballroom, salsa—which originates from Cuba—has put down strong roots in Bangkok, Ho Chi Minh, Beijing, Hanoi and Jakarta.

For example, Stahl has come across dancers gathering in Beijing’s public parks early in the morning to practice their steps. “Once I asked one of the old ladies to dance,” he recalls. “It must have looked quite uncommon, a tall white man asking her to dance at 7am.”

Whenever Stahl visits an unfamiliar city, he always finds the salsa club. “It’s easy to learn, people are very open, and … you find out everything that’s happening in town,” he says.

Newcomers to Phnom Penh would be well advised to check out Equinox Bar on Wednesday evenings, when Jimmy Campbell organises salsa nights. It’s a hotspot for salsa lovers, who gather to dance to the rhythms provided by DJs and live music acts, such as Warapo, an award-winning Cuban group who have performed of late.

On one recent night, Elda Chilembo took a break from the dance floor to sit at the bar, still tapping her feet to the beat as she waited for her drink to arrive. “I’m Angolan,” she says. “So Latin-based dancing is really in our blood. I feel homesick sometimes. Once you get out there, the ice breaks. Even if I don’t know how to dance, someone takes you and twists you around.”

Another participant, Mathilde Dreyfus, is a student at the Royal University of Law & Economics who used to teach salsa in France. She remarks, “You’re really sharing a dynamic moment with your partner. The music uses real instruments and real stories that Cuban people pass down over lifetimes.”

Her fellow dancer Frank Leo adds that music also cemented his love for salsa. “The music motivates me,” he says. “I hear the music in my head and picture the turns, while I’m doing some boring tasks at work. It’s spontaneous; it drives me.”

Back at The FCC, Campbell has invited beginner students to try the next class. A lively beat fills the air to signal the start of the level two session, and Minaroviechovais takes a long look at the closed door. The other women, holding crimson glasses of sangria, say they’re not ready to try another class.

“This might be my last chance,” says Minaroviechovais. With a glance at her friends, she hesitates for a moment, then sets down her glass before turning and disappearing once again inside the music-filled room.

The lesson: Phnom Penh may be transient, but while you’re here—dance.