Tag Archives: dance

A Latin(o) Australia

I have become a chocolate snob. A warm buttery waft of cocoa tempts me round the corner of the Northbridge Piazza. San Churro, the chocolateria promises all sort of good things in chocolate on its menu, but I’ve not ventured in as yet. You see, I’ve sampled the real thing – homemade Latin-American-style hot chocolate brewed from such brands as Rexim and Blooker.  I’ve sampled the flavours of Colombia, Venezuela and Nicaragua in Willie’s cacao blocks sold at Kakulas. These heady concoctions are but my first taste of latino Western Australia. Conclusion 1: Cocoa is truly is the nectar of the gods.

I came to Australia expecting to see England with a few kangaroos and koalas on the side. It amazes me to find so much of South America here instead. Further down James Street, strains of Spanish music spill out of Guzman y Gomez, a Mexican taqueria. The supermarkets sell El Paso taco-making kits and the local coffee shop has bean-filled burritos. Conclusion 2: they really like Mexican food here.

Then there are the dances – I can now tell a merengue from a salsa (no, these are not names for food) and a bachata from a champeta (some things are better left unexplored). A local bar offers salsa on Thursday nights, but if you’ve been reading my blog, you know that the less said about dancing the better. The rhythms are irresistible though, and some nights I draw the blinds and try the steps with YouTube lessons. Maybe someday….Conclusion 3: Dreamer.

I’m truly impressed and touched by the warmth of Latin hospitality and the friendship extended by people from various corners of the Spanish speaking world living in Western Australia – Colombia and Peru, Chile and Ecuador, Mexico and Argentina. Here are homes where I have learnt to cook arepas with Harina P.A.N. (corn meal) and eat changua, while listening tongue-tied to Spanish chatter. The clear tones of Argentina are easy to follow, but I struggle to decipher the fluid accents of Chile. Here are countries where to be “Indian” means something else. Yes…I’m Indian. No, from India – yes, we do look South American. Or perhaps it’s the South Americans who look Indian? No? My apologies.

There is a sense of family and fellowship that reminds me, achingly, of people back home. There is an openness that I think of as purely Australian. There is a love of soccer that only a South American can understand. Why don’t they play cricket? Just joking, of course.

The Day of the Little Candles: An Advent celebration or Latin living in Perth?

The Day of the Little Candles: An Advent celebration or Latin living in Perth?

A few days ago, I lit candles to celebrate the Advent season in the style of Colombia’s Dia de Las Velitas. As I watch the tealights flicker to the tune of “El Burrito de Belen,” I celebrate the cultural pluralism of nation to which I belong and the multiculturalism of the land I live in. I came here expecting to see a half-forgotten corner of England. Who would have thought I’d find a Latin Australia instead?


When You Think You Can Dance…

Everyone’s talking about Patrick Swayze. Not that I mind…I’ve been watching clips of Dirty Dancing and reruns of “She’s Like the Wind” over the last couple of weeks. The man had amazing talent – he sang, danced, acted and was an athlete in school. Dirty Dancing isn’t particularly a favourite of mine, but this time round I really paid attention to Swayze’s moves. Smooth and graceful – not like me, of course.

My own dancing career lasted exactly an hour. Ok, it wasn’t even a career – it was a lesson in ballroom dancing, rock and roll to be precise. My Aussie friend, a teacher on a study break, picked me up one Sunday afternoon and drove us to the Manning Bowling Club. For AU$ 12, I would learn to go ‘one-two-three-four’, dancing round a room full of men who were “old enough to be your grandpa”, according to my friend. This wasn’t such a bad idea. I’d never danced before – how terrible could it be to embarrass myself in front of men twice my age?

I won’t go into the details, as I can probably summarize my problems in two sentences. I can’t whirl. I can’t twirl. As I contemplated this rather disappointing situation, I was passed from partner to partner until the dance instructor himself decided to take a hand. “You’re spinning on the wrong foot, Deep-tea,” he roared, in his best drill-sergeant voice. “Right foot, not the left.” I’m left-handed, and probably left-footed as well. A molly duker – as the Aussies put it.

I didn’t step on anyone’s toes, and perhaps this little victory went to my head. I one-two-three-foured my way around the dance floor to the likes of Bill Haley. My new found rhythm was short-lived though. Just as I triumphantly finished my whirl-stumble-twirl, my south paw suddenly caught the chin of one my more elderly partners. I’ll bet that’s never happened to him before – another tale to tell the grandchildren, no doubt, the Indian girl who finished her dances by landing a punch. At least I didn’t finish off my fellow dancers!

I’ve learned three things from my dance lesson. I’m not Patrick Swayze – or even Jennifer Gray. I’m not auditioning for So You Think You Can Dance anytime soon. I probably should take up boxing.