Atlanta, in all fairness, is very much a "chocolate" city meaning that there is no shortage of such amenities as soul food restaurants, loc-ticians, and poetry slams. However, Atlanta is also called "home" by people from nations all over the world. Driving through Atlanta's meandering and rolling thoroughfares, it is not unusual to encounter both Israeli and Palestinian, Filipino and Mexican, Chinese and Taiwanese, Ethiopian and South African, British, Irish, Russian, French and everything in between. Kind of sounds odd when one calls to mind the various stereotypes associated with the southernmost United States. No, everyone's neck is not red. Yes, many, many different languages are spoken. And for those of us who are accustomed to the flavors of the Southwest, hell yes, there is salsa in the south.
After watching the
Argentina vs Columbia soccer match at a friend's
penthouse (sorry Columbia), we made our way to
Loca Luna to help observe another companion's 29th birthday. Now, only in America would an immigrant from
Cote D'Ivoire be able to celebrate his birthday with people from all over West Africa and the Carribean at a Latino establishment. Gotta love this country. We dined on tapas that ranged from $5 - $15 each. (Free valet, Las Vegans.) Not bad at all. I had my usual vodka cocktail, which was on special for just $5 courtesy of
Absolut. I can appreciate that...primarily because I only needed one drink. Someone hug that bartender for me.
Loca Luna features a live band nightly playing
Salsa, Samba and
Merengue. As the night progresses, the dining tables are folded away and more room is made for swinging and twirling to the heart's desire.
OutPast30 Lady was delighted. I couldn't get enough of all of the various cultures and ethnicities intermingling, coexisting...celebrating. The whole rainbow was on the dance floor, at tables , at the bar dancing, dining, smiling, talking and feeling good. I had to ask myself again, "What recession?" Through open doors leading out to
Loca Luna's veranda, we saw the sun set around 9:15pm. The air was steamed electricity. The energy was contagious... and abundantly so. This is lovely. Very lovely.
It's no secret. OutPast30 Lady loves dancing. I like to shake it. No doubt. I watch America's Best Dance Crew and I felt Fanny Pak was robbed during that one season. I watch So You Think Can Dance as well. I'm cheering for Russell Ferguson the krumper. He gets down. I refuse to watch Dancing With the Stars. I want to watch actual dancing, not desperation, on the dance floor. I'm not just a fan of the Hip Hop. I dig all kinds of expression. Thus last night's choice of salsa at The Sanctuary was hot and definitely a nod to my California roots. 
We arrived at The Sanctuary at about 9:30pm just in time for the free dance lesson. There was a beginner's class upstairs and an intermediate class downstairs. Although I'm very comfortable with the basic steps and turns of salsa, we opted for the beginner's just to refresh ourselves. The class was being lead by Myron Abernathy. He was a very likable guy (not your usual dance nazi) and took the time to simplify each step in terms that were easy to understand by even the most rhythmically challenged novice. He even clapped it up every time we got the next step. Nothing like joyful positive reinforcement. There was about 30 of us students. Surprisingly, there were just as many guys as there were girls even though many were flying solo. I love Georgia for this. The atmosphere is so inviting that twenty-something year old guys do not mind embarrassing themselves during salsa lessons in pursuit of a good time and probably some tail. Fine with me. Students ranged from drinking age to much older and every one of us was having a ball. 
About an hour later, everyone stayed for the party. Drinks were poured at the bar as ceiling fans were switched on and disco lights were revved up. There were no wallflowers. Either you were drinking at the bar or sweating on the dance floor. All shapes, sizes, colors and ages were twisting and turning while being careful not to swing into other couples. Honestly, I've never had a bad time at a salsa spot and that's going back about ten years to my days in New Orleans at House of Blues' Latin night to random spots in L.A. to Northern Cali to here. I don't know why I never did salsa in Las Vegas. I think the coolest thing is that the tables are turned at a salsa club. All the women can't wait to dance with the older men. The older men who know how to salsa can twirl your ass right around that dance floor with a style and finesse that the younger men typically don't possess. These gents have this ultra cool look on their faces, their legs moving, their hands firmly guiding their partners. It's something to see...but it's even better to participate.
I envied the ladies who had dared to come out half naked. I was sweating something terrible as my own partner moved me around the dance floor. We laughed it up as we would occasionally ditch the rules of salsa and break into some African movements. It felt like we had been in there for at least three hours. In reality it had only be an hour and a half. My feet were screaming and the santini that Babe had unexpectedly ordered for me was knocking me in the head. Thus we left for our usual at Checkers while reminiscing about all-nighters back in the day. Not tonight. We had a birthday party to go to the next day and dinner with friends on Sunday. After Checkers, he'd be playing Modern Warfare 2 on XBox360 and I'd be rewatching Lost on Netflix. I can't wait until the new season comes out. 
