Salsa spices up Lynchburg

By Liz Barry

Published: April 9, 2008

Salsa music thumps from Machu Picchu at 512 Fifth St. It’s almost midnight on a Friday night. The rest of the block is dead.

Hands clasped, a young couple dance on the patio outside. It’s raining but they don’t care. They spin and slide on the wet slate.

Inside, the Peruvian restaurant in Lynchburg is packed with dancers. The dinner tables have been moved aside, replaced by a DJ booth and flashing lights.

It’s salsa night in Lynchburg.

How it began
Every Friday night, Eddie Reyes, a law student at Liberty University, teaches a salsa lesson at Machu Picchu followed by a night of dancing. The event draws a mixed crowd that is dominated by Liberty students. Last Friday, more than 130 people showed up.

With roots in Cuba and Puerto Rico, salsa music is known for its strong beats and sensuous rhythms. Salsa is also a dance that fuses elements from jazz, funk, reggae, hip-hop and samba.

Reyes is the son of Guatemalan immigrants. He took up salsa dancing in the fall as a way to connect with his roots and to decompress after a long week of classes.

“I’m from Los Angeles, which is like the epicenter of salsa,” he says.

The first class met in February at the Drowsy Poet on Candlers Mountain Road. About 25 showed up. But word spread quickly through Facebook (salsa night has its own profile and more than 300 friends) and by word of mouth.

Before long, salsa night was drawing close to 100 people. Reyes moved to Machu Picchu, a larger venue with a green linoleum floor conducive to dancing.

Machu Picchu owner Elsa Duran, a native of Peru, lets Reyes use her space free of charge. At first, she even paid for the DJ out of her own pocket. Now she charges $3 at the door to cover the cost.

“I feel good when they come here,” Duran says. “I like them to socialize here in the downtown, to somehow bring life to this area.”

Salsa night is all about the dancing. There’s no food or alcohol. Just music.

Sergeant Salsa
At 9 p.m., the dinner crowd has left and the dancing crowd begins to trickle in the door. By 9:30, Reyes’ lesson is underway.

The dancers partner up and form two concentric circles — men on the outside, women on the inside. Reyes stands in the middle, counting the beats as muted salsa music plays in the background.

“One, two, three. (Pause.)
Five, six seven. (Pause.) ”

Reyes’ voice is firm over a din of giggles and chatter. He looks like he just stepped out of the office with his tucked-in collared shirt and dress slacks. His brown hair is slicked back underneath a pair of Oakley sunglasses.

“I call him ‘Sergeant Salsa,’” Duran says with a laugh. “He tells you what to do and makes sure you do it. It’s working.”

The couples move to the sound of Reyes’ voice, stepping and spinning in attempted unison. Some are graceful; others are stiff and awkward.

It’s almost 10 p.m., and people are still trickling in. Some are casual in T-shirts and jeans; others are dressed for a night on the town in stilettos and sparkly earrings. They squeeze into the circle or watch from booths along the perimeter.

Reyes marks the time in staccato.

“One, two, three. (Pause.) Five, six, seven. (Pause.) Ladies, right turn. Halo ‘round the angel.”

Salsa fever
With the lesson underway, J.C. Canelon is setting up his DJ equipment. After the lesson, he will spin salsa tunes late into the night.

Born in Venezuela, Canelon has lived in Lynchburg since 1994. He says salsa is all he listened to growing up. He learned how to dance salsa through osmosis.

Johan Torres, who is here for the dancing, is also from Venezuela and has lived in the U.S. for four years, and in Lynchburg for a year and a half.

“I heard salsa since I was a baby,” Torres says.

Canelon and Torres have witnessed a growing interest in salsa. Fifteen years ago, the mention of salsa dancing in Lynchburg elicited blank looks.

“Now you say ‘salsa,’ and people know it,” Torres adds.

Canelon says he will be starting a salsa class and dance night at Big Lick Tropical Grill in May. The salsa Canelon will teach is less formal than the ballroom-style taught by Reyes. It’s less stiff and more sensuous, he says.

“You gotta get loose. Feel the rhythm from head to toe.”

Dance party
Back on the dance floor, Reyes is demonstrating how to ask a woman to dance, what to do (wear cologne) and what not to do (sneak up on her from behind).

After the lesson in civility, the DJ cranks up the salsa music. The song is “Lloraras” (“You will cry”) by Oscar de Leon from Venezuela.

The orderly lesson gives way to freewheeling dancing. Couples rehearse their new moves. Machu Picchu seems more like a big city club than a quiet restaurant.

Two couples practice in the relative quiet of a nearby hallway.

Dan Durocher and Stephanie Pantoja, both sophomores at Liberty, are one of those pairs. Durocher counts off the beats as they execute the basic forward-backward step. Their arms tangle as they attempt a spin.

Pantoja enjoys having other social options in Lynchburg. She found out about salsa night through Facebook, where reminders are posted about upcoming events.

“I was like, ‘What? There is dancing in Lynchburg, who knew?’”

Liberty sophomore Katie Smith is a first-timer at salsa night. She practices on the rainy patio with Justin Weinmann, a Liberty freshman.

“I think it’s a beautiful dance,” Smith says. “And I’m Mexican, so it’s in my blood.”

It’s 55 degrees Fahrenheit. Smith wears a spaghetti strap dress and flip-flops.

“The rain is cooling and refreshing,” she says with a grin.

Inside, the dance floor is packed. Foreheads gleam with sweat.

It’s 11 p.m., and the night has just begun. Duran is still collecting a cover charge at the door. Later, she will dance with her husband.

“I love salsa. I love dancing. I love music,” Duran says. “To free your spirit and enjoy the moment.”

She pauses. “Everything is not work, but also enjoyment in life. One enjoyment I find in life is dancing; I love dancing.”

The last of the dancers doesn’t leave until after 1 a.m. One night Duran kept her doors open past 3 a.m.

All in the name of salsa.