Think dance classes scare you? Try to take four on the weekend | A celebration of the ride

AI’m waiting for my first Cuban salsa class to start, and I feel like I’m not well prepared. I’m wearing heavy jeans, a chunky sweater and boots. I have never taken a dance class in my life – or any type of exercise. I don’t know anything about salsa, Cuban or not. Standing alone, I see that everyone has brought a friend, and I begin to suspect that it takes two to Cuban salsa. There’s no time to find out – class is starting.

This year, A celebration of the ride – Melbourne’s winter performance – has combined his long-standing dance repertoire into a mini-festival: the inaugural Australian Dance Biennale, showcasing Australian and international works. There are also several dance classes, called The Land of 1000 Dances, held in the romantic Flinders Street Ballroom. Running every day until June 7, with classes priced at $29 a pop, the various programs include Afro-fusion, ballroom, voguing, waltz and K-pop for teens and twelves.

As an audience member, I am very grateful for the dance; as a participant, I can be kindly described as “interested” but not communicative. What if I went to a bunch of dance classes and then wrote about it?

Less than 24 hours before my first class, doubts set in – doing my first dance class in a show dress that I’ll see later looks awful. At the ballpark, I’m pretty sure: the crowd is diverse in age, gender and body types, and no one wears clothes suitable for dancing.

But the class itself is vague – sometimes really – when I try to learn and implement cucaracha, guapo and other important Cuban salsa moves; trying to find a pulse, my hips, any connection. Every time I feel like I’m starting to settle, the instructor adds a new step. Then they put us in pairs – with new moves, shouting “change friends!” every three minutes.

Going solo, it’s better: everyone is friendly; many seem as unsure as I am. Some are struggling but there is love: we are all in this together. That said, we’re all too sweaty to touch each other.

I go from being overwhelmed, through times of success, to being depressed. The movement that includes a 360 degree rotation to the figure of eight almost destroys my spirit and I think of giving up. To my surprise, this awakens a latent warrior spirit: break the rules, and do as I please. I have short-lived happiness. Then we change friends and I find myself in the cursed circle with four left feet. Happiness is waning.

The classes are over and I rush to the theater feeling like a very dirty person. I spend the next hour watching a show by Irish artist Oona Doherty with professional, educated and untrained dancers – and I greet them all, with a new appreciation for the black art of dance.

I approach my next class, the Melbourne shuffle, with trepidation. Not only do I now know how bad I am but I have agreed to be photographed. And I chose it without knowing anything about the Melbourne vibe, mistakenly thinking it was somewhere in the city’s other big traditions: big balls to follow the red thread down the colorful paths.

Watching three YouTube lessons in front of the class, I’m disappointed. This is a rave-adjacent – a very powerful offshoot of breakdance that was created in the late 80s and 90s. Melbourne. The moves are harder than Cuban salsa, and the BPM is much higher. I put on trousers and trainers and go to the Flinders Street Ballroom convinced I’m out of a job.

Then the class started and a miracle happened. I’m still sucking, I’m alone, and I’m sweating – but I’m having fun. I ask counselors for help and, despite their best efforts, I can’t use my body – but I don’t really care. After class I felt like I was floating. I message everyone I know; This feeling that I am experiencing, I find, is known as “endorphins”.

At my Afro-fusion class the next day – an introduction to the Kongo Ndombolo style, drawing elements from South Africa and Ghana – I follow the advice of my friend Rudi, who used to be a dancer: enjoy the music, and “be kind to your body, because it’s going to be difficult. And the more you relax and unwind, the better it will look.” The disappointment of teachers Octaves and Dorcas from Melbourne Afro Dancing it is transmissive and the movements are clear. I am happy!

At the beginning of the day, watching the bulbs learn a simple traditional dance with the women of the Djirri Djirri Wurundjeri Dance group, I saw how unrestrained they were; how willing to participate, not distracted by new trends. Fearless, quick to find happiness.

I think about how many of us loved to dance as children, and many of us, on the way to adulthood, were ashamed of being in our bodies. If we’re lucky, we get to enjoy these simple pleasures again sometime. I feel grateful for the opportunity to experience the joys of group dancing – wickedly, but fearlessly.