Monday night we went with a few of the other kids at the hostel to Las Brisas, one of the biggest, hottest salsa clubs in town. After a 30-minute cab ride (a hefty 9 USD) we suddenly pull off the side of the highway. We're here.
After a quick pat down by security, we're led inside to a table with plastic chairs about 10 feet from the dance floor. The waiter gets us a bottle of rum and a pitcher of sour lemonade, a bunch of plastic shot glasses, and we're off. The music is infectious. An hour later we are sweaty, drunk, happy.
There are asses being shook everywhere, and I mean SHOOK. It's amazing what women do to accentuate their bodies here, including all manner of ruffles, cutouts, and a level of skin-tightedness I would imagine is verrrrrry uncomfortable. Didn't take any pictures for fear of retribution by jealous Colombian boyfriends, but suffice to say that our goal of seeing Cali culos was fulfilled. Women like to be nekkid.
(Gabe made the very interesting point that we will be going from South America, where women are PROUD of what they got, to Muslim North Africa and the Middle East, where, you know, shit is different. We'll take our skin now while we can.)
But anyways. Besides the dancing, and the watching of the dancing, the best part of the night was easily the watching of the pros dancing. Cali has several world championship salsa couples, and a team of them also happen to be employed at Las Brisas.
So, for your enjoyment: The pura salsa of Cali, Colombia.
