A Day at the Races

This week for the first time ever: I went Lindy Hop Dancing.

Last weekend saw the arrival of one of my favourite annual events: La Fête de la Musique, when the Francophone cities of the world are treated to three days of wall-to-wall free music. After a manic rock 'n' roll fuelled Friday night and an enthusiastic and well-received performance with Android 80 in the town of Malmédy on Saturday evening, what could be better than taking a trip back in time and revelling in the laissez-faire ambience of the Roaring 20s?

As part of the weekend's events, my friend Vincent was hosting an afternoon 'thé dansant' in the park and the dance of choice was Lindy Hop. It was not until very recently that I had heard of Lindy Hop. My friend Rebecca has been taking classes in Brussels and this piqued my curiosity. The dance first evolved in Harlem in 1927 as a mutation of Breakaway and Charleston and incorporated elements of tap and was made popular in the famous Savoy Ballroom. It was named after Charles Lindbergh's atlantic crossing in 1927.
As it turns out, I am slightly familiar with it through its other name, 'Jitterbug'.

Thanks to Vincent for recommending this scene from The Marx Brothers 'A Day at the Races' featuring Whitey's Lindy Hoppers. I'm sure I don't have far to go to reach the same level as the girl 52 seconds in.

Lindy Hop is a swing dance set to jazz and ragtime and, with a fondness for this kind of music, I had high hopes for an enjoyable afternoon. So I slowly ambled down to Liège's Parc d'Avroy in that half-hearted, post-alcohol manner that comes with the territory of Sunday afternoons.

On first arrival, events seemed a little tragic: One lone hippy-looking guy was flopping around the dancefloor to a Duke Ellington number, admittedly putting his best foot foward, but I have doubts that Caterpillar sandals were ever the footwear of choice at The Cotton Club. As often occurs on a June weekend in Belgium, the weather was also putting a dampener on proceedings. It was the kind of weather that lulls you into the false sense of security that Summer's almost here kids, until two minutes later, somebody creeps up behind you and throws a bucket of water over your head.

Never one to let the weather prevent my enjoyment, I ordered a round of beers (the Belgians would not dream of serving PG Tips at a tea dance) for me, my husband and the friends we had bumped into and dragged along, and soon settled into the relaxed Sunday atmosphere appreciating the delights of Count Basie, Louis Jordan and Cab Calloway. I was especially thrilled to hear Ella Fitzgerald's 'Paper Moon' and thought to myself, "If there's a dance to go with this music, I want to learn it!"

The opportunity was not too far away, as Vincent had engaged two teachers who were more than willing to share their expertise, and, before long, I was forming part of a 'Lindy Circle' on the dancefloor. After mastering some very basic steps in 8 time, we partnered up and put our newly acquired skills to the test. The girls where asked to move around the circle with the aim of changing partners, as is common practice in dance classes. I particularly enjoyed dancing with a little Indian guy half my height who seemed unable to stop giggling, but not so much with a little weasely guy wearing a flat cap who spun me 'round and 'round to the point of nausea. I became more and more relaxed with what seemed to be my kind of movements; shuffling feet, a shake of the leg, a shimmy here, a shimmy there...In fact, I was later informed by my husband that the Lindy Hop is no different to the way that I normally dance!

Looks a bit more like Riverdance here...

When the occasion presented itself to pair up with the professional dance teacher, it was clear that I was now a Lindy Hop afficionado, worlds apart from the other beginners and just a couple of lessons away from embarking on a new career in the world of dance. Bruce Forsyth would soon be knocking on my door.

Would I try it again?: Where do I sign up?