One of the first things my husband, Paul, and I consider when planning any travel is “where can we dance?” When business required a trip to Shanghai, we searched the Internet. We got lucky by finding www.mai.com (Greater China Ballroom Dance Site). We sent an e-mail and received a reply the next day with contacts in the Shanghai area.
After a busy workweek, Friday arrived. We called the cell phone of a Ms. Shu who could speak “a little” English. Unfortunately, it turned out to be about equal to our few phrases of Chinese. Nonetheless, we had soon set up plans to meet at our hotel that evening. Promptly at 9:00, a taxicab discharged an energetic middle-aged woman dressed in black chiffon—without a doubt, a ballroom dancer! Through our few phrases and energetic sign language, we understood that she was taking us in the cab to a popular dance hall.
The taxi took us to Nanjing Road, a “must go” shopping spot in Shanghai. We stopped in front of a three-story art deco structure—the Paramount, Shanghai’s premier dance palace. The interior was astonishing: red velvet and tapestry. Four charming hostesses in Chinese garb greeted us. The young ladies escorted us up winding steps to the main dance hall where a large stage overlooked a beautiful dance floor. The hostesses there wore full-length gold brocade ballgowns, and there were several tall, attractive gentlemen in tailsuits, some dancing. We were escorted to a table on the balcony where one of the gentlemen in tails received us. He smiled and gestured to Mrs. Shu.
On stage was a singer in pink chiffon backed by a 12-piece orchestra. They were playing a quickstep, but the dancers were doing a spot dance that was between a hustle and swing. Everyone was having a great time. It did not take us long to take our first hesitant steps towards the dance floor for a cha cha. After our third dance, Ms. Shu indicated that she and her friend wanted to switch partners. The gentleman was obviously a teacher and Standard (which he called “Modern”) was his thing as he hit the floor for every waltz and fox trot (still no quickstep, although a lot of the music was appropriate). We had studied Standard for just a short time and were nervous. The slow fox music was smooth and his lead superb, but his height (at least 6 inches taller than Paul) had me in an awkward position. Sensing my anxiety, he kindly spoke each step before he danced it, but between his accent and my limited knowledge, the only term I grasped was “pivot.”
We did much better on the next switch—the orchestra played a waltz. I was able to adjust better to his height and Paul was hitting his stride with the comfortable waltz tempo. We could sense many eyes on us, and the reaction was not negative. We wanted to try a quickstep because they played so many great tunes with the right tempo, but everyone was doing the hustle/swing thing. I pointed to one of the couples on the floor and asked, “what dance?” Ms. Shu and her teacher looked at us curiously, and replied, “Churbah.” They also indicated distaste for the couple’s style, “No good churbah.” We decided that we would try our quickstep the next time the band played one!
Once we hit the floor, Paul started us off with a swing. From there, he switched to hustle and then a cha cha. I guessed he was feeling his way with the unfamiliar music. Finally, he took me in frame and we started a quickstep. A hush fell over the room for a moment, and we thought we had committed a cultural faux pas (were we murdering their national dance?). The next minute, applause, a hum of excited voices and smiles around the room assured us that all was well. On our second quickstep, another well-dressed man stole me from Paul—Paul finessed the situation by doing the swing with his partner, who looked a little peeved. This gentleman knew some English and explained that the quickstep is considered a competition dance and is not danced socially. He also clarified the name of the mystery dance everyone was so fond of—the “jitterbug!!”
The crowd had taken us to heart. We were getting about equal applause for our antics on the floor as another couple—young and well built who were obviously Latin pros. It was like winning a gold medal when the manager came up to us with his card, inviting us to “come dance” there again. To crown it off, he sent over a huge fruit platter on a crystal platter—on the house.
At the end of a phenomenal evening, we thanked Ms. Shu and her teacher and requested that we take care of the bill. She would not hear of it! No amount of gesturing, or my husband’s Italian persistence, would convince her. She would not budge, and ended up paying what looked like three month’s wages for the pleasure of our company. She promised that we could reciprocate on her to New York.
P.S.: We found out later that the well-dressed gentlemen and ladies were dance hosts who were Paramount employees. The people dancing with them were being charged by the hour for their company! Ms. Shu had paid for four hours with the “teacher” in addition to all the food, drinks and cover charges.
