Salsation: Affective Encounters and the Right to the City

The first thing I notice as I climb the old wooden stairs toward the faint sound of trumpets, congas, and clave growing steadily louder is the heat—it emanates from the warm glow of the restaurant’s entrance and gently caresses my face, then envelops my body like a warm embrace. As I turn the corner and enter the restaurant, the vibrations of base and of rhythmic footsteps reverberate up from the wooden dance floor, entering my body through my heels, traveling up my legs to settle in my gut. I move through the gauntlet of warm smiles, damp hugs, superficial pecks on the cheek, and begin to navigate the precarious dance space of high heel shoes and flailing elbows in search of my first dance partner of the evening. I notice a woman strolling gracefully through the front doors wearing a spicy red dress that might be overdramatic on any other night but seems perfectly appropriate for this setting. A smartly-dressed guy in designer jeans and a black t-shirt, smooth and confident, enters the venue. His eyes find the girl with the magical shoes and he winks at her, approaches, and extends his hand. She gracefully accepts his request by taking his arm and leading him onto the dance floor. They sway together in a close embrace before he leads her to effortlessly execute triple spins, travelling turns, direction changes, and dramatic dips all with confidence, style, and a slight smile. I watch them briefly, engaged in a flawless performance that seems sensual and intimate, yet tinged with a hint of self-importance.