I want to dance like a Dominican

This guy tells me, as he’s laying down naked in front of me,
"Americans live to work, Dominicans work to live."
"Americans are so boring," he continues as I rub my hands up his leg,
"They go to sleep just as we would be heading out on the town.
We stay up til three in the morning dancing."
After I finish him off, I say, "I think you’re right. Americans are pretty boring."
Then I leave.
After working more than five hours straight doing massage, I’m exhausted.
It’s New Years Eve and I can’t even be sure I’ll make it out tonight.
Sleep sounds good.
I’ve been working a lot lately.
That was Juan, from the Dominican Republic, just one of about 40 Dominicans visiting Snowmass over the holidays. I rubbed a bunch of them and noticed - from Maria, the mom who could care less about skiing, but was having a ball, to Martin, the mammoth mass of flesh who was so excited he woke up yesterday on the beach and today was in the snow - that Dominicans seemed pretty stoked on life.
"We are basically a happy people," explained Jose, a long, lanky, hairy man with a kind face and lots of questions.
I work my fingers up and down his neck. He smiles.
"To really understand the attitude of my people you have to go back in history," he says when I inquire why it is that these islanders seem to be so contented.
"We’ve had a difficult history, with a lot of struggles. So we appreciate where we are. And the people are mainly a mix of Spanish, White and Black," he says referring to what he called the Mulatto mix of a majority of Dominicans, making them an attractive light-brown-colored people.
"Because of our history, and the mixed race of the people and the climate, I think people are very accepting of what comes," he explained.
I wondered if we would be happier, more content, in America, if we were a majority Mulatto. The issue of race certainly wouldn’t be such an issue.
Imagine in Carbondale if we were all mixed; instead of saying the elementary school is 80% Latino and 20% Anglo, it would just be 100% kiddos who all need and deserve a good education. Just a thought. But what language would they speak?
I digress.
Jose runs a hotel in the Dominican Republic, on the beach, of course.
His skin is tan, that makes him seem healthy. It reminds me of my recent trip to Hawaii where I was sporting such a deep dark tan from my days on the beach.
That made me happy.
Jose seemed happy, too. Not to mention friendly, but not too friendly if you know what I mean. Just nice.
Happy.
But, the climate, the history, the race, that’s the formula to this generally gleeful group of guests?
Hmmm, I thought, is that all? I dug my elbow into Jose’s hamstrings.
Jose speaks on, muffled by the face rest where his head is supported.
"And the music. Anywhere you go in the Dominican Republic, if people hear the music - the Salsa, the Merengue - they stop what they’re doing and they start dancing," he says and I can tell he’s smiling by the tone of his voice.
"They can be working in the hotel and if the music comes on they drop everything.
The music is inside of them. They have to dance."
That’s it. The music. They dance all night. They stop work; they dance.
I’m sure if they are having an argument, after 20 years of marriage and three boys left home and off in college and money is tight, mama and papa Dominican can make up with a simple "step-touch-step", and a swing of the hips. It brings their bodies together and brings them right back to the day they met, in the hotel. She was a maid, he was a waiter, who cares how many beds to make, orders to take; the music is on. They feel it in their bones. She is wrapped up in him, just for a moment... then, the beds, the food.
People who work to live, will live.
People who live to work, will work.
"Living" is optional.
I want to learn to dance like a Dominican.
Anybody care to dance?