[Living in Antalya -- 25] We might as well dance

Back in the UK, I would not by any stretch of the imagination call myself a great dancer. But, let loose in a party, with some familiar music blaring out, I am more than happy to dance -- in fact I’m often one of the first to hit the floor, oblivious to who may be watching. So why was I so reluctant to let my guard down in this situation? I loved watching it, enjoyed the music and, having sunk a couple of beers, was pretty relaxed. But I just couldn’t figure out the “steps” involved and had visions of causing chaos in the line with my clumsy, out of time moves. I did, however, make a mental note to rectify this deficit in my knowledge of Turkish culture.

The Rock Bar

My next experience of late-night dancing in Antalya was very different. Having all my grown-up children and their assorted friends and partners to stay at the same time is in itself something to celebrate, and they were all keen to sample a taste of Antalya’s night life. I’m relieved to say that none of them have any interest in disco type clubs, so I was spared the embarrassment of having to try either of the two nearby main late-night clubs, which (I gather) cater mainly to bus loads of foreign tourists. Instead we headed out for the dark and dingy Rock Bar, buried deep in the heart of the Kaleiçi. The venue, reached by an exceedingly rickety staircase that would definitely not pass UK safety standards, is a gloomy room with a bar, a small stage and a great ambience. On the stage, belting out tune after tune, were three guys calling themselves Blue Life. The majority of the audience was students from Akdeniz University, which made my husband and I by some distance the two oldest rockers in the room, but it didn’t matter. Within minutes I was in the middle of the dance floor flinging my arms and legs around with the rest. Back on familiar ground, i.e., rock not traditional Turkish music, I felt able to dance unselfconsciously.

Tea dances

My first lesson in Turkish dancing happened by surprise at a Saturday lunchtime get together of the (all female) staff from the crèche where I work. This took place in the apartment of one of my colleagues, where after a splendid feast of Turkish meze (börek, mantı, salad, cakes, etc.) and about three gallons of tea, the living room coffee table was whipped away, the CD player turned on and the dancing began. Nobody had prepared me for this turn of events and I stared in amazement as my Turkish friends set to on the makeshift dance floor. Not for long though, as I was tugged out of my seat and linking fingers with the rest of them.

They were all amazingly patient with me and I really tried to memorize the steps, unfortunately without, it has to be said, much success. It all looks so easy when you watch a group of Turkish people dancing but, believe me, it’s not. Not only is the footwork complicated, but coordinating the subtle upper body and arm movements, so different to anything in the Western dance oeuvre, was beyond me. Nevertheless, in this safe environment I was able to have a go and my impromptu instructors continue to show me the occasional dance routine when back at school. Sometimes I feel this is just an excuse to have a bit of a (good-humored) laugh at my attempts, but I can take the good-natured ribaldry.

The lessons

So when I heard of a trial course of Turkish dance lessons starting up in my neighborhood last spring, I was first in the queue to sign up. The class turned out to consist of a mixed collection of students from the UK, Holland and America, ranging from 10-60 years old. Luckily for me, we were all novices. Many years ago, in the UK, in a misguided burst of keep-fit enthusiasm, I attempted to learn line dancing. Several weeks into the course, my despairing teacher looking pitifully at me as, yet again, I found myself facing the wrong way in the line, and commented, “You really must practice at home.” Humiliated, I slunk off and never went back. I very much hoped that this new Turkish dance experience would not be a repeat of that disaster.

The teacher, who spoke fluent English, was brilliant. He suggested learning a traditional wedding dance first and walked us through the steps at a pace even I could keep up with. Before long, we were moving in a line, shoulder to shoulder and keeping time with the music. I was far from perfect, but I could just about hold my own and with a great deal of concentration didn’t let the side down. Each week we built on these moves and learnt to lean backwards or forwards at the right moments and together. Like line dancing, the moves have to be performed in unison. In line dancing, however, people dance on their own, whereas Turkish dancing involves being connected to the rest of the dancers in a way that makes it both supportive and intimate. We only really learnt one style of dancing, but our dance “hoca” was able to demonstrate the Black Sea dances, which he compared to “hamsi” -- the quick, fluttering movements made by the famous Turkish anchovy -- and the more sedate and warrior-like dances from central Anatolia.