Hungarian Dance Hall

yesternight, after a full evening of coffee, chocolate, job complaints, diet swaps, and man dishing, we ended up at Hungarian Dance Hall, a little community house with old portraits and chandeliers and chairs that reminded me of my grandmother’s guest room or the conference hall of the Cabinet of Ministers of Albania. there were girls and women in full long skirts, twirling around to the sounds of the happy orchestra, with our very own Raif Hyseini in the Harmonica. there were freshly washed and groomed young men, who were hooking up with the pretend Hungarian gypsies, but who were terribly afraid that the dancers’ circle was going to sweep them off their feet and take them for a spin.  there was the token NY intellectual, a cross between Vojo Kushi and a gay labrador who nevertheless had a ring in his left ring finger, and therefore took my gaydar out of commision. and there was just the cutest, supersmart ashblond boy in glasses. I was picturing our wedding invitations when my merciless cousin pointed out how much he looked like a certain puddle eyed devil. pffff. i was so sad for a bit, until he started moving and doing some hungarian whatever steps. AHHHH. out came the wedding invitations again.

our kind Albo musicians, took up some Valle and some Pogonishte, only to have all the Upper East Manhattanites just get down with it, while we, poor Albos, were stepping on each-others toes and poking our neighbor dancers in the ribs. I mean how the heck am I supposed to know how many steps are in the Shota? nobody taught me how to make a good Pogonishte head dancer. I remember that the first time i tried even dancing that, the only thing i could think of was where to wipe my sweaty hands and how to better grip the fingers of my nervous partners. yet, there we were, shuffling along, while Steve, the dance master was prancing like he’d been in my great-grandfather’s wedding.

we could not keep up, but we were happy to follow the 90 years old lady in her cute shoes with elastic bands, ore the homeless beauty who graced us all with her smell. at least she had on clean sock, never mind her hair.

it was a nice night. even our cousin with two left feet and no rhythm whatsoever, got up and danced. there was also some food and beer being sold in the corner, presumably some hungarian sausage and albanian byrek. i did not get to try it, because my wonderful 77 yrs patient told me how fat i looked in those pants. terrified of losing his affection and oogling, i wowed to lay off grey pants and outside food, but that only lasted until today. It is not my fault the bus stop is right next to Dunkin Donuts.

all in all it was a very good night, and i think i will do it again sometime. for those of you who would like to try out some of the dances, here is the link  to the website:

http://www.nycfolkdance.org/

for those of you who’d like to have a good coffee and some nice dark chocolate, without resorting to starbucks, here is another link:

http://newyork.citysearch.com/profile/41861240/new_york_ny/juan_valdez_cafe.html

and nope, I am not getting any kickbacks. I am just doing this for the love of the sharing of the joy (or whatever the correct grammatical version is).

10 thoughts on “Hungarian Dance Hall

  1. Isn’t it ‘live long and prosper’? Now, here’s a pickle for an Albanian trekkie. Was Spok Albanian?

  2. yeah i was going to mention the ‘occipital flattening’ but I feared being too politically incorrect. Blame it on my being Canadian.

  3. since I am Albanian still, I am allowed to say things like this.
    jokes aside, Mr. Spock truly reminds me of a high school classmate. the Borg remind me of another high school friend, and Seven of Nine was who I wanted to be for a really long time.
    i am sure she would have danced a mean tchardash.

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