On a Friday night in the middle of an unexpected July monsoon, the dance floor of the longstanding Tex-Mex restaurant Amigos in Kemang came to life with bodies young and old, tall and stout, adorned in flowing dresses with thigh-high slits or dapper outfits of half-buttoned shirts and form-fitting pants, moving in pairs to the beat of bachata music.
A public dance class was in session, and the mood was jovial with laughter sparked by missteps or the occasional confusion that came with a rotation of switching partners. And yet, an underlying sense of anticipation for something bigger lingered in the air. It was, after all, the night of the ‘social’, a longtime Friday night tradition at Amigos during which the dance floor transforms into a free-for-all arena for amateurs to professionals alike showcasing their enthusiasm and mastery of Latin-style dances.
Experienced instructors Diah Etameswari (better known as Eta) and Antonius Lulut (nicknamed Anton) led the ongoing drill, teaching basic moves such as box steps and the more difficult hip rolls to prepare newcomers should they want to take part in the dancing during the social.
“Some students are only casually curious, others really get into it and go on to take part in competitions,” shared Eta. “Their motivations vary. Sometimes, the thing that keeps them coming can be as simple as liking the mood of the place. You’ll see [during the social], it’s completely different to what you’ll typically find at most bars and lounges.”
Visit enough nightlife establishments in the city, and you’ll quickly become accustomed to the drunken shimmies and spirited jumps that most people would readily call ‘dancing’. But when the social commenced and the dancers entered the floor with their raw flair and graceful suave—spinning, twisting and embracing one another—such a misguided perspective on dancing evaporated into the air, just as the room (literally and figuratively) heats up from the flurry of movements.
Putting the ‘social’ in social dancing
Social dancing has been flying under the radar for most of the city’s party-goers. But those who participate, from expatriates and working professionals to retirees, more than make up for it with their vibrant energy and close-knit community. For one, that particular night was also special because they were celebrating the birthday of one of their members, fashion model-slash-oil and gas executive Julia Kotuleva.
“I love dancing, it’s the only way I can feel totally myself,” expressed the Uzbekistan-born model, whose portraits have graced multiple fashion publications in Indonesia spanning Harper’s Bazaar, Cosmopolitan to Dewi Magazine. “I think I’m not the only one who feels that way. I look around and see people feeling relaxed and free from any fear of judgement.”
This freeing element to dancing has also been observed by Eta, herself having been a dancer since the young age of five. “A lot of these dancers are actually shy, but they’re willing to step out of their comfort zone,” she pointed out. “Once they hit the dance floor, they become so graceful and full of smiles, leaving their other moods behind. And for those who find conversations awkward, there’s no need to worry about talking—they just dance.”
It’s part of what makes social dancing such a useful tool for, well, socialising—especially because it’s partner work. In every twist and turn between the leader of the dance and their follower, dancing becomes their lingua franca, a common language that bridges the gap between generations, personalities and even nationalities.
“Whenever I travel abroad, I always look into the dancing scene first. I would then ask around for recommendations of places to go. It’s easier to make friends there because we all share the same language: dancing,” shared Eta.
“Any wall between us goes out the window as soon as the music starts and we hit the dance floor,” Anton chimed in. His own entry into the professional world of Latin social dancing (and consequent departure from his previous vocation as the world’s number six aerobics athlete) was made possible by this international network, which earned him a scholarship to study salsa in the United States back in 2001.
“In the past, the dancing sport here was mainly dominated by ballroom dancing. Then in the late ’90s, there was a movement to popularise Latin social dances, starting with salsa,” he recalled. “The atmosphere is more casual and the dance itself doesn’t follow a strict tempo, so a lot of people are more keen to learn.”
Having a ball
Practically speaking, there is no strict distinction between the Latin dances found at socials and ballroom dancing, with both communities and genres often crossing over with one another (the Latin dances cha-cha and rumba, for example, can be categorised as ballroom dances). To put it in simple terms, if socials are more ‘street’, then ballroom dancing is its more posh cousin.
A display of the latter can be discovered some 15 kilometres up north from Amigos’ colourful den inside one of the city’s oldest Chinese restaurants, Eka Ria. The massive dance hall, surrounded by marble pillars and circular tables decked with lazy susans, set the stage for men and women in their 50s to 80s who moved with surprisingly youthful grace and agility from one corner to the other in a series of synchronised steps.
“Many who dance in our ballroom are senior citizens who are uninterested in conventional exercises, even though it’s recommended by their doctors,” shared chef and third-generation owner, Koko Suharto. “But when they dance, they can do it nonstop for two to three hours, taking only short breaks to eat. [Dancing] really helps them stay fit and sharp mentally.”
Founded in 1925, the restaurant, which recently celebrated its 99th birthday with an all-out dance party in July, implemented the addition of the ballroom back in 2009—and it quickly became popular among the community. “I often get feedback from the dancers that [Eka Ria] is still one of the few places where they can genuinely practice ballroom dancing. The style requires a lot of room. I had to get rid of 24 tables to produce the necessary space,” explained Chef Koko.
One of the regulars at Eka Ria’s dance events is 54-year-old Fifi Ng, who boasts 27 years of dancing experience in styles ranging from cha-cha and jive to rumba. What began as a beneficial skill to build connections in her travel industry career has now become an opportunity to mingle with peers her age. Beyond staying fit, hitting the dance floor at the restaurant provides her with a chance to continually hone her skills.
“Stepping onto the dance floor is a mental test. No matter how much time we’ve spent in the studio perfecting our moves, we’re not truly tested until we perform in front of a crowd.”
Transcending generations
The mental effect of performing in front of an audience is something that account executive Dea Fadhila is also keenly familiar with.
“I feel distinct satisfaction in mastering a dance and performing in front of a crowd—especially when they compliment me right after. It gives me a boost of dopamine, and I can practice dancing for hours on end without feeling tired at all,” gushed Dea, whose salsa performance has found an audience across Yogyakarta, Bali to Bangkok and Hanoi.
A familiar face at the city’s socials, it was her parents who first introduced her to the community. “Dancing has always been a big part of my mother’s family tradition. I grew up watching my grandparents’ generation doing the cha-cha, rumba and jive during family gatherings,” recalled the 28-year-old. “But it’s my parents who are keeping the tradition alive. They always take me and my sister to Latin nights when we travel abroad. So when my parents started learning the dance in earnest, it was only natural that I joined in.”
As seen through Dea and her parents, social dancing’s unique ability to transcend generations makes it an attractive hobby for families to partake in together. The three can often be spotted attending socials as a group. And her mother in particular loves to get involved in her preparation for performances, be it by providing feedback from an audience perspective or personally designing her outfits.
One way or the other, as cheesy as it sounds, you’re never alone when it comes to social dancing. Be it in Amigos, where they switch dancing partners as freely as they move, or in Eka Ria, where one’s choice of partner is almost as binding as a marriage, it’s all about finding people who can match your energy on the dance floor.
Mothers and daughters dance to the same beat, the young and old practice new choreographies in sync, while foreigners and locals cheer each other on. In this environment of dancing, one without the shadow of competition and external pressure, there’s a shared understanding of one’s human desire to form connections and be met with acceptance.
“And of course, it’s fun,” closed Dea. “The people, the music. Everything seems positive and festive. Everyone looks like they’re having the time of their lives. Even when you’re just sitting there and watching others dance, you can feel their happy energy. It is simply a fun experience to be part of.”
