At the outdoor Turkish coffee house, people gathered for strong coffee in the morning, chai and classes in the afternoon, and dancing and music at night. A fire usually burned in the center of the dirt floor and always at night, to warm us and give its flickering light. We often saw Virgil, the owner and guiding muse of this dance and music camp, lying on his back, stretched out and relaxing on pillows, soaking in the heavenly sounds at the feet of a seated musician.
During the day, music continued to echo throughout the camp in little groups that changed at whim as people came and went. I felt free to dance anywhere at any time to any of the music. At the small lake below the campsites, we would row a boat from one side of the lake to the other, laze around on the narrow wooden boat dock, jump into the lake from the rope swing attached to a tree, or just swim naked during the hot summer days in between classes, which were plentiful and informal. At night, music and dance performances entertained and inspired us. It was truly an amazing place.
That first year, our group did not want to leave. Totally enchanted by this dream-come-true place, we all wanted to be there for more time than the week we had signed up for, so Virgil let us clean the lodge in exchange for staying extra days. As I was sweeping the dark wooden floor, Virgil complemented my dancing, calling it elegant and saying that he liked the dignity with which I danced, that I danced with a sense of self-respect. Awed that Virgil had even noticed me, I felt accepted, flattered, and encouraged. Virgil’s enthusiastic positive support meant a lot to me, especially when I was plagued with the inevitable self-doubt that fought with my love of and drive to dance.
©2023 Marianna Mejia
Marianna Mejia 