Yuri:
The path! My path into the world of dance… which I stumbled into thanks to you, Sergei. I’ll tell it like it is — raw and real, but with a few punchlines.
Do you remember how it all began? The first steps, the emotional rollercoasters, mental meltdowns, and that constant look of utter confusion on my face?
Sergei:
Oh, absolutely. You looked like someone who’d accidentally walked into the wrong room.
Yuri:
I remember it perfectly: you dragged me into it almost by force, with the kind of determination people usually reserve for signing someone up for a mortgage. But seriously, thank you!
You were the one who introduced me to my teacher, Elena.
If it weren’t for the two of you, I’d probably still be doing something "useful"... like binge-watching shows on the couch!
At first, it was a disaster. I didn’t understand anything.
Basics? What basics?!
Musicality? God… for me, it was like "astronomy in Swahili." I’m still trying to catch that elusive “beat,” but it keeps dodging me like someone avoiding taxes.
I was angry, frustrated, resisting everything — like a kid being told to wash his hands before dinner. But the worst part? No one explained the rules of the game.
Sergei:
Yeah, rules are kind of important…
Yuri:
Exactly! Without rules — come on, you get it: it’s like playing chess, thinking the rook moves diagonally.
Why didn’t anyone explain? Because 180% of teachers in Catalonia don’t follow any kind of structured method. Yes, 180%! Because it genuinely feels like some teachers explain things in a way that makes them less clear.
Can they dance? Sure.
Can they explain? Only if you count “just copy me and don’t think” as teaching.
But without structure — it’s all a gamble.
And without rules — it’s not even a game.
And without the game — what even is this dance?
What little I do understand today, I owe entirely to Elena and to you.
So let’s go back to the beginning.
Remember? After our second-to-last project, you just up and left. Russia? Estonia?
Sergei:
Russia
Yuri:
And I was left in Barcelona — like a retired grandpa on parental leave: alone, confused, and a little salty.
When you came back in 2021, you were already deep into salsa and bachata. All smooth and musical.
And that’s when your mission to conquer my poor soul began.
First, you dragged me to a salsa class.
Result? Nothing. No chemistry. Nothing fluttered inside.
Next visit — bachata. Again, nothing. I was showing up, nodding along, but inside? I felt like a bear being taught yoga.
Then, during your third visit, you played your trump card.
You put on Kizomba Fusion and Urban Kiz music, showed me pictures from a festival…
And something clicked.
My body froze, eyes went wide, brain just… blissed out.
This wasn’t just music. Not just dance. It was… a silent drama in an embrace.
I joked: it’s like a vertical orgasm! 😄
And I knew: that’s what I want to try.
And so, on January 13th, 2022, you took me to my first Kizomba Fusion workshop.
And it was like jumping into cold water — fully clothed — with a backpack full of bricks.
The woman leaned in slowly… hugged me…
And I?
I didn’t know who she was, where I was, or what the hell was going on.
My brain hit full "dance Windows Error."
Sergei:
But hey, you looked okay from the outside 😄
Yuri:
My heart froze, my legs gave out, my brain took a vacation.
But right at that moment — lost, but embraced — my real dance journey began.
Sergei:
Oh, I remember it all, Yura! Those were golden times: sun, beaches, and you — resisting like a cat being lured into a bath… 😂
Yuri:
Yeah, well, I resisted for a reason — it all felt weird and unfamiliar.
Sergei
When I got back to Barcelona, I was dying to see how they dance salsa and bachata in the land of passion! Naturally, I had to show you the world I’d dived into — like it was a place with free food and music 24/7.
By then, I was completely infected — like I’d caught the dance virus with no cure. I was doing classes every day. Sometimes six, even eight a day. With a lunch break, of course — I’m not completely insane. Though honestly… it was close. 😄
Yuri:
I admire your stamina! I would’ve died from that kind of schedule 😄
Sergey:
I’d get home like an action movie hero — wounded, but proud.
And in the morning — I’d rise like a zombie… but a zombie that dances bachata. 🧟♂️💃
What really shocked me: In Spain — land of passion, flamenco, and red wine — dance classes were rare. I was visiting studios like a crazed fan, and they’d say:
“Yes, we have class… once a week. On Thursday. Maybe.”
Total shock. After St. Petersburg, where the schedule is like a university timetable and skipping is basically a crime, this felt like dance starvation.
Yuri:
I remember thinking it was strange myself — classes here felt like a lottery.
Sergei:
Back in St. Pete, we trained 3 hours a day, 2–4 times a week. One hour salsa, one hour bachata, one hour kizomba. My brain was literally melting. After a couple of kizomba classes, I said:
“That’s it. Enough. I’ll come back to this when my brain is usable again.” 😅
I was doing dance bootcamp like I was training for the Dance Hunger Games.
I even got a certificate for the number of classes and parties I attended. No joke — I still have it somewhere.
Yuri:
A certificate? Now that’s elite-level dancing.
Sergei:
Then I came back to Spain.
The dance hunger was gnawing at me from the inside.
That’s when I remembered kizomba — and figured: if there aren’t enough classes, I’ll just supplement with other dances.
I’d even done a few classes back when I lived in Estonia.
I even went to my first kizomba festival — but that’s a whole other story (almost a comedy sketch). 😄
Yuri:
Yeah, you mentioned that… We’ll come back to it.
Sergei:
And of course, you ended up in the line of fire.
I invited you to parties, wanting to share my discovery. I wanted you to feel that dance is not just “one-two-three,” it’s a whole universe.
But you were looking at me like: “Is he really talking about dance, or is this some weird cult?” 😂
Yuri:
Exactly. I thought you were recruiting me into a secret organization.
Sergei:
I remember when we went to your first Kizomba Fusion workshop.
You walked out looking like: “Who are these people, what just happened, and why were they hugging me?!” 😅
That was your true starting point. And honestly — it was great.
Because you didn’t just dip your toes in — you dove deep, started digging, analyzing, searching for structure.
And like you said: most teachers here operate on a festival-workshop basis. Consistency is… elusive.
Yuri:
Exactly. That’s one of the reasons I spent so long searching for the right approach.
Sergei:
But that’s a whole separate conversation.
About Spain, the dance scene, and why people here seem to dance based on moon phases — we’ll definitely get to that. 😉
By the way, I’m really curious: what do you remember about our first kizomba class in Barcelona?
You’ve got the memory of an archivist. 😉
Yuri:
Oh, I remember everything about that first workshop! Thankfully, my memory’s still working fine.
First of all, I understood absolutely nothing.
And when I say “nothing” — I don’t mean it metaphorically. I mean literally nothing. Maybe even less.
They showed us some exercises and moves that looked like choreography from another planet.
I watched it all like I was staring into a funhouse mirror.
The teacher moved their left foot, and me — all eager — copied with my right.
So of course, everything came out backwards, twisted, tangled into a knot. And the worst part — I had no idea why.
Sergei:
Oh yeah, that’s classic — when your brain can’t keep up with your body.
Yuri:
And then something even more intense happened.
My partner at the workshop, who seemed taller than me, or maybe that was just fear magnifying everything, leaned in, hugged me…
And in that moment, I no longer knew who I was, where I was, or what the hell I was supposed to do with this woman. My brain exploded.
And right there, at that first workshop, I had my second revelation. Not a passing thought — a soul-punching realization that stayed with me throughout my first year of dancing:
In dance, you either can lead and dance, or you can’t. There’s no middle ground.
And nothing saves you. Not charisma, not your résumé, not your eloquence. Doesn’t matter if you’re an engineer, a therapist, an artist, or an astronaut — all of that disappears in an embrace.
You become emotionally and socially naked.
Not literally, but as if someone stripped away your suit, diplomas, trained speech, confident poses, and go-to lines.
And what’s left is just you — no mask, no script, no shield.
Like a child holding the broken pieces of a rattle, not knowing how it ever worked… or how to put it back together.
Here’s my second truth:
Dance doesn’t lie — it reveals.
It puts you face to face with yourself.
It scrapes away the fake… and leaves only the real.
The path! My path into the world of dance… which I stumbled into thanks to you, Sergei. I’ll tell it like it is — raw and real, but with a few punchlines.
Do you remember how it all began? The first steps, the emotional rollercoasters, mental meltdowns, and that constant look of utter confusion on my face?
Sergei:
Oh, absolutely. You looked like someone who’d accidentally walked into the wrong room.
Yuri:
I remember it perfectly: you dragged me into it almost by force, with the kind of determination people usually reserve for signing someone up for a mortgage. But seriously, thank you!
You were the one who introduced me to my teacher, Elena.
If it weren’t for the two of you, I’d probably still be doing something "useful"... like binge-watching shows on the couch!
At first, it was a disaster. I didn’t understand anything.
Basics? What basics?!
Musicality? God… for me, it was like "astronomy in Swahili." I’m still trying to catch that elusive “beat,” but it keeps dodging me like someone avoiding taxes.
I was angry, frustrated, resisting everything — like a kid being told to wash his hands before dinner. But the worst part? No one explained the rules of the game.
Sergei:
Yeah, rules are kind of important…
Yuri:
Exactly! Without rules — come on, you get it: it’s like playing chess, thinking the rook moves diagonally.
Why didn’t anyone explain? Because 180% of teachers in Catalonia don’t follow any kind of structured method. Yes, 180%! Because it genuinely feels like some teachers explain things in a way that makes them less clear.
Can they dance? Sure.
Can they explain? Only if you count “just copy me and don’t think” as teaching.
But without structure — it’s all a gamble.
And without rules — it’s not even a game.
And without the game — what even is this dance?
What little I do understand today, I owe entirely to Elena and to you.
So let’s go back to the beginning.
Remember? After our second-to-last project, you just up and left. Russia? Estonia?
Sergei:
Russia
Yuri:
And I was left in Barcelona — like a retired grandpa on parental leave: alone, confused, and a little salty.
When you came back in 2021, you were already deep into salsa and bachata. All smooth and musical.
And that’s when your mission to conquer my poor soul began.
First, you dragged me to a salsa class.
Result? Nothing. No chemistry. Nothing fluttered inside.
Next visit — bachata. Again, nothing. I was showing up, nodding along, but inside? I felt like a bear being taught yoga.
Then, during your third visit, you played your trump card.
You put on Kizomba Fusion and Urban Kiz music, showed me pictures from a festival…
And something clicked.
My body froze, eyes went wide, brain just… blissed out.
This wasn’t just music. Not just dance. It was… a silent drama in an embrace.
I joked: it’s like a vertical orgasm! 😄
And I knew: that’s what I want to try.
And so, on January 13th, 2022, you took me to my first Kizomba Fusion workshop.
And it was like jumping into cold water — fully clothed — with a backpack full of bricks.
The woman leaned in slowly… hugged me…
And I?
I didn’t know who she was, where I was, or what the hell was going on.
My brain hit full "dance Windows Error."
Sergei:
But hey, you looked okay from the outside 😄
Yuri:
My heart froze, my legs gave out, my brain took a vacation.
But right at that moment — lost, but embraced — my real dance journey began.
Sergei:
Oh, I remember it all, Yura! Those were golden times: sun, beaches, and you — resisting like a cat being lured into a bath… 😂
Yuri:
Yeah, well, I resisted for a reason — it all felt weird and unfamiliar.
Sergei
When I got back to Barcelona, I was dying to see how they dance salsa and bachata in the land of passion! Naturally, I had to show you the world I’d dived into — like it was a place with free food and music 24/7.
By then, I was completely infected — like I’d caught the dance virus with no cure. I was doing classes every day. Sometimes six, even eight a day. With a lunch break, of course — I’m not completely insane. Though honestly… it was close. 😄
Yuri:
I admire your stamina! I would’ve died from that kind of schedule 😄
Sergey:
I’d get home like an action movie hero — wounded, but proud.
And in the morning — I’d rise like a zombie… but a zombie that dances bachata. 🧟♂️💃
What really shocked me: In Spain — land of passion, flamenco, and red wine — dance classes were rare. I was visiting studios like a crazed fan, and they’d say:
“Yes, we have class… once a week. On Thursday. Maybe.”
Total shock. After St. Petersburg, where the schedule is like a university timetable and skipping is basically a crime, this felt like dance starvation.
Yuri:
I remember thinking it was strange myself — classes here felt like a lottery.
Sergei:
Back in St. Pete, we trained 3 hours a day, 2–4 times a week. One hour salsa, one hour bachata, one hour kizomba. My brain was literally melting. After a couple of kizomba classes, I said:
“That’s it. Enough. I’ll come back to this when my brain is usable again.” 😅
I was doing dance bootcamp like I was training for the Dance Hunger Games.
I even got a certificate for the number of classes and parties I attended. No joke — I still have it somewhere.
Yuri:
A certificate? Now that’s elite-level dancing.
Sergei:
Then I came back to Spain.
The dance hunger was gnawing at me from the inside.
That’s when I remembered kizomba — and figured: if there aren’t enough classes, I’ll just supplement with other dances.
I’d even done a few classes back when I lived in Estonia.
I even went to my first kizomba festival — but that’s a whole other story (almost a comedy sketch). 😄
Yuri:
Yeah, you mentioned that… We’ll come back to it.
Sergei:
And of course, you ended up in the line of fire.
I invited you to parties, wanting to share my discovery. I wanted you to feel that dance is not just “one-two-three,” it’s a whole universe.
But you were looking at me like: “Is he really talking about dance, or is this some weird cult?” 😂
Yuri:
Exactly. I thought you were recruiting me into a secret organization.
Sergei:
I remember when we went to your first Kizomba Fusion workshop.
You walked out looking like: “Who are these people, what just happened, and why were they hugging me?!” 😅
That was your true starting point. And honestly — it was great.
Because you didn’t just dip your toes in — you dove deep, started digging, analyzing, searching for structure.
And like you said: most teachers here operate on a festival-workshop basis. Consistency is… elusive.
Yuri:
Exactly. That’s one of the reasons I spent so long searching for the right approach.
Sergei:
But that’s a whole separate conversation.
About Spain, the dance scene, and why people here seem to dance based on moon phases — we’ll definitely get to that. 😉
By the way, I’m really curious: what do you remember about our first kizomba class in Barcelona?
You’ve got the memory of an archivist. 😉
Yuri:
Oh, I remember everything about that first workshop! Thankfully, my memory’s still working fine.
First of all, I understood absolutely nothing.
And when I say “nothing” — I don’t mean it metaphorically. I mean literally nothing. Maybe even less.
They showed us some exercises and moves that looked like choreography from another planet.
I watched it all like I was staring into a funhouse mirror.
The teacher moved their left foot, and me — all eager — copied with my right.
So of course, everything came out backwards, twisted, tangled into a knot. And the worst part — I had no idea why.
Sergei:
Oh yeah, that’s classic — when your brain can’t keep up with your body.
Yuri:
And then something even more intense happened.
My partner at the workshop, who seemed taller than me, or maybe that was just fear magnifying everything, leaned in, hugged me…
And in that moment, I no longer knew who I was, where I was, or what the hell I was supposed to do with this woman. My brain exploded.
And right there, at that first workshop, I had my second revelation. Not a passing thought — a soul-punching realization that stayed with me throughout my first year of dancing:
In dance, you either can lead and dance, or you can’t. There’s no middle ground.
And nothing saves you. Not charisma, not your résumé, not your eloquence. Doesn’t matter if you’re an engineer, a therapist, an artist, or an astronaut — all of that disappears in an embrace.
You become emotionally and socially naked.
Not literally, but as if someone stripped away your suit, diplomas, trained speech, confident poses, and go-to lines.
And what’s left is just you — no mask, no script, no shield.
Like a child holding the broken pieces of a rattle, not knowing how it ever worked… or how to put it back together.
Here’s my second truth:
Dance doesn’t lie — it reveals.
It puts you face to face with yourself.
It scrapes away the fake… and leaves only the real.
Sergei:
That’s very accurate. I’ve felt something similar too — when dance suddenly strips you bare and forces you to face yourself.
Yuri:
So you also went through something that terrible and emotionally chaotic? Or was it different for you?
Sergei:
It was completely different for me. I came into kizomba after salsa and bachata. I was already a seasoned “dance veteran,” having braved the salsa jungles and bachata swamps. Kizomba seemed pretty straightforward at first — steps, direction, pause, step again… Just a dance, right? Only later did I realize it was a trap.
The real surprise was up close. Literally — the embrace. So close that you start wondering: “Do I even smell clean today?”
On one hand, enticing, I admit. But on the other — you really feel the moral and technical responsibility settle on you. It’s not just dancing, it’s like going to a job interview… but with your body, and no words. 🫣
Yuri:
Exactly! It feels like an exam where you're not allowed to make mistakes. It really is serious.
Sergei:
Our first teacher in St. Petersburg said it outright:
“In kizomba, unlike salsa or bachata, you can’t fake it — you can’t hide mistakes, the follower will feel everything.”
That’s when I realized:
“Whoa. This is serious. This isn’t just dancing — it’s almost a spiritual discipline!”
Honestly, that strictness is what made me step back from kizomba at first. I wanted instant impact, beauty, wow-effect — music, hugs, and people whispering: “Damn, he must’ve been born somewhere between Angola and Olympus!”
But instead, you’re calmly told:
“Nope. First — basics. Slowly. For years. No tricks or fireworks.”
Yuri:
Exactly, and “slowly” isn’t just a word. It’s like a marathon without a finish line.
Sergei:
And what do you do? Naturally, you're drawn back to salsa — where you can just bring some vibe, throw in a couple of (sometimes accidental) improvisations — and still get praised!
Like: “You’re so musical, so alive, so expressive!”
Meanwhile, you just forgot the next step and did something from the heart.
By the way, that’s exactly what many teachers fear — especially in Spain, where dancing is often seen more as a way to unwind than a path to self-improvement. The student came for good vibes, not homework.
So the teachers try not to disappoint:
“You’re already a hero for showing up!”
But saying: “You’ll have to work, a lot” — that’s scary. What if they get upset, scared, and go take up yoga instead?
Yuri:
Totally relatable. Sometimes it feels like everyone’s dancing to avoid working. But then you realize — no pain, no gain.
Sergei:
I also remember falling into the classic beginner trap: learning as many tricks as possible to impress the follower. Like, “Look at all this in my arsenal! I’ll spin you so hard you’ll beg for an intermission!” 😎
Though one of my salsa teachers once said something very wise:
“We learn tricks not to do them non-stop, but to occasionally decorate the dance. Not to traumatize the follower’s psyche.”
Wise words, but of course, I totally forgot that at first.
It felt more like a kid with a new toy: the teacher showed a combo — I got inspired, grabbed the nearest follower, and off I went — enthusiasm, energy, a light dance tornado!
Yuri:
Yeah, I remember those feelings. Like getting a Formula 1 car with no driving instructions. Just foot on the gas — and go! 😎
Sergei:
And how to do all that smoothly, musically, gently — well, who’s going to explain that?
I had a different metaphor. It felt like someone handed you a blender, turned it to max, and forgot to say: “Careful now — this isn’t a cement mixer.” 🤯
And so we all — newbies with cement mixers — went into battle. No musicality, no connection, just non-stop action. And none of the teachers ever even hinted at it: only combos, combos, combos.
Now I understand: If you’re dancing only combos — you’re not dancing. You’re rehearsing a battle with furniture. Real dancing is not a template. It’s communication. Connection. Music. Presence.
So yeah, Yura, my kizomba didn’t start with “wow” — it started with “what kind of quest is this, and where’s the checkpoint?”
And then… if I remember right, we went to some three-hour bootcamp, right?
Yuri:
No, no, no…
After my first workshop, before that infamous three-hour April bootcamp, you dragged me through several other workshops all over Barcelona!
Sergei:
Yeah, that was a true marathon. I remember how you looked by the end — full of questions and exhausted, but still going.
Yuri:
And then came the bootcamp in El Clot — yeah, that same neighborhood I’ll never forget because my brain exploded there.
It was way too much information at once. The teacher talked about lines, axes, posture, frame, proper walk, intention and action… And I stood there like I’d been launched into Jupiter’s orbit, surrounded by alien concepts!
Sergei:
That’s just from not being used to it 😉
Yuri:
And at the same time, I had to:
— listen to the music,
— walk with technique,
— dance mindfully,
— and lead the partner!
What? Where? Why?..
I didn’t understand ANY-THING.
Sergei:
I saw you trying your hardest not to drown in that information flood — it was really tough for you.
Yuri:
I walked out of that bootcamp remembering my mother and thinking one thing: “What the hell even was that?!”
Because in those festival photos you showed me, people looked happy, relaxed, emotional, in the flow!
Sergei:
Well yeah, those are people who’ve already learned something… And you wanted it like that right away, huh? 😁
Yuri:
Totally 😁
But this was a whole different reality: mental zombies like me or worse, all sweaty, tense, confused, with faces like they were about to take an exam in quantum physics.
And I thought: “What kind of madness is this?”
What they were explaining didn’t match the positive emotions I had imagined. I was blocked, frustrated, and worst of all — I didn’t even understand the rules of the game.
Leader? Follower? Leading? Active listening? Body language?
What the hell did they want from me?!
Sergei:
Relax, so you got a little tense. It’s just impossible to understand everything at once.
Yuri:
And meanwhile, you stood in the corner, laughing with a face like: “Relax, it’s all part of the process…”
That was my first “intensive.” I walked out overloaded, irritated, and understanding absolutely nothing. But hey… I survived.
Sergei:
Yeah, looking at you then was like watching a piece of experimental ballet: mesmerizing and disturbing at the same time. But I tried to help — waving my arms, muttering stuff like “this is important, and that — just skip like a YouTube ad.”
Yuri:
Yeah, you really saved me from a total crash. I was just trying not to drown.
Sergei:
Well yeah, by that time I’d reached the enlightenment level of “almost nothing scares me,” and I shared that zen wisdom with you: don’t try to remember everything from a workshop — your brain will run away and your feet will stay behind. Just take what resonates and slowly integrate it into your dance body. Let the rest fly past like a monk’s thoughts.
Yuri:
That mindset really helped me not to give up. Seriously — try to grab everything and you’ll go nuts.
Sergei:
You’re right, an intensive is powerful — but it should be like a good soup: evenly cooked ingredients and no more than three spices. If you throw everything in for all levels — it’s not soup, it’s culinary stress.
Yuri:
Exactly! I left that bootcamp with a stew in my head, not dance wisdom.
So how was it for you?
Sergei:
For me, that intensive was more like revision — like rewatching an old series and suddenly realizing all the key messages were in the first episode.
Experienced dancers always say: “Go back to the basics. That’s where the treasure is.”
But beginners (and not just them) think: “I’ve already got the basics, show me that double spin with a 47-degree head tilt!”
Yuri:
Yep, at first I also wanted flashy moves — then I realized that without basics, it’s just a show without soul.
Sergei:
And that’s when the tragicomedy begins: you know 250 moves, but the follower looks at you like a broken printer — sending signals, but no one knows what they mean.
Because basics aren’t just steps — they’re a language. And if you haven’t learned “hello” and “how are you,” then your dance poems sound like hallucinations.
Yuri:
Haha, exactly! I remember trying to be a “poet” in dance, and the follower just trying to figure out what I was even “saying.”
Sergei:
By the way, followers aren’t supposed to learn combos — how could they know what you’re planning in your head?
They just need to understand your leading dialect and not get lost in the syllables.
Yuri:
Yeah, it’s a real school of patience and mutual understanding.
Sergei:
Alright, we’ve gone full-on dance philosophy here. Back to our story: remember how after that intensive, we started coming out of our dance caves and discovering that Barcelona isn’t just sangria under palm trees — it’s a whole world of people with accents, personalities, and different stride lengths?
Though not many Spaniards — sometimes it felt like Barcelona’s dance community was assembled with a random nationality generator.
Yuri:
Yeah, I remember — at first, it was exciting.
Sergei:
And that’s what made it great — we weren’t just dancing, we were meeting people, communicating, becoming part of this international crowd.
Yuri:
Exactly. Dance became more than just movement — it became a window into another world, where people speak in body language and emotion.
Sergei:
And here’s another thing: even if people start at the same level, over time everyone’s dance path diverges.
Some go deep and train their feet like ninjas, and others just want to relax and have fun. And that’s okay. But the gap affects not just technique — it affects communication. Because once you grow, it gets hard to speak the language of “I just came to have fun.”
Yuri:
Yeah, I’ve felt that too.
Sergei:
But that’s another story — about dance psychology, friendship, and how sometimes it’s easier to change partners than explain where your weight is.
So… what was the next episode in our dance series?
That’s very accurate. I’ve felt something similar too — when dance suddenly strips you bare and forces you to face yourself.
Yuri:
So you also went through something that terrible and emotionally chaotic? Or was it different for you?
Sergei:
It was completely different for me. I came into kizomba after salsa and bachata. I was already a seasoned “dance veteran,” having braved the salsa jungles and bachata swamps. Kizomba seemed pretty straightforward at first — steps, direction, pause, step again… Just a dance, right? Only later did I realize it was a trap.
The real surprise was up close. Literally — the embrace. So close that you start wondering: “Do I even smell clean today?”
On one hand, enticing, I admit. But on the other — you really feel the moral and technical responsibility settle on you. It’s not just dancing, it’s like going to a job interview… but with your body, and no words. 🫣
Yuri:
Exactly! It feels like an exam where you're not allowed to make mistakes. It really is serious.
Sergei:
Our first teacher in St. Petersburg said it outright:
“In kizomba, unlike salsa or bachata, you can’t fake it — you can’t hide mistakes, the follower will feel everything.”
That’s when I realized:
“Whoa. This is serious. This isn’t just dancing — it’s almost a spiritual discipline!”
Honestly, that strictness is what made me step back from kizomba at first. I wanted instant impact, beauty, wow-effect — music, hugs, and people whispering: “Damn, he must’ve been born somewhere between Angola and Olympus!”
But instead, you’re calmly told:
“Nope. First — basics. Slowly. For years. No tricks or fireworks.”
Yuri:
Exactly, and “slowly” isn’t just a word. It’s like a marathon without a finish line.
Sergei:
And what do you do? Naturally, you're drawn back to salsa — where you can just bring some vibe, throw in a couple of (sometimes accidental) improvisations — and still get praised!
Like: “You’re so musical, so alive, so expressive!”
Meanwhile, you just forgot the next step and did something from the heart.
By the way, that’s exactly what many teachers fear — especially in Spain, where dancing is often seen more as a way to unwind than a path to self-improvement. The student came for good vibes, not homework.
So the teachers try not to disappoint:
“You’re already a hero for showing up!”
But saying: “You’ll have to work, a lot” — that’s scary. What if they get upset, scared, and go take up yoga instead?
Yuri:
Totally relatable. Sometimes it feels like everyone’s dancing to avoid working. But then you realize — no pain, no gain.
Sergei:
I also remember falling into the classic beginner trap: learning as many tricks as possible to impress the follower. Like, “Look at all this in my arsenal! I’ll spin you so hard you’ll beg for an intermission!” 😎
Though one of my salsa teachers once said something very wise:
“We learn tricks not to do them non-stop, but to occasionally decorate the dance. Not to traumatize the follower’s psyche.”
Wise words, but of course, I totally forgot that at first.
It felt more like a kid with a new toy: the teacher showed a combo — I got inspired, grabbed the nearest follower, and off I went — enthusiasm, energy, a light dance tornado!
Yuri:
Yeah, I remember those feelings. Like getting a Formula 1 car with no driving instructions. Just foot on the gas — and go! 😎
Sergei:
And how to do all that smoothly, musically, gently — well, who’s going to explain that?
I had a different metaphor. It felt like someone handed you a blender, turned it to max, and forgot to say: “Careful now — this isn’t a cement mixer.” 🤯
And so we all — newbies with cement mixers — went into battle. No musicality, no connection, just non-stop action. And none of the teachers ever even hinted at it: only combos, combos, combos.
Now I understand: If you’re dancing only combos — you’re not dancing. You’re rehearsing a battle with furniture. Real dancing is not a template. It’s communication. Connection. Music. Presence.
So yeah, Yura, my kizomba didn’t start with “wow” — it started with “what kind of quest is this, and where’s the checkpoint?”
And then… if I remember right, we went to some three-hour bootcamp, right?
Yuri:
No, no, no…
After my first workshop, before that infamous three-hour April bootcamp, you dragged me through several other workshops all over Barcelona!
Sergei:
Yeah, that was a true marathon. I remember how you looked by the end — full of questions and exhausted, but still going.
Yuri:
And then came the bootcamp in El Clot — yeah, that same neighborhood I’ll never forget because my brain exploded there.
It was way too much information at once. The teacher talked about lines, axes, posture, frame, proper walk, intention and action… And I stood there like I’d been launched into Jupiter’s orbit, surrounded by alien concepts!
Sergei:
That’s just from not being used to it 😉
Yuri:
And at the same time, I had to:
— listen to the music,
— walk with technique,
— dance mindfully,
— and lead the partner!
What? Where? Why?..
I didn’t understand ANY-THING.
Sergei:
I saw you trying your hardest not to drown in that information flood — it was really tough for you.
Yuri:
I walked out of that bootcamp remembering my mother and thinking one thing: “What the hell even was that?!”
Because in those festival photos you showed me, people looked happy, relaxed, emotional, in the flow!
Sergei:
Well yeah, those are people who’ve already learned something… And you wanted it like that right away, huh? 😁
Yuri:
Totally 😁
But this was a whole different reality: mental zombies like me or worse, all sweaty, tense, confused, with faces like they were about to take an exam in quantum physics.
And I thought: “What kind of madness is this?”
What they were explaining didn’t match the positive emotions I had imagined. I was blocked, frustrated, and worst of all — I didn’t even understand the rules of the game.
Leader? Follower? Leading? Active listening? Body language?
What the hell did they want from me?!
Sergei:
Relax, so you got a little tense. It’s just impossible to understand everything at once.
Yuri:
And meanwhile, you stood in the corner, laughing with a face like: “Relax, it’s all part of the process…”
That was my first “intensive.” I walked out overloaded, irritated, and understanding absolutely nothing. But hey… I survived.
Sergei:
Yeah, looking at you then was like watching a piece of experimental ballet: mesmerizing and disturbing at the same time. But I tried to help — waving my arms, muttering stuff like “this is important, and that — just skip like a YouTube ad.”
Yuri:
Yeah, you really saved me from a total crash. I was just trying not to drown.
Sergei:
Well yeah, by that time I’d reached the enlightenment level of “almost nothing scares me,” and I shared that zen wisdom with you: don’t try to remember everything from a workshop — your brain will run away and your feet will stay behind. Just take what resonates and slowly integrate it into your dance body. Let the rest fly past like a monk’s thoughts.
Yuri:
That mindset really helped me not to give up. Seriously — try to grab everything and you’ll go nuts.
Sergei:
You’re right, an intensive is powerful — but it should be like a good soup: evenly cooked ingredients and no more than three spices. If you throw everything in for all levels — it’s not soup, it’s culinary stress.
Yuri:
Exactly! I left that bootcamp with a stew in my head, not dance wisdom.
So how was it for you?
Sergei:
For me, that intensive was more like revision — like rewatching an old series and suddenly realizing all the key messages were in the first episode.
Experienced dancers always say: “Go back to the basics. That’s where the treasure is.”
But beginners (and not just them) think: “I’ve already got the basics, show me that double spin with a 47-degree head tilt!”
Yuri:
Yep, at first I also wanted flashy moves — then I realized that without basics, it’s just a show without soul.
Sergei:
And that’s when the tragicomedy begins: you know 250 moves, but the follower looks at you like a broken printer — sending signals, but no one knows what they mean.
Because basics aren’t just steps — they’re a language. And if you haven’t learned “hello” and “how are you,” then your dance poems sound like hallucinations.
Yuri:
Haha, exactly! I remember trying to be a “poet” in dance, and the follower just trying to figure out what I was even “saying.”
Sergei:
By the way, followers aren’t supposed to learn combos — how could they know what you’re planning in your head?
They just need to understand your leading dialect and not get lost in the syllables.
Yuri:
Yeah, it’s a real school of patience and mutual understanding.
Sergei:
Alright, we’ve gone full-on dance philosophy here. Back to our story: remember how after that intensive, we started coming out of our dance caves and discovering that Barcelona isn’t just sangria under palm trees — it’s a whole world of people with accents, personalities, and different stride lengths?
Though not many Spaniards — sometimes it felt like Barcelona’s dance community was assembled with a random nationality generator.
Yuri:
Yeah, I remember — at first, it was exciting.
Sergei:
And that’s what made it great — we weren’t just dancing, we were meeting people, communicating, becoming part of this international crowd.
Yuri:
Exactly. Dance became more than just movement — it became a window into another world, where people speak in body language and emotion.
Sergei:
And here’s another thing: even if people start at the same level, over time everyone’s dance path diverges.
Some go deep and train their feet like ninjas, and others just want to relax and have fun. And that’s okay. But the gap affects not just technique — it affects communication. Because once you grow, it gets hard to speak the language of “I just came to have fun.”
Yuri:
Yeah, I’ve felt that too.
Sergei:
But that’s another story — about dance psychology, friendship, and how sometimes it’s easier to change partners than explain where your weight is.
So… what was the next episode in our dance series?
Yuriy:
You dragged me through every corner of Barcelona where Urban and Fusion classes were held. You seemed to have a built-in radar for workshops. And just when I thought I had seen it all… bam! — another one of your sneaky tricks.
I don’t remember exactly if it was at Feeling or Temptation in Lloret — back then I didn’t even know what a festival was. I just remember you called me and pitched the perfect plan:
“Yura, come with me to Lloret, we’ll have a great time, friendly and family-style… and we’ll stop by the hotel too. There’s a pool party, free entrance, you can watch from the side how amazing festivals can be. People from all over the world, all ages, all skin colors, all shapes and sizes... It’ll be a visual and emotional celebration!”
Sergei:
Exactly! I wanted to show you a real festival.
Yuriy:
And you know what? You did the right thing!
What I saw there — I’ll never forget:
A mix of nationalities, different ages, all united by one energy.
What struck me the most was this one scene:
A short elderly Black woman dancing with a tall young white guy.
They were in close embrace, eyes closed, and the bliss on their faces… it looked like drool might start dripping from pure joy.
That was FLOW. That was true connection. That’s the essence of this art.
Sergei:
That’s the magic of dance.
Yuriy:
But… here’s the plot twist.
Turned out this “free entry” had a catch: everyone had wristbands… except me.
And you, cool as ever, when I asked, just said: “They probably got them from the hotel or the festival. Don’t worry. Worst case — they’ll just ask you to leave.”
Thanks for the “reassurance”! 😆
I was sneaking around the pool area like a sparrow without a ticket, dodging the guards, switching sides when they walked by, hiding between sunbeds, even pretending to be one myself 😆
Sergei:
Haha, yeah, it was fun to watch. But I just wanted to show you...
Yuriy:
I get it. Your intentions were good. They always were. And over the years, I’ve learned to be grateful to you for everything. But I also admit: for a long time I carried this inner block, irritation, even anger. Not at you — but at my own inability to understand what was happening, not being able to repeat the step, always tense, nervous, wanting to do everything perfectly.
This path isn’t easy. It’s beautiful, but demanding. And now I understand why many quit right at the beginning, or just start treating it “for fun”:
“If it works — cool. If not — whatever.”
But not me.
I took it seriously.
As if every wrong step was disrespect to the art.
Sergei:
You’re a true fighter. I’m proud of you 😎
Yuriy:
Well, that’s the end of this episode.
My first “visit” to a festival. My first pool party.
A mix of emotions, discoveries, mistakes, and memories that stayed with me forever.
Thank you, my friend!
Thanks for everything you did — the good, and the not-so-good 😆
Sergei:
Don’t mention it, come back anytime! 😆 My intentions were always noble — you just didn’t get it right away 😆
Yuriy:
Oh, I got it… but late! 😆
Sergei:
If I hadn’t dragged you through every back alley of kizomba, you probably wouldn’t even be dancing now, let alone in love with it. So really, I was your first personal survival coach in kizomba!
Yuriy:
I admit it, you were...
Sergei:
What I remember most from that festival — the one I, let’s say, “smuggled” you into through the staff entrance (yes, a secret route, no one knew!) — is that you saw real magic for the first time: emotions, energy, people who live this dance.
I think that’s what fueled you at the start.
Yuriy:
That was my true kizombic baptism.
Sergei:
Honestly, I can’t even remember which festival it was — there have been so many, I feel like I live in the kizomba “Matrix.” But with every new one, new horizons opened for me — and for you too, I’m sure.
Yuriy:
Yeah, each one like its own chapter.
Sergei:
I remember back then my technique was meh, but I already understood it was essential. Still, I tried to learn every combination I saw in workshops. Went to everything, danced during daytime socials between lessons — I thought the more info, the faster I’d become a star.
Yuriy:
I remember — and then you started running me the same way 🤦♂️
Sergei:
Back then it never occurred to me that your brain could overheat from so much information. I thought: “More is better!”
By the way, I didn’t think about the followers at all — their feelings, experience? What’s that? I was in “upgrade yourself and everything will be cool” mode. Salsa and bachata taught me that — connection there felt optional.
Yuriy:
Yeah, I used to think the follower was just… decoration.
Sergei:
And no teacher ever really talked about connection. But you know, I started feeling it anyway, without knowing how.
I slowed down to understand: kizomba isn’t just steps and combos — it’s way more nuanced.
If someone had told me back then:
“Guys, your body is an instrument. Training it matters more than memorizing moves. Learn to feel the music and your partner!”
— maybe I’d have run around less like a squirrel in a wheel, and listened to my body more.
Yuriy:
Yeah, but back then we only listened to the teachers.
Sergei:
Like I said, I used to play various musical instruments, music wasn’t a mystery to me. But as it turned out, even if you hear the music, the body often follows its own buggy algorithm — jerking like a glitched robot or lagging behind the beat like a late student.
Yuriy:
Been there. Still glitches sometimes.
Sergei:
Yeah, lots of “hidden bugs” we didn’t know about, and now we have to fix them. The teachers? You had to squeeze knowledge out of them with pliers — and even then it didn’t always work!
That’s where I was at back then. So… shall we continue our adventure timeline?
Yuriy:
Of course. The story’s just warming up!
Your next “brilliant” plan was to send me to regular beginner classes. You signed me up for one… then another… I felt like I was in a mafia movie: you behind me with an invisible gun — no way out! 😄
Sergei:
Solid plan! Gentle coercion — always works 😄
Yuriy:
There were two places with summer courses: one “open level,” the other with a real foundation.
The first group — total dance hell. People had been dancing for a year, and me… I didn’t even know how to walk like a human being, let alone dance!
One partner, super “motivated,” told me in every rotation:
“Everyone knows the moves, and you, Yuriy, don’t even know a basic exit! How can I grow as a professional dancer under these conditions?!”
I’d freeze up, and that made it even worse. Until one day I snapped and said:
“What do I have to do with it? I clearly told the teacher I don’t understand anything! Got complaints? Take them to him. Or should I have been born a ready-made dancer?”
Sergei:
What a drama — Oscar-worthy 😄
Yuriy:
Oh, shut up 👊
The worst part — the teachers didn’t care if you could dance. What mattered was that you paid the subscription.
And they were terrified of criticizing anyone — what if someone got offended and didn’t come back?
Their method: compliments.
“You’re the most beautiful! You’re the best!”
Yeah, sure… then why does nobody want to dance with you?
Once, a teacher cautiously corrected a guy for putting his foot wrong — and boom, full-blown scene:
“Aha! Yuriy screws everything up — no problem! Sergei’s stiff as a log — everyone’s happy! But I move my foot a millimeter off — it’s a tragedy!”
Sergei:
Wow, dragging me into it! 😂
Yuriy:
I was shocked. A guy who can’t even dance three steps properly, acting like a superstar! Ego the size of the moon. Preschool with drama.
What do you always say?
“Beginner level students… with 15 years of experience.” 😄
Sergei:
Pretty much 😄
Yuriy:
But despite all that, that month gave me something valuable — I met two amazing people I’m still friends with. One of them, Inma, saw how that “dance queen” was attacking me and invited me to her place to practice. She helped me unlock myself — I’m endlessly grateful. We’re still in touch.
And then… came your real punch — in the best sense.
A gift I’ll never forget: my 45th birthday.
What did you give me? The Karga 2022 festival. All-inclusive — hotel, food, transfer, and full pass.
Sergei:
Gift with a catch — so you had no escape 😄
Yuriy:
That festival set off fireworks in my head: emotions, thoughts, meanings — all mixed together. And then one girl in a workshop said:
“If you don’t lead me, I won’t even blink!”
And that was my third dance awakening.
I thought dance was just memorized choreography, like in shows or competitions.
But turns out, you have to listen to the music, interpret it with your body, keep rhythm, lead clearly… A whole new world!
And I was just a tourist without a visa.
The emotions were volcanic: good, bad, weird.
And cherry on top — I don’t speak English.
And you made me go to EVERY workshop and EVERY social! I barely slept.
Every social felt like an execution: like everyone was staring, analyzing me under a microscope, counting mistakes.
Sergei:
That was your rite of passage! 😄
Yuriy:
I remember everyone I met at that first festival.
At JoJo’s workshop, my partner spoke English. I tried to repeat a move, and she points her finger at my face yelling: “NO, MY FRIEND!!!”
I thought she’d poke my eye out! I just wanted to disappear under the dance floor.
Everyone looked at me like: “Who let this lost dancer in here?”
Then JoJo explained something else. I asked another partner:
“What did he say? What do we do?”
She said:
“Up to your creativity!”
I thought:
“Creativity?! What creativity?! I don’t even know where I am!”
But the show wasn’t over.
JoJo said something again. I thought he said:
“If you didn’t get it, come closer to the stage — I’ll repeat.”
So, like a good student, I grab my partner:
“Let’s go, it’ll be clearer!”
She says:
“No, I got it, it’s fine.”
I say:
“C’mon, don’t worry, we’ll figure it out!”
And I pull her… right onto the stage!
Turned out, he said:
“If you got it — come up and demonstrate!”
And there we are, like two oranges on display, eyes wide, heads blank.
Wanted to melt into the floor.
Sergei:
Oh, I remember that — epic moment! 😂
Yuriy:
Another girl at a Fred and Morgane workshop — she was frozen, standing apart from her friend. I said:
“Come on, don’t be scared, let’s try.”
She almost begged:
“No, please, not this…”
But we danced, and it actually went great. She was thrilled. Her friend was happy for her.
I saw her later at another festival — confident, beautiful posture, glowing. You could see she had grown. I was happy for her.
That was my first festival: emotional, intense, unforgettable, and truly transformational.
After all those workshops, bootcamps, classes, and festivals from January to September, I realized a simple truth about teachers:
Dancing well and TEACHING — are not the same at all.
Now I get it completely. Some people run classes. Others are real teachers.
And those are different professions — dancers vs. educators.
Sergei:
Couldn’t have said it better.
Yuriy:
I value my time now and won’t waste it on workshops where “stars” just show off fancy moves you’ll never use.
Instead, I choose teachers who truly want to share knowledge, who celebrate each student’s progress, who explain clearly, who respect your pace. Whose eyes shine not from vanity, but from the desire to help.
That’s what’s truly worth the effort.
That was my first festival.
That’s how I entered the world of deep kizomba.
Thank you, my friend. For this valuable and amazing gift!
Sergei:
I’m just glad that after all the battles — and nearly getting your eye poked out — you didn’t give up.
It was all worth it 😄
You dragged me through every corner of Barcelona where Urban and Fusion classes were held. You seemed to have a built-in radar for workshops. And just when I thought I had seen it all… bam! — another one of your sneaky tricks.
I don’t remember exactly if it was at Feeling or Temptation in Lloret — back then I didn’t even know what a festival was. I just remember you called me and pitched the perfect plan:
“Yura, come with me to Lloret, we’ll have a great time, friendly and family-style… and we’ll stop by the hotel too. There’s a pool party, free entrance, you can watch from the side how amazing festivals can be. People from all over the world, all ages, all skin colors, all shapes and sizes... It’ll be a visual and emotional celebration!”
Sergei:
Exactly! I wanted to show you a real festival.
Yuriy:
And you know what? You did the right thing!
What I saw there — I’ll never forget:
A mix of nationalities, different ages, all united by one energy.
What struck me the most was this one scene:
A short elderly Black woman dancing with a tall young white guy.
They were in close embrace, eyes closed, and the bliss on their faces… it looked like drool might start dripping from pure joy.
That was FLOW. That was true connection. That’s the essence of this art.
Sergei:
That’s the magic of dance.
Yuriy:
But… here’s the plot twist.
Turned out this “free entry” had a catch: everyone had wristbands… except me.
And you, cool as ever, when I asked, just said: “They probably got them from the hotel or the festival. Don’t worry. Worst case — they’ll just ask you to leave.”
Thanks for the “reassurance”! 😆
I was sneaking around the pool area like a sparrow without a ticket, dodging the guards, switching sides when they walked by, hiding between sunbeds, even pretending to be one myself 😆
Sergei:
Haha, yeah, it was fun to watch. But I just wanted to show you...
Yuriy:
I get it. Your intentions were good. They always were. And over the years, I’ve learned to be grateful to you for everything. But I also admit: for a long time I carried this inner block, irritation, even anger. Not at you — but at my own inability to understand what was happening, not being able to repeat the step, always tense, nervous, wanting to do everything perfectly.
This path isn’t easy. It’s beautiful, but demanding. And now I understand why many quit right at the beginning, or just start treating it “for fun”:
“If it works — cool. If not — whatever.”
But not me.
I took it seriously.
As if every wrong step was disrespect to the art.
Sergei:
You’re a true fighter. I’m proud of you 😎
Yuriy:
Well, that’s the end of this episode.
My first “visit” to a festival. My first pool party.
A mix of emotions, discoveries, mistakes, and memories that stayed with me forever.
Thank you, my friend!
Thanks for everything you did — the good, and the not-so-good 😆
Sergei:
Don’t mention it, come back anytime! 😆 My intentions were always noble — you just didn’t get it right away 😆
Yuriy:
Oh, I got it… but late! 😆
Sergei:
If I hadn’t dragged you through every back alley of kizomba, you probably wouldn’t even be dancing now, let alone in love with it. So really, I was your first personal survival coach in kizomba!
Yuriy:
I admit it, you were...
Sergei:
What I remember most from that festival — the one I, let’s say, “smuggled” you into through the staff entrance (yes, a secret route, no one knew!) — is that you saw real magic for the first time: emotions, energy, people who live this dance.
I think that’s what fueled you at the start.
Yuriy:
That was my true kizombic baptism.
Sergei:
Honestly, I can’t even remember which festival it was — there have been so many, I feel like I live in the kizomba “Matrix.” But with every new one, new horizons opened for me — and for you too, I’m sure.
Yuriy:
Yeah, each one like its own chapter.
Sergei:
I remember back then my technique was meh, but I already understood it was essential. Still, I tried to learn every combination I saw in workshops. Went to everything, danced during daytime socials between lessons — I thought the more info, the faster I’d become a star.
Yuriy:
I remember — and then you started running me the same way 🤦♂️
Sergei:
Back then it never occurred to me that your brain could overheat from so much information. I thought: “More is better!”
By the way, I didn’t think about the followers at all — their feelings, experience? What’s that? I was in “upgrade yourself and everything will be cool” mode. Salsa and bachata taught me that — connection there felt optional.
Yuriy:
Yeah, I used to think the follower was just… decoration.
Sergei:
And no teacher ever really talked about connection. But you know, I started feeling it anyway, without knowing how.
I slowed down to understand: kizomba isn’t just steps and combos — it’s way more nuanced.
If someone had told me back then:
“Guys, your body is an instrument. Training it matters more than memorizing moves. Learn to feel the music and your partner!”
— maybe I’d have run around less like a squirrel in a wheel, and listened to my body more.
Yuriy:
Yeah, but back then we only listened to the teachers.
Sergei:
Like I said, I used to play various musical instruments, music wasn’t a mystery to me. But as it turned out, even if you hear the music, the body often follows its own buggy algorithm — jerking like a glitched robot or lagging behind the beat like a late student.
Yuriy:
Been there. Still glitches sometimes.
Sergei:
Yeah, lots of “hidden bugs” we didn’t know about, and now we have to fix them. The teachers? You had to squeeze knowledge out of them with pliers — and even then it didn’t always work!
That’s where I was at back then. So… shall we continue our adventure timeline?
Yuriy:
Of course. The story’s just warming up!
Your next “brilliant” plan was to send me to regular beginner classes. You signed me up for one… then another… I felt like I was in a mafia movie: you behind me with an invisible gun — no way out! 😄
Sergei:
Solid plan! Gentle coercion — always works 😄
Yuriy:
There were two places with summer courses: one “open level,” the other with a real foundation.
The first group — total dance hell. People had been dancing for a year, and me… I didn’t even know how to walk like a human being, let alone dance!
One partner, super “motivated,” told me in every rotation:
“Everyone knows the moves, and you, Yuriy, don’t even know a basic exit! How can I grow as a professional dancer under these conditions?!”
I’d freeze up, and that made it even worse. Until one day I snapped and said:
“What do I have to do with it? I clearly told the teacher I don’t understand anything! Got complaints? Take them to him. Or should I have been born a ready-made dancer?”
Sergei:
What a drama — Oscar-worthy 😄
Yuriy:
Oh, shut up 👊
The worst part — the teachers didn’t care if you could dance. What mattered was that you paid the subscription.
And they were terrified of criticizing anyone — what if someone got offended and didn’t come back?
Their method: compliments.
“You’re the most beautiful! You’re the best!”
Yeah, sure… then why does nobody want to dance with you?
Once, a teacher cautiously corrected a guy for putting his foot wrong — and boom, full-blown scene:
“Aha! Yuriy screws everything up — no problem! Sergei’s stiff as a log — everyone’s happy! But I move my foot a millimeter off — it’s a tragedy!”
Sergei:
Wow, dragging me into it! 😂
Yuriy:
I was shocked. A guy who can’t even dance three steps properly, acting like a superstar! Ego the size of the moon. Preschool with drama.
What do you always say?
“Beginner level students… with 15 years of experience.” 😄
Sergei:
Pretty much 😄
Yuriy:
But despite all that, that month gave me something valuable — I met two amazing people I’m still friends with. One of them, Inma, saw how that “dance queen” was attacking me and invited me to her place to practice. She helped me unlock myself — I’m endlessly grateful. We’re still in touch.
And then… came your real punch — in the best sense.
A gift I’ll never forget: my 45th birthday.
What did you give me? The Karga 2022 festival. All-inclusive — hotel, food, transfer, and full pass.
Sergei:
Gift with a catch — so you had no escape 😄
Yuriy:
That festival set off fireworks in my head: emotions, thoughts, meanings — all mixed together. And then one girl in a workshop said:
“If you don’t lead me, I won’t even blink!”
And that was my third dance awakening.
I thought dance was just memorized choreography, like in shows or competitions.
But turns out, you have to listen to the music, interpret it with your body, keep rhythm, lead clearly… A whole new world!
And I was just a tourist without a visa.
The emotions were volcanic: good, bad, weird.
And cherry on top — I don’t speak English.
And you made me go to EVERY workshop and EVERY social! I barely slept.
Every social felt like an execution: like everyone was staring, analyzing me under a microscope, counting mistakes.
Sergei:
That was your rite of passage! 😄
Yuriy:
I remember everyone I met at that first festival.
At JoJo’s workshop, my partner spoke English. I tried to repeat a move, and she points her finger at my face yelling: “NO, MY FRIEND!!!”
I thought she’d poke my eye out! I just wanted to disappear under the dance floor.
Everyone looked at me like: “Who let this lost dancer in here?”
Then JoJo explained something else. I asked another partner:
“What did he say? What do we do?”
She said:
“Up to your creativity!”
I thought:
“Creativity?! What creativity?! I don’t even know where I am!”
But the show wasn’t over.
JoJo said something again. I thought he said:
“If you didn’t get it, come closer to the stage — I’ll repeat.”
So, like a good student, I grab my partner:
“Let’s go, it’ll be clearer!”
She says:
“No, I got it, it’s fine.”
I say:
“C’mon, don’t worry, we’ll figure it out!”
And I pull her… right onto the stage!
Turned out, he said:
“If you got it — come up and demonstrate!”
And there we are, like two oranges on display, eyes wide, heads blank.
Wanted to melt into the floor.
Sergei:
Oh, I remember that — epic moment! 😂
Yuriy:
Another girl at a Fred and Morgane workshop — she was frozen, standing apart from her friend. I said:
“Come on, don’t be scared, let’s try.”
She almost begged:
“No, please, not this…”
But we danced, and it actually went great. She was thrilled. Her friend was happy for her.
I saw her later at another festival — confident, beautiful posture, glowing. You could see she had grown. I was happy for her.
That was my first festival: emotional, intense, unforgettable, and truly transformational.
After all those workshops, bootcamps, classes, and festivals from January to September, I realized a simple truth about teachers:
Dancing well and TEACHING — are not the same at all.
Now I get it completely. Some people run classes. Others are real teachers.
And those are different professions — dancers vs. educators.
Sergei:
Couldn’t have said it better.
Yuriy:
I value my time now and won’t waste it on workshops where “stars” just show off fancy moves you’ll never use.
Instead, I choose teachers who truly want to share knowledge, who celebrate each student’s progress, who explain clearly, who respect your pace. Whose eyes shine not from vanity, but from the desire to help.
That’s what’s truly worth the effort.
That was my first festival.
That’s how I entered the world of deep kizomba.
Thank you, my friend. For this valuable and amazing gift!
Sergei:
I’m just glad that after all the battles — and nearly getting your eye poked out — you didn’t give up.
It was all worth it 😄
