We visited the Ballet de Camagüey’s training rooms, watched their morning class, and saw a short performance in the studio. Founded in 1967, it’s one of Cuba’s pre-eminent companies. Next to cigars and rum, dancing is one of the island’s more elegant exports.
Early morning sun hammered through the high windows of these massive studios—polished floorboards the color of honey, cream walls, high ceilings keeping it bearable despite the heat. Twenty or so dancers working through their drills: feet pounding the boards, pianist banging away, maestra barking corrections. No mucking about. Young Cuban women, black hair tied back, serious and disciplined. Impressive, really.
Then we shifted to a smaller studio where two dancers did what I think was a pas de deux—lots of lifts and partnering work. The strength needed to make it look that smooth was no joke. I’ll be honest, my attention wandered a bit from the technical side of things, but even a ballet ignoramus could see they knew what they were doing.
The costume department was something else—racks of tutus and leotards lined up like they were going into battle. Even on what must be bugger-all budget, everything was pressed and positioned just so. I probably spent more time staring at the costumes than watching the actual dancing. Turns out getting ready for the perfect arabesque starts well before anyone sets foot on stage.