A MOMENT IN SOLLER
By the station, a band started to play. It was the type of music that made you tap your feet and sway side to side. It made you want to snap your fingers, grab a partner, and be caught up in it all. It evoked thoughts of earlier decades and brought shared smiles to the faces of the crowd that formed, filling the space around them. What joy to be here, in this moment.
A drum beat out a clipped, easy rhythm. A ukulele plunked notes into the air. A large tuba wrapped itself around the player and let out deep, sweet toots. The singer at times played the trumpet, at others sang in the best raspy voice ‘swing, brother swing’. They enticed us to dance, and we did, because what else could we do?
Then the dancers arrived, as if they had heard the music. They spilled out of the station, dressed in another era. The women with berets set at jaunty angles, hair curled up, bright dresses that flared as they twirled, the men in waistcoats and wide-legged trousers. They waved to each other, coupled up, and started to dance. Their happiness and joy was infectious, an energy. They lulled us to sway and follow, made us believe for a while that we too were dancers.
As one, the band and the dancers started to move down the streets of Soller, taking us with them. We passed the vans selling street foods, the cafes selling pastries and coffee. We collected more people as we went all moving together in a shared rhythm. By the time they reached the main square, the music and the movement had enchanted everyone to stand, watch, join in, as if this was the only thing that mattered. This small town, set in the heart of the mountains, brought together by the magic of Swing.
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