We wander through the streets of the old city, tall buildings on either side blocking the sky on a cool, rainy day. I forge ahead, as I always do.

Stop. Had he called me?

Santy is looking toward a doorway, no identifying sign. Only a doorway from where I am standing. He motions and calls again in Spanish, because he speaks no English. Come back. I flip, flop along the stone walkway to where he is standing.

“I hear music, Latino music. There’s a bar in here.”

I don’t hear music, but I follow him through the door, hesitating even in his company. I hear the music at the second door inside.

The room is long, and clean, bar on one side, small rectangular tables pushed against the wall on the other side, colorfully painted walls, and a television, of course. Many faces turn to watch us as we enter. Spanish doesn’t have a word for staring, only fixed look. Looking, fixed.

Santy moves quickly to the bar where he has a conversation with the woman behind the beer tap handles. I know enough Spanish now that I could understand what they’re saying. I don’t even try. I can feel the eyes, curious, probing. They look away. Santy asks me something and I nod. I order a small beer and we find an empty table, the only one left in the room, right by the door. I sit with my back to looking eyes. Santy says the bar is run by Bolivians.

A hot cast iron platter, piled high, arrives carried by a round man in jeans and a t-shirt. We share the pork chops, chicken wings, fried potatoes, morcilla, fried eggs, fried bananas, bratwurst. What is the potato with the fried covering that is so good with salsa? Yucca, he says, and grins broadly at my surprised delight. We finish, finally. I swig the last of my beer like a practiced American frat boy and listen to the Latin beats.

Santy raises his arm to point to the floor where two women have been swaying their hips slowly to the music and now sit down. I look at the empty floor and the full house, and I shake my head. Are you sure? he asks. I’m not sure, but I shake my head again. We stand up to leave.

Next time, I dance.