If there is any force or resource possessed by Latin Americans, which indubitably and unequivocally they hold sway over, is not oil, politics, coffee, drugs, nor tropical fruit exports. It is something that every Latino, in some blessing from God, holds in their blood: la salsa.
I don't mean this lightly or jokingly; in fact this is a very serious matter for a white man such as myself. I simply lack any and all sense of rhythm, which even the youngest of Ecuadorian children have mastered. I also lack the ability to move my hips in any useful fashion other than for running, kicking, catching myself when I trip over something, and scratching my back. Keeping a beat is entirely out of the question.
Why is this so important, you may ask? For me, a firm believer in science and the body's lust for procreation, it all comes down to sex—or more exactly, relating with the opposite sex. There seems to be nothing that is more potent in attracting a girl that the ability to dance: I've seen very attractive rich men snubbed for unattractive men who can dance well. Is there any wonder why? I think the relationship between dance and sex is well established.
All of the guys I've met here talk about it, and I try, very calmly, to explain why I can't dance—but they don't believe me! It's very easy, they say. I just need to practice, they say—but how can one even practice if they can't stick with the beat? Even the most desperate of girls don't enjoy having their feet stepped on. I can imagine a world, say 8 years from now, in which Latinos control the world, everyone else merely being their laborers. Laugh now, but you would be absolutely amazed at the number of unattractive men walking around Quito with extremely attractive women (and these aren't the guys wearing suits, either).
For those of us who happen to be lucky enough to find a girl that is somewhat indifferent to dance (although I know mine would be much happier with me if I danced more…) the consequences are less severe. But pay heed and learn while you still can, you never know when she might be lured away by a short, fat man who can shake his hips in time at 300 beats per minute!