South Americans know how to dance. Australian men ... not so much. Photo: Getty Images
The night begins the way it would in Australia, with people standing around drinking. In this case, most of the punters are sipping caipirinhas rather than slugging VB but the basics are all here. You could almost imagine you were back home if it wasn't for the Portuguese phrases rattling around the room.
Until something weird happens.
Just as people are starting to settle in, going back for a second round of booze, welcoming more friends to the group, easing into the night, the house lights go down. There's a rumble of something through the crowd - excitement, I guess - as a bloke with a microphone jumps onto the small stage at the front of the dance floor.
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His bald head glistening in the spotlight, his muscled arms straining against his shiny shirt like a Lycra bag full of watermelons, the guy starts talking to the crowd in the local tongue, urging them to do, well, something. I don't speak Portuguese but a few seconds later, I find out what that something is: hit the dance floor.
The really strange bit? Every single person in this Sao Paulo bar is doing as they are told, the crowd dropping drinks onto tables en masse and heading for the open space in front of baldy, muscly guy.
It's moments such as these when you realise you're not in Kansas any more, Toto. If some bloke jumped up at the front of a bar in Australia and told everyone to stop boozing and join him on the dance floor, he'd probably be wiping beer off himself for days.
But in Brazil? In a couple of seconds, baldy, muscly guy has a packed dance floor in front of him. A few seconds after that, he has them all in perfect lines moving to choreographed steps he's leading, the whole place bumping and grinding as one, like some far-fetched scene from an American college film that you know would never happen in real life. Except it is.
Damn, Brazilians can dance. From the girls, you kind of expect it. But the guys are equally, if not more, enthusiastic, swaying their hips and shuffling their feet. They do it with such a practised nonchalance, too; they're all Latino good looks and natural rhythm.
Nothing makes you feel more like a gringo than watching a South American guy dance. Sure, everyone's friendly and they try to coax you into trying a few moves, but you can tell what they're thinking: "Damn, Australians can't dance."
There's some sort of anatomical difference between Latin Americans and Anglo-Celts, as though Latin Americans have a few extra ligaments in their hips that allow them to roll and shake the way they do. (It could also be practice and passion but I'm sticking with my extra-ligaments theory.)
At that Sao Paulo bar, I gave it my all, attempting to make up in enthusiasm for what I lacked in skill. I'm pretty sure I came off looking as if I was trying to fuse the samba with the robot but no one could say the Aussie guy didn't give it his unco-ordinated best.
If you're planning to spend much time in Latin America, you'd better get used to this phenomenon. It's the same throughout the continent, this shared love of shaking your booty in an open, public place. It's infectious and more than a little intimidating. They make it look so easy.
A few weeks later, I'm in a nightclub in Ushuaia, Argentina, the southernmost city in the world, and though it's freezing outside, things are heating up on the dance floor. It's 3am and swarthy chaps in questionable shirts have started to get their groove on with ladies local and foreign, swinging them around the place and wiggling their hips.
Us foreign guys, for the most part, are doing what we do best: standing around the sides, drinking beer and looking awkward. After a while, however, it becomes painfully obvious that if we don't get out there and shake something soon, it's going to be a long night.
So we chug our drinks, steel ourselves for the coming embarrassment and get out there. To paraphrase a movie I haven't seen: no one puts Ben in the corner.
There are a couple of inalienable truths I've learnt about women and of this one I'm sure: they like a guy who can dance. That isn't a problem in Australia, because we non-dancers are in the majority. It's only when you go to Latin America that your shortcomings as a hip-shaker become glaringly obvious.
There are classes you can take, of course, and many's the gringo traveller who rolls up to a few salsa classes to try to imbue themselves with some rhythm. But we're mostly fighting a losing battle. Still, it's an important battle to fight. As ridiculous as we might look flailing about in nightclubs, it gradually becomes obvious why most Latino guys are such good dancers: they love what they're doing. Sharing that love might not have you owning Brazilian dance floors but at least you'll have fun trying.
Ever faced embarrassment when trying to blend in with the locals? Post your comment below.