And then it happened. Quite suddenly, I felt the beat. It was there, obvious now I could hear it. With it, my feet started to move in more than a random way and an exhilarating confidence passed through me. This was fun.

It was with sore feet but a light head that I woke, late, the next day, renewed in my enthusiasm for salsa and Spain. Our class wasn’t until four that afternoon, so I had a full three hours to explore the best of Barcelona.

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()When the time came, emboldened by the previous night’s practical experience of “real-world” dance, I threw myself into the lesson and its new moves with renewed vigour. In some ways, I wish I hadn’t thrown one of my partners with quite the same enthusiasm, but it was only a small bruise and she quickly forgave me. That’s the problem, though, with being the man and taking the lead: absolute power corrupts absolutely. I was a dance dictator and, like many of my kind, lack of ability didn’t stop me exercising authority.

We learnt some new moves — the cross-body turn, lateral, enchufla doble and a combination of all three. Hands were thrust behind backs, arms over heads, shoulders began to wiggle like jelly. The self- consciousness — in many ways, the Britishness — that had hung around the previous day was gone. Where once there’d been a strange intimacy about dancing with near strangers — they using your body, you theirs — the intimacy was no longer strange.

More drinks with dance mates soaking in the sun, more gazpacho, paella and churros, and then out for a second night on the town. We headed first for Barceloneta, the fishing port cleaned up for the Olympics and now a melee of restaurants, bars and Barcelona’s best waterfront salsa club. La Habana is the superclub of Barcelona’s salsa scene — a two-level emporium of mambo maestros and shimmying chicas. On stage that night was a live band led by a singer dressed all in white, dancing as if he’d just been stung. Below, the dancefloor spun in a visual cacophony: every colour of skin, every shade of shirt. Bar our group, there wasn’t a tourist in sight. And somewhere, lost in the crowd, me, loving every minute.

It was just gone 12 when we flagged down Carlos’s jukebox on wheels and crossed town to the second of the night’s recommended clubs. Walking through the doors of Buena Vista, on Carrer del Rossello, was like walking onto the set of a movie mid-take. Dominating this dancefloor was a 40-strong circle, simultaneously dancing with each other as well as with the group. Leading them, a dyed-blond salsero, a Madonna- style microphone curled around his head. Every few seconds he’d call out an instruction and, as one, the group would act on his command: 20 pairs double-spinning together; 40 people simultaneously switching partners; and, most impressive of all, at the call of “camera”, the entire group freeze-framing mid-move.

This, I later learnt, was the “casino wheel”, the pinnacle of synchronised salsa. Barcelona has many fine sights, but none of them matched this one.

Back in London, my enthusiasm for salsa now knows no bounds. A room above a Balham pub might not have the same allure as a sweaty Spanish club, but it was there, four days after my return to the UK, that the true value of my Catalan catalyst weekend became clear. The English instructress took one look at my moves and with a casual wave of her arm directed me to the far end of the room. “Intermediate,” she declared. I could not have been more proud.

Andrew Thomas travelled as a guest of Dance Holidays

Travel brief

Tour operators: Dance Holidays (0870 286 6000, www.danceholidays.com) runs weekend salsa breaks to Barcelona every month from £335pp, including flights with EasyJet from Gatwick, Stansted, Luton, Bristol, East Midlands, Liverpool, Belfast, Manchester, Birmingham, Bristol, Newcastle, and Leeds, and two nights’ accommodation at the three-star Hotel Rialto.

Or try Cactus Worldwide (0845 130 4775, www.cactuslanguage.com), which has week-long trips that combine Spanish lessons (four hours each morning) with salsa classes (two hours each afternoon) for £499, excluding flights.

Salsa independent: all the clubs mentioned are open to the public. La Clave (00 34-93 490 3494), best on Saturdays, is at 65 Tenor Masini; entry €10. La Habana (93 225 0263) is at 1 Carrer de l’Escar in Barceloneta; entry free. Salsa Buena Vista (93 237 6528) at 217 Carrer de Rossello reopens mid-November as Mojito Barcelona. Other clubs include Bikini (93 322 0800) at 105 Deu i Mata and the classic Antilla at 141 Aragon (93 451 4564, www.antillasalsa.com, classes at €60 per hour).

Getting there: EasyJet (0870 600 0000, www.easyjet.com) flies to Barcelona from Belfast, Bristol, East Midlands, Gatwick, Leeds, Liverpool, Luton, Newcastle and Stansted; from £41. British Airways (0870 850 9850, www.ba.com) flies from Birmingham, Gatwick, Heathrow and Manchester; from £69. Or try Iberia (0845 601 2854, www.iberia.com). Aer Lingus (0845 084 4444, www.aerlingus.com) flies from Cork and Dublin; from €96.

Where to stay: deep in the Barri Gotic is Hotel Jardi (Placa de Sant Josep Oriol 1; 00 34-93 301 5900; doubles from £58), with small but spotless rooms. The brand-new and supertrendy Hotel Constanza (Bruc 33; 93 270 1910, www.hotelconstanza.com) is excellent value at £83 a double.

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