The Secret of Salsa Caleña: The Underground Dance Floors of the 1940s and 1950s

Origins

If you walk through the barrio Obrero or Sucre today, and you see an old man moving his feet as if the floor were burning, don't be fooled: that man isn't dancing by chance. He is repeating a ritual that was forged in the darkness of sugarcane warehouses, dirt patios, and unlit alleys, long before salsa had a name in Cali.

The history of salsa caleña did not begin in grand ballrooms or trendy nightclubs. It began on underground dance floors, clandestine spaces that workers from the sugar mills and railways improvised at nightfall. In the 1940s and 1950s, Cali was a city growing by leaps and bounds, full of migrants from the Pacific coast and the Valle region who came looking for work. These people brought with them rhythms of marimba, currulao, and above all, a hunger for joy that could not be contained in the wattle-and-daub houses.

Factory owners and landowners did not look favorably upon their workers gathering to dance. That is why the first dance floors were built in basements, abandoned sugarcane mill warehouses, or backyards rented out for pennies. There were no spotlights or sound systems: just a wind-up record player, a couple of borrowed speakers, and a wooden or packed-dirt floor. There, amidst the smell of sweat and aguardiente, the style that today makes Cali famous worldwide was born.

Timeline or historical milestones

To understand how those underground dance floors shaped salsa caleña, you have to look at the city's clock:

• 1930-1940: The first records of Cuban son and mambo arrive through the port of Buenaventura. Railway workers hide them among the cargo. In the patios of tenement houses in the barrio San Pascual, the first informal "descargas" begin to be organized.
• 1945: The first recognized underground dance floor opens in the barrio Obrero, in a warehouse on Calle 15 with Carrera 5. They called it "El Hueco" because it was in a semi-basement. There, people danced to the rhythm of orchestras like Pérez Prado's, which played on 78 RPM records.
• 1948: The Bogotazo and political violence push more people from the countryside to Cali. New working-class neighborhoods like Sucre and El Piloto fill with displaced people who bring their own rhythms. Underground dance floors multiply.
• 1952: The first "pick-up" (portable record player) appears in the barrio Obrero, owned by Don Efraín Murillo, a cobbler who organized dances on weekends in his workshop. He charged 10 cents per person.
• 1955: Cuban musician Benny Moré performs in Cali. His visit marks a turning point: Caleños begin to prefer son montuno and guaguancó, which allowed more freedom in the feet than the rigid mambo.
• 1958: The first formal dance club is founded in the barrio Obrero, "El Palacio de la Salsa", but the real action continued in the clandestine dance floors, where there were no rules or schedules.
• 1960: The Feria de Cali institutionalizes salsa, but the underground dance floors had already created a unique style: the Caleño "paso libre", with fast spins and hip movements not seen in Cuba or New York.

Key figures or events

Salsa caleña was not invented by a single person, but there were figures who, from anonymity, charted the course. These are some of the names you should know if you want to understand the true origin:

Don Efraín Murillo: The cobbler who organized dances

Efraín Murillo was not a musician or professional dancer. He was a cobbler from the barrio Obrero who, on Saturday nights, would clear his workshop, place a record player on a wooden table, and start playing Cuban son records. His underground dance floor, known as "La Zapatería", was a 4 by 5 meter hole where up to 30 people could squeeze in. There, Don Efraín taught the basic steps to the neighborhood's youth, and he was the first to notice that Caleños did not dance like Cubans: they moved their feet more and their hips less. He died in 1982 without ever setting foot in a luxury nightclub, but his legacy lives on in every step of the Feria dancers.

La Negra Teodora: The voice that united two worlds

Teodora Mosquera, known as "La Negra Teodora", was a currulao singer who arrived in Cali from Tumaco in 1947. She settled in the barrio Sucre and began singing in the underground dance floors. Her hoarse, powerful voice became the favorite of the workers. It was she who began mixing the rhythms of the Colombian Pacific with Cuban son, creating a fusion that would later be called "salsa caleña". Legend has it that on a dance floor in the barrio Obrero, La Negra Teodora confronted a group of musicians who wanted to play only mambo, and shouted at them: "This is not Cuba, this is Cali, and here we dance with river flavor!" That moment is considered the birth of the local style.

The Zapata Brothers: The architects of the paso libre

The brothers Juan and Luis Zapata were mechanics at the "Coltejer" textile factory in the barrio El Piloto. In the 1950s, they began experimenting with spins on the underground dance floors. While Cuban dancers moved in tight circles, the Zapatas developed the "paso libre": a series of fast foot movements, wide spins, and rhythm changes that required great skill. Their technique went viral among the clandestine dance floors, and by 1958 there were informal schools teaching the "Zapata style". Juan Zapata died in 2001, but until his last days he gave free classes in the barrio Obrero park.

The curious fact: Underground dance floors and aguardiente

A little-known fact: in the underground dance floors of the 1940s and 1950s, aguardiente was not sold in bottles, but in "totumadas" (totumo cups). The dance floor owners bought the liquor in bulk and resold it by the cup. But there was an unwritten rule: if a dancer spilled the aguardiente on the dirt floor, they had to pay a fine of 5 cents to "keep the floor firm". That money was used to buy more records. Thus, the smell of aguardiente and wet earth became the trademark of the first Caleño dance floors.

Current status

Today, in May 2026, the underground dance floors of the 1940s and 1950s no longer exist as such. Most were demolished or converted into warehouses, workshops, or homes. But their spirit lives on in places like the barrio Obrero, Sucre, and El Piloto, where informal dances are still organized in patios and garages.

If you want to feel that original atmosphere, I recommend visiting the Parque del Barrio Obrero (Calle 15 with Carrera 4). On Sunday afternoons, a group of veterans gathers to dance to the rhythm of a portable sound system. There are no lights or stage, just a circle of chairs and a cement floor. There you can see men and women aged 70 or 80 moving with the same energy as 60 years ago. It is the contemporary version of the underground dance floors.

Another key place is the Salón del Barrio Sucre (Carrera 10 with Calle 12), a community space that hosts dances every Saturday from 7 pm. Admission costs around $5,000 COP (reference price for May 2026) and includes a soda. There, you breathe the same atmosphere as the old dance floors: dim light, lots of sweat, and music that gets into your bones.

However, we must be honest: gentrification and the rise of tourist nightclubs have displaced these traditional dance floors. Many young people no longer know the history of the barrio Obrero or that the style they now dance in New York or Tokyo was born there. Therefore, if you are a tourist, I recommend looking for Don Álvaro, a 78-year-old veteran who still gives paso libre classes in the barrio Obrero park on Saturdays at 10 am. He will tell you stories that do not appear in any book.

The legacy of the underground dance floors also survives in music. Bands like La 33 or Son de Cali have recorded songs that pay homage to these spaces. And every year, during the Feria de Cali, a "clandestine dance floor route" is organized that visits the old sites. But the real magic is in the patios of the working-class neighborhoods, where they still dance like in the 1940s: without rules, without spotlights, just with the heart.

If you know of any old dance floor in your neighborhood, share its story in the comments. Maybe together we can put together the complete map of Cali's underground salsa.