Palmyra Bellydancing Club
If you want to see beautiful belly-dancing, don't come to Palmyra.
If you want to see uncomfortable dancers with sour faces, if you want to see men hoot and holler like they're at a strip club, if you want to see men literally throw money on the floor leaving an assistant to come pick it up, if you want to see men who seem genuinely baffled by the sight of a woman... Palmyra may be the place for you.
Located in a narrow alleyway, frowned upon by the staff at my hotel, costing a fraction of what quality belly-dancing clubs do, Palmyra is a somewhat seamy, clearly locals-only establishment. Supposedly it doesn't pick up until midnight. When I went on a Wednesday night around 10:30pm, there were only a few other people in the joint. A traveler told us he had visited Monday around midnight, when it was packed with locals drunkenly throwing money. It was a compelling idea.
Our visit was, sadly, more sedate. The men did get drunk, but they also spent most of their time talking to each other. They stared vacantly at the lousy dancers with shisha pipes dangling nonchalantly from their mouths. They looked mildly appalled when the first dancer invited them to stuff money in her cleavage.
The dancers were hilarious. One wore an ankle-length blue-striped shirtdress, which resembled a form-fitting pajama shirt. Shimmying vaguely around the stage, she self-consciously pulled the dress down every time it rode up. Her hair was pulled back so tightly she looked like a facelift victim, and she seemed annoyed. The only person she succeeded in coercing to the stage was one of the girls in our group—she tried me, but I refused. I'm not sure why she bothered. The next dancer wore a midriff-baring outfit as sexy as a child's bikini. A far cry from the sparkly traditional costumes, it was bright and FLORAL, a sleeveless top with matching A-line mid-thigh skirt. She was a bit more relaxed, but still didn't have much rhythm. She was successful in pulling some very hefty men onstage, but after they gave her money, they danced happily with each other while she looked on.
In between dancers, a rotund, good-natured man sang. The men in the audience didn't seem to change their reactions. They were not nearly as turned on by the dancers as our friend had claimed, but maybe it was an off night.
The cost was 25EP, including a drink, compared to nice clubs, which cost almost 200EP. But for the quality of the dancing, and the fact that we didn't see the crazed men we hoped for, it was a bit much. I saw good belly-dancing later in Jordan, at hotels and restaurants that didn't charge patrons and paid the dancer a salary so she didn't rely on tips from men. It was a significant improvement. But Palmyra is just weird enough to recommend.