a part of Transcendence mini-series I returned to Barbara on the balcony. I was glad to see we were at peace with our little dispute. We were in the same 'boat' anyway, two beginner tangueros, trying to comprehend the tango universe, its social component perhaps being the most slippery surface of all. I enjoyed how we grew and developed together. In our duet, she was the cool one, I was the ambitious one. That much was becoming clear.
Finishing her glass of wine, she said she wasn't going for the Saturday's milonga tonight. She left soon. My thoughts were back with Agnieszka. It would take me 45 minutes to get ready and be on the dance floor with her. But I just couldn't see that happening. Our transcendental tanda was so far out I could not possibly hope for a dance like that anytime soon. It would be like expecting fireworks on January 3rd. Sh*t like that don't just happen. I had already decided it was time I took a little break from tango. So I texted her back I wasn't coming due to my need to slow down a bit. She only replied with a sad face smiley. And sad, I was. Actually, I would be lucky to only be sad. Sadness is a clear and simple state. Mine was far more complex.
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a part of Transcendence mini-series After that evening, I did my best to avoid Agnieszka. But I need to tell another story, just to give proper background.
The following days I wouldn't want to be my employer. In my mind I kept replaying that tanda. It was with me when I read e-mails, when I did counseling work for my clients, when I gave lectures. It was like music in the background, but more in the front than background music was supposed to be. My general productivity was way below low. Coming Friday I went to the regular Tabor milonga. I was relieved to learn Agnieszka wasn't coming. Barbara, my dancing partner, had come before me and had already danced a few tandas by the time I arrived. a part of Transcendence mini-series We embraced. The softness of her embrace was made even sweeter by the softness of her sweater, made out of wool of the softest sheep, I'm sure.
We took a couple of moments to get cozy in the embrace while I continued to chew the crisps. There was no way of hiding it, so I thought best be done with it fast. The movement of my jaw moved her cheek. She laughed at the fact she was about to dance with a hamster. I felt relieved when the crisps were finally on their way south. Something about the music was off, but in a good way. My body naturally reacted to it with the smallest movements inside the body, followed by subtle movement of the feet, changing the standing leg. When this started to happen, Agnieszka responded with the same inner movements. We were playing a game! The music was so unpredictable it leaved me absolutely no extra head space for any tactics or planning. So for a while, we were just standing on the spot, having fun with what I could only describe as 'micro tango.' I'm sure that nothing could be seen from the outside. It was like a private joke. a part of Transcendence mini-series Mondays are happy days too, for one simple reason: there's a tango class with Tango Utrip school in the evening, followed by a practica.
I have been attending the classes regularly ever since they started in September. I haven't written anything about them so far, because there wasn't really a story to tell. Which, now that I come to think of it, is not entirely true. I have come to realize that a beautiful tanda is just like a summer romance: one never knows when and where it will happen. It takes you by surprise. And lately these 'summer' tandas keep popping up unexpectedly. Which, like with romance, is the best anyway. Without expectation, everything's possible. Tango exists within a (social) system. You may not like it or even refuse to recognize it, but the system will inevitably place you somewhere on the social ladder. You will be given a level, regardless of your self-evaluation. Funny enough, system = people. In tango social system, you will be identified mostly according to your dancing skill. I would like to say that it is your skill that will fall into one of the categories (also known as levels), but it's not so. You will be placed into one of the levels. Tango levels (skill):
A part of the Qualities of cabeceo mini-series A signature cabeceo? All in all, there is one final notion about the whole cabeceo thing. Over time, I have come to discern between different 'styles' of the mirada. People have their signature miradas. The style of mirada gives character to a person's cabeceo. So it's not too far out to speak about signature cabeceos as well. I will give a few examples. Please keep in mind these are my interpretations. No one of these people actually named their miradas/cabeceos. So, for taking the liberty to do so myself, I will give these good souls the privacy of nick-names. A part of the Qualities of cabeceo mini-series 5 types of cabeceo (by invocation) We speak about cabeceo as if it was just one. It's not so. In my limited experience, the whole cabeceo thing is being described way to mechanically. The mechanical explanation, given in part 1, is more or less correct. But it is dry and leaves out all the juicy stuff (pun intended). Ask yourself: when and how does a cabeceo really begin? I have come to discern 5 basic types of cabeceo, defined by its invocation:
Let's begin by me admitting it took me 8 months to figure out how to spell cabeceo :) 'Pohruškanje' A cabeceo is something that has become a pre-requisite in our tango community. Ladies would appreciate it if you did it and would resent you if you didn't. So, clearly, not much of a choice. 'Slatkice', a non-formal group of younger generation tango ladies here in Ljubljana, have even invented a term to describe the act of a man asking for a dance without cabeceo: to be »pohrkuškana,« which would literary translate to »to be peared.« What it means is that a man picks her like a pear from a tree. He comes over, stands in close proximity and extends his hand to ask for a dance, often accompanied by a gesture of a slight bow towards the lady. Indeed, when a woman is sitting, 'pohruškanje' does remind me of a man picking pears from a small tree. Asking somebody to dance verbally, without the bowing and extending the hand, is also considered 'pohruskanje.' Of course, also a lady could 'pohruškati' a man. I have experienced it a couple times, enought to understand why women don't enjoy it. Spiraling down After the milonga in Trieste, things have been gradually going south. Little by little I have been sinking in some murky, unpleasant state of being. The thing is: in Poreč I felt like I have nothing. I had nothing to loose. But since then I had had some trips to tango heaven. That's why I was able to tell when I was far from it. Things have changed. I had something to loose. The baby-beginner's phase came to an end. My ladies, the more experienced followers, were not so full of praise anymore. Instead, they began demanding I made some changes fast. One lady felt she was suffocating by my hand on her back, saying I was pulling her in too tightly. This began the project of 'relaxing the back hand.' The other lady was complaining I was twisting her right wrist, which gave birth to project 'untwist the left hand and lower the elbow while you're at it.' The third lady, which was about my height, complained I was pushing my head into her head which was giving her neck pain. That was my third project. Self-improvement projects were piling up. The Story Still hyped up from Poreč, I immediately agreed to join the company that decided to go for a milonga in Trieste that Sunday. And why not? My favourite ladies would be there! Frane was driving, we were three guys in the car, together with Bostjan, a seasoned tanguero. None of us knew where the milonga was held. But we had our GPS devices. The hour we spent in the car went by quickly. It was mostly talk about dancing. As it is ever so. The rest of the crew had some head start. They would already be all warmed up when we arrive. Coming to Trieste, we knew that the location was somewhere along the coastal road. However, the location marked on the GPS map was faulty; in reality, there was nothing there, just a concrete wall dividing an industrial zone from the road. No entrance, no lights, no signs of milonga. Long story short: we needed one more hour and help from our friends to find the entrance. Peter was kind enough to wait for us at the wall and showed us the way in. An unbelievably well-hidden entrance. If they used it during WWII, I'm sure no one ever found it and the soldiers could play poker in peace. |
AuthorBlaz B, social tango dancer since February 2015. I'm sharing these posts to inspire future tango beginners, to encourage today's beginners and to possibly entertain those dancers, who have already become regulars at tango heaven.
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