The Ritual (before milonga) I didn't even dance one tanda at the pool milonga. I wish I could say I was too easy-going to dance, that I was just hangin' out with people, sun-bathing, taking a little dive in the pool... in fact I did all that. But in truth I was terrified to go into the 'polenta', as Peter calls these overly-crowded milongas. Just by looking at the skilled dancers, who were able to move in almost zero proximity to the surrounding couples, made me absolutely not want to get myself in there. Finally the pool milonga ended. We got into the car and drove to a supermarket. It was decided that today the girls would cook and Marko and I would take care of the dishes afterwards. Back at the apartment the ladies started cooking. I respected them for their speed and effectiveness, which is usually the case with women and kitchen. Our apartment came with a nice big balcony. Marko put his laptop on the balcony table and started playing tango music. My eyes rolled to the back of my head – really, more tango music? I had no task at the time so I made myself useful by opening a bottle of wine and poured a glass for everyone. I lit a cigarette and enjoyed a smoke on the balcony. I could see my mind producing thoughts on the upcoming milonga, but I was not interested in the conversation. I knew that whatever would happen was beyond my control. I couldn't have been prepared any more than I actually was. Unless I had rescued a gold fish, which I didn't. Dinner was served and we had a toast in honour of our time together. I felt warm inside: I barely knew these people, yet I felt I was meant to have dinner at that particular table that evening. After dinner we made a plan: sleeping til 11:30pm, then taking shower, getting ready and hit the milonga before the maestro's show, which was supposed to take place sometime around 1am. Sleep didn't come easy. As expected, the alarm went off at 11:30pm. I felt half-dead, yet I was supposed to take a shower and go dance til sunrise? »This is not normal,« the mind said. My biology agreed. Marko showered first. Then the ladies. Then I showered. Then Marko played more tango music. I got dressed. I checked my dancing shoes: still the same pair I use to walk the wire. Marko and I, both ready to go out, waited while Sanja and Agnieszka did what women do before they go out. They were trying on different outfits (and the combinations thereof), they advised and complimented each other, saying stuff like: »Whaat?! Are you crazy? It doesn't look weird at all. You have one sexy ass in this skirt!« I realized men don't do this. So I suggested to Marko we would play the game too. We tried. Marko: "You look really handsome in that shirt." Blaž: "Thank you. Yes, you too." It was more awkward than fun. In my teen years I got nervous and restless every time I had to witness women's 'getting ready' rituals. In my 20s I learned to tolerate it and have some zen about it. Now, in my 30s, I wouldn't miss it for the world. When they were finally super-beautiful and really ready, Marko's face (he's had his back turned on the ladies' transformation procedure) got sour as he looked at Agnieszka: »I like you better without make-up.« Agnieszka smiled and nodded. Sanja's jaw dropped. I suggested we leave the apartment. The walk was pleasant. It took us 15 minutes to reach the Žatika sports hall where the milonga was held. The building looked great from the outside, just not for tango. Upon entering the venue I could hear the distinct sounds of tango: no drums, weak bass, ages-old music and a heart-broken singer. I wondered what keeps pulling me into this whole tango thing...
And then all the visual stimuli hit me at once: hundreds of people, extra large space, colorful lights, shiny skin, long legs ending in high heels, is that one Thai, oh look Mr. Argentino, aha Vesna, damn that bootie, the bar is right over there, a cute older couple, two ladies dancing, what the f*ck was that flying leg figure, turkish people selling shoes - ! Again, the symbol of an amusement park came to mind. One where we get to be each other's carousel, sugar cone and adrenaline rush. Marko spotted some familiar faces and we headed towards the 'Slovene corner.' We were the China town of Žatika hall. Well, kind of, anyway. Too few to be called many, but still we owned our fair share of the borderline dividing those who were sitting from those who were dancing. Hugs and kisses. How we Slovenes appreciate each other when we meet abroad! I felt relieved: these girls know me. Surely they would dance with me? I couldn't imagine myself dancing with the ladies from other districts of Žatika city. At least not tonight. I changed my shoes. Then I heard cortina play and it was some funky music. I felt like a homeless person who's just been offered a sip of mango juice. Cortinas were such a delight. Every 10 minutes they reminded me we're not in the 1940s. And then all my metaphors, the sports hall, the age we actually live in, all disappeared to the back-ground. Vesna was giving me the look. A mirada. My blood froze as I nodded my head. It's on. It's a cabeseo! The embrace. The trembling. Her body. My body. Left side-step. Now what?
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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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