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. Entering an aperture in the wall, we found ourselves in the middle of nowhere. A perfect location to shoot a horror movie, actually. But Peter was light-hearted as always and led the way.
We walked over a steel bridge that was erected over abandoned railway tracks. Looking at the tracks from above felt surreal; the tracks were overgrown with young trees and bushes. The greenery looked like it has been imported from some tropical island. We reached an old restaurant by the sea. It was charming. The terrace and danceflor were out in the open, covered with a roof. I could smell the sea. The Italians have just finished their dinner. How very Italian of them. I couldn't imagine myself dancing on a full stomach. I spotted the table occupied by our people. None of them had a plate in front of them. Nope, these people came to dance. We greeted. It was nice. I wasn't however. The search made me nervous. I was quick to find remedy: the bar. So I had a glass of red wine. Olga and Slava, the Russian maestros now living in Ljubljana, joined me for a smoke. They were very friendly. We had a nice chat. I learned that Ljubljana had more tango schools (12 at that time) than Moscow, but less milongas. It was time to dance. I didn't have the nerve to invite somebody new. I have quietly decided I would be happy to have a tanda with each of our crew's ladies. On the contrary, the ladies wanted to seize the opportunity and dance with Italians. So I was mostly sitting. After each tanda, my friends would return to the table all sweaty and happy, asking me one after another »you're not dancing? How come?« I found the question annoying. What reasons could a beginner in a foreign city have for not dancing? None of our ladies invited me to dance. I felt sorry for myself. At the same time I also tried to look full of confidence and just too cool to bother dancing so far. As I write this I realize how funny I must have looked... Cortina played. A new tanda began playing. I decided it was finally time to show the Italian people my moves. No but seriously, I had to get up from that chair. I liked the song. I looked around and before I knew it, couples were already forming. Some of our crew's ladies were already nodding their heads to other gentlemen. I am amazed every time how fast these people shoot miradas. Ah, there's Pia. I like Pia. We had had a couple of great tandas at the milongas at the Ljubljanica river this summer. *** She once said: »I enjoy dancing with you, because you have so much floor. I always know where your feet are and what they do.« I could think of better compliments, but none the less, she would invite me to dance at least once every milonga. So I didn't care that much what her reasons were. At a later occasion she had ventured to ask me: »Blaz, do you know why I dance with you?« »Because I use so much floor?« »Oh, that. Yes, also. But no, that's not really why I dance with you.« »So, what is it then?« »I dance with you because I enjoy how much you want to be a tango dancer.« It took me some time to process her information. But with Pia, it's easy to read her attitude behind words. And both her feedbacks came with much warmth and a big smile. Which meant more to me than the content of what she had to say. Pia started dancing the same time as Majci, which would mean she had 1.5 yrs experience. At the time I had 0,5 yrs experience. Which kinda made her divinity in my eyes. *** She caught my mirada. Somehow, at the same time she also saw Marko's mirada. I still don't know how this was possible. Unless she had the secret ability to voluntarily move her eyes in separate directions. »Oh no, I have two cabeseos!« I looked at Marko. He was doing his best to cabeseo Pia. It was clear to me. If I was Pia, I would accept Marko's invitation. He was kinda divinity in her eyes. Pia couldn't decide. She was looking at Marko and me and made it clear she was in a very challenging position, smiling of course all along. We were all smiling. It was fun. »That's OK, Pia. I get it,« I ejected myself from the competition. »No, but - « she hesitated. Aha! Pia knew she saw my mirada first! I thought so too! »Sorry, Marko,« she said and turned to me offering her hand. I flew out of that chair. As we approached the dancefloor (which was more crowded than I would wish), I saw she was looking across the space. »What, you see someone?« I asked. »No... yes. I was actually going to cabeseo that guy... I wanted to dance with him for a while now. But he's.... he's somewhere stuck there at the back... ah, nevermind. I'm all yours now,« she said while her eyes kept escaping across the space. I didn't feel good in her embrace. She was distant. I knew she was not there with me. But we already entered the ronda. There was no escaping this reality for the next 10 minutes. I needed to have a talk with myself to get my shit together. But I also needed to lead her and move me. And be musical. And be mindful of other couples. »OK, what's the plan,« I heard somebody ask inside my head. The other one replied: »Well, this was not the best introduction to the dance.« »It was rather weird, though.« »But also fun.« »Yeah... however, she would much rather be in that guys' embrace. Or Marko's. Probably most men's here.« »But she's with you. So you make the most out of the time you have together. You have some qualities. Your musicality is good. Oh, and the step using the floor, remember? She appreaciates that. Basically, you either be the victim of circumstances or - be a man about it.« »Yeah, whatever 'being a man about something' means.« »It means you stop feeling small because she would theoretically rather choose other dancing partners for this tanda. Above all, she did accept your invitation. So you take that and dance along. And stop thinking about it.« »Yes. Being a man about it. That's a good tactic.« »Always is.« »I'm doing this! See?« »Good.« The first song was not so good. I couldn't really find a connection with her. I'm sure my inner dialogue didn't help. But I saw it as an investment – better spoil one song than carry poor beginning emotion into poor ending. Right? A thought to »just drop it« had crossed my mind. But I lacked spiritual muscle to drop it. So I had to process it rationally, using the same tools that created it in the first place. Second song was perhaps a bit better. I could feel she let go of that guy across the space. She wasn't enjoying our dance much. She was kinda quiet. By 'quiet' I mean... I felt she was sort of empty, as if her body was vacant. As if she was not home. I was giving her my all. All my spirit, all my heart, all my concerns for her well-being. All my technique, all my coordination. I wasn't inspired. I was trying too hard maybe... Third song was so-so. I couldn't really develop much choreography. The dancefloor was packed. It was impossible to get 2 sq. meters of space, which I desperately needed to lead Pia a cross. I felt bored with my own lead. Fourth song brought some relief in the fact that the tanda would be over soon. And finally, the song ended. Pia and I stayed in the embrace, cooling down, waiting for the cortina to play. Instead, a new tango song played. »Wait, was it not supposed to be -« »- a cortina. Yes,« Pia finished my question. We shrugged our shoulders. Maybe we made a mistake counting. So we danced some more. And then another, the sixth tango song in this tanda played. »I knew it! The DJ forgot to play the cortina,« I exclaimed. We turned to where the DJ was stationed. The guy was waving at us as if saying »sorry guys, my bad. I hope you chose your partner wisely.« There was some murmur on the dancefloor and we exchanged surprised looks with other couples. »He screwed up. But that's okay. We finish this tanda, yes« Pia suggested with a smile. I felt relieved. She wouldn't be a grazia about it. I actually felt she had fun with the double tanda and all. So we danced our way into the sixth song, occasionally bumping into other couples. I kept apologizing and Pia kept giggling. She was a real sweetheart. And then, well, and then the seventh song of the tanda played. And it wasn't just any song. »Oh! Oh, that's 'Uno.' It's Troilo,« Pia sighed. It was as if her heart broke on the spot, but in beautiful kind of way. *** A couple of weeks ago, at a local milonga, she told me Uno was her favourite song. She had even studied the lyrics. I asked her if she wanted to dance, since it had been her favourite. She replied she was so touched she didn't mind to just sit and listen. Having said that, she closed her eyes, while her lips were silently saying the words. *** I felt struck by tragedy. There it was, Uno, her favourite song. And there she was, Pia, trapped in the hands of a begginer tanguero. »Dude! A man about it, remember?« I made a long pause. I couldn't give her the movement she could enjoy. I could give her stillness. I wanted to bleed from her favourite song too. So we stood, just listening to music, moving only slightly to indicate punctuations in the music. Eventually, out of stillness, motion arose. I still struggled with navigating the space, but our dancing improved. The difference was: connection. To one self, to music, through music – with each other. Uno ended. We didn't really become one. But I felt less miserable. Last song of the tanda played. After a few steps (of which I can not say anything specific) she suddenly spoke: »Wow Blaz, you're really doing good!« I wave came underneath me, raising me high. Walls moved inside me, life poured in. My feet broke out of jail. My body became light. And finally, my mind tapped me on the shoulder: »Aha, you see? Doing good, man!« The quality of my movement improved drastically and suddenly. Our connection became broad-band, technically speaking. I was watching this turnaround with disbelieving eyes. The power of a compliment from a tanguera... We ended the tanda with a flair Troilo deserved. I thanked Pia before exiting the danceflor. She assured me she was equally grateful. The Epilogue Learning how to dance tango comes hand in hand with handling one's ego, the psychological mind. I often feel as if I was surfing the waves, whereas ego would be the ocean. A compliment received was like a wind blow, creating the wave. I would be on top, feeling glorious. Other times, possibly the same night, something wouldn't work out, the wave would be cut and I would crash and drown in that same ocean. I wish I could just dance. I never applied for surfing. Knowing about ego's role is better than not knowing about it, but again and again I feel my senses heighten on top of that wave. Something wants to surf, to play the 'Waves' game. There should be ego police at milongas :) Or some nice monks sitting in all four corners, chanting to remind us a milonga is not a surfing spot.
3 Comments
Mladen
3/16/2016 13:14:02
Enthusiasm is very important in dancing and learning. We go dancing to feel up ourselves with positive energy. It can be from various things: music, dancing technique or the person.
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BB
3/18/2016 07:23:30
Mladen, thanks for your feedback!
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Iain
4/19/2016 22:12:46
Just found your interesting blog linked off a Facebook post, and I've gone back and read the whole thing from the beginning. You have some good insights: I especially liked the 'surfing the waves of ego' metaphor, and I'm still struggling with this, even after eight years of tango!
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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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