The first show Mid-April I was co-leading a training course in educational game design in Egio, Greece. We were a fun Erasmus+ group of almost 30 people. Prior to my departure to Greece, I asked my co-trainer Eleni if there would be any tango dancers in the group. I learned that Georgia, one of the organisers, was a tanguera. I chatted Georgia up on Facebook. She told me she had been dancing since October 2014. I was happy to learn that. She would be better than me, yet still a beginner. We made a deal to dance and practice while I would be in Greece. Knowing I would not go without tango for two weeks made me feel good. I was still constantly checking with Life if tango was to become an integral part of it. The training course started and the nights were flying by. It was already the 6th Day of the training course and still no dancing. That evening we had an International evening. Some months later I heard a more appropriate name for it: International drinking night. And so it was. I was sitting outside on a terrace by the pool, drinking and joking around with my new friends. Georgia leaned out of the window from the bar inside and asked: »Hey! Are we gonna dance tango or what?« »Make sure you wear your glasses so you don't miss my mirada,« was my boisterous reply. By saying that, my heart skipped a beat. Some minutes later I went inside, walked across the bar room into the adjoining seminar room, where we had a youtube-designated laptop and some speakers. The speakers were enough to sing-along '99 Luftbalons,' but not enough to go crazy about it. I plugged my phone and chose the one album I had on it: Cascabelito by Carlos Di Sarli. One can hardly miss with Di Sarli. There were about 10 people in the seminar room, sitting around by the walls, talking and drinking and flirting. The center space was free, since nobody was dancing. Which was a pity. The wooden floor was nice and polished smoothly. I pressed play and Di Sarli's orchestra played Cascabelito. I walked over to the entrance of the bar room to cabeseo Georgia. She was there, talking to some people. A brunette petite. I had not danced with anybody that short yet. She didn't have her tango shoes on her. Too bad. I enjoyed looking at women's sandals with high heels. And tango was a heaven for that. It took Georgia almost half of the song before she turned around, surprised to recognize tango music. And then she finally saw me standing at the door, waiting patiently with my eyes fixed softly on her. She smiled. I nodded. She jumped a bit, got confused as to where to put down her glass and then walked over, saying: »Oh, we're really gonna dance tango?« The stuff women say in situations like these are not to be responded to with words. So in reply I just took her hand, smiled and walked over to the middle of the dance floor. No ronda applied here. We were the only one dancing. What luxury! We just got cozy in our embrace when the first song was over. »That was short and sweet,« I said. She giggled. Next song started to play. We readjusted our embrace. A side-step grande dramatico. She followed the length of the step to the inch. A couple of front steps for me. She had a good step and good control of her balance. I was enjoying myself. All my tricks worked, except for the second cross, which she missed out on. Before I knew it, the song was over. We loosened our embrace and looked at each other, smilingly. The room filled with an applause. We looked around in surprise; I had already forgotten there was anybody else in there. »My first tango show ends with a roaring applause,« my ego commented. »What have you two been doing, huh? Dancing tango?« Maria, Georgia's older sister walked in on us. I couldn't tell if she was joking or not, but it wasn't a very pleasant addition to the scene. Still in our post-tango glow, we decided to meet up in Athens after the training course and go to a milonga together. Which we did. The first milonga abroad and The first song to wet my eyes A few days later I took a walk from my friend Dimitri's place in Athens to a nearby milonga space. Georgia made quite an advertisement for the event: an open-air venue under the Akropolis and under the stars. In reality it was also just next to the main road and opposite an industrial facility. I arrived early. I changed my shoes. I had brown leather shoes that I used to walk on the wire. They were not tango shoes, but they were soft and comfy. I could tell I have the most comfortable shoes at the milonga. While waiting for Georgia, I studied the dancers, especially the leaders. I was hoping to find at least one on or below my level. There wasn't one. Georgia arrived together with her class mates. She was happy to see me. I told her the venue didn't have a bar and I was desperate for a drink. I didn't mention I was terrified to go dancing, since she was the only soul I knew there. So we went to fetch some beers from a local shop. Returning to the milonga, I relaxed a bit with a beer and a cigarette. Which was awkward, the cigarette. I had to spoil the taste of beer with an overly intense mint gum. While getting ready to dance, Georgia had been taken to the dance floor by one of her colleagues. So I spat out the gum and had another cigarette. I was too shy to ask any of her girl friends. They seemed tired anyway. Georgia returned with a smile on her face. »You're not dancing,« she noticed. I told her I was about to. A few tandas later I finally mustered the courage and went dancing with her. She was the New and improved Georgia - she had her high heels on. Dancing was not nearly as good as the dance we had had at the seminar room in Egio. But she was patient and kind. She had me believe my mistakes didn't bother her at all and complained that this night is not her best either. Our dance got better with each tanda. We also played around with an open embrace, so I could lead some of the figures I still remembered from my first school in Ljubljana which taught nuevo. What we kept noticing was the music the DJ played. It was not classical tango music, but it wasn't nuevo either. It actually sounded... funky. And with a twist of country. What was that funky country tango music? I liked it! It was getting late. I was happy. I had my fair share of dancing. So I just sat next to the dance floor, listned to the music and watched the dancing feet as they walked on by. Georgia and her friends announced they were about to leave. I was too blank to think of my next move. They told me they were going for a drink some place else and asked me if I wanted to join them. I couldn't tell if they really wanted me to come along or not. I turned to Georgia and she asked again if I want to come. She was asking. I wanted to spend more time with her. But the majority of 'I' wanted to just stay. So I said I wasn't coming, thanked her again for a lovely evening, kissed her on the cheek and said good-bye. »Dude. What are you doing?« said my ego. »I don't know. I feel like staying.« »Don't you like her?« »I do.« »You don't know anyone here and milonga will end soon anyway.« »I know.« So I stayed, had another cigarette and finished my beer with baby sips. I was too enchanted to think about anything, really. It was enough to just be there, listen to the music and watch others. And then, a new unusual song started to play. The instruments were the usual suspects, but the arrangement wasn't. I fell in love with the song immediately. I rushed over to my back pack, took out the phone, fired up Shazam, tagged the song and held my breath – would Shazam recognize it? It did. Quartango's Androgyne. I died. Then I left.
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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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