It happens.

"That's one thing I especially like about dancing with you," he tells me, grinning. "We may screw up, but we'll screw up very precisely."

Memoriam

I read Jan's chronicles of the older milongueros and milongueras eagerly, hoping to recognize a face despite the short time I was there and the long and ever-growing time since then--and hoping that, if I do, the dash won't be followed by a recent death date. I don't think I've recognized anyone yet, other than a few who have (or had) wider reputations.

There is one who I know is gone. He was a cab driver and a friend of my teachers. They arranged for him to pick me up from the airport when I arrived, and he went far out of his way to help me overcome the difficulties of that first day. If there was a time when I knew I would need a cab somewhere, I called him. My teachers said his evening schedule was like this: He'd pick up fares until he wanted to stop and dance. Since he was, I believe, an independent driver, he could just stop into a milonga and dance until he wanted or needed to leave, maybe taking a fare from the milonga. It seemed like a very clever way to manage it.

Despite the language barrier, I learned a little about him and his family. His wife, his son--no grandchildren yet. I wanted to talk to him more--and listen more to him--but I didn't know how. At his prompting, I promised him that I would know more Spanish when I came back next time; he promised me that he would try to learn some more English.

I only ever knew his first name. 

When my teachers told me that he had died when an infection set in after heart surgery, I found another sort of language barrier: I did not know how to talk about him. 

How could I explain him to my friends? He was a tango dancer and a taxi driver and my Buenos Aires grandfather/knight in slightly battered but still shining armor. I didn't know his last name, and we could barely communicate. I knew him for two weeks--but the news of his death left a little hole in my heart, and in my thoughts of the city.

I wish I could have more eloquently expressed my gratitude for all his help. I wish I could offer my sympathies to his family. I wish I could tell them how happy I was to have known him, even so slightly and for so short a time. I wish most of all that he were going to be there whenever I next manage to go back.

All I can do is remember him. And even though I am sad, the memory makes me smile.

Shades of gray

I think I need to stop trying to see things in such absolute terms and simply accept the fact that sometimes, in some places, with some partners, I enjoy things that, under other circumstances,* I do not like. I believe this is called being human?

(I feel sorry for anyone trying to guess what I might be open to on any given night, though.)


* That is, the vast majority of the time. In order to be happy trying nuevo/stagy dancing, I have to be in a particularly good, adventurous, confident mood; in a place where I will not be a danger or an annoyance to other couples, or generally clash with the atmosphere of the milonga; and only with certain very good leaders (otherwise I have no idea what I'm supposed to do). The stars do not align this way very often, and I'm mostly happiest with my usual discreet, classic, musical milonguero style.

La Maestra

She modestly disparages her English-speaking abilities (unnecessarily; she communicates clearly and vividly), yet she is able to give some important pieces of advice that even rhyme:

"Tango is an invitation, not an obligation."

"Vals: More rotation, less transportation."

Por una cabeza

He is about a foot taller than me, and as we dance, his cheek rests nearly against the top of my head. He is embracing me in an unusual way tonight, with his free hand lightly cradling my neck. Suddenly he remarks, "I hope you won't think this is obscene..."

Uh-oh, I think.

"...but the scent of your hair is bringing back memories for me."

Oh, thank goodness! Um--maybe.

Aloud, I say, still warily, "Do you mind if I ask what kind of memories?"

At the time, I was using a shampoo with a distinctive herbal scent. Privately, I had wondered whether it smelled like I'd stuck my head into a vat of sage dressing--although I'd always hoped that between rinsing and the sweeter-smelling conditioner that I used, perhaps it wasn't actually as noticeable as I'd thought. I am fully prepared for him to say something like (possibly at best), My first Thanksgiving in America.

"The sea," he answers, to my surprise. "We used to holiday by the sea when I was a child."

As the song continues, I feel him occasionally lightly brushing his hand across my hair, like a harpist running his fingers over the strings, to stir up the scent. There are a number of liberties a man might take in the dance that I would object to, but tonight this is not one of them.

Pun-der appreciated?

My regular teachers usually hold class in the dance room of the local rec center, and they generally have leaders advance around around the circle of followers with each new song. When my latest tango crush arrived back at me, over by the ballet mirrors, after the first circuit of the room, I remarked, with a smile, "Haven't I seen you at this barre before?"

Sadly, my wit seemed lost on him at the time. (He seemed to be concentrating on the giro we were supposed to be working on. Whatever.) But at the previous milonga, I had cracked up a pair of fellow dancers with a rapid-fire string of puns on the other girl's area of studies, in the hopes of helping her relax about a major upcoming deadline, at least for the duration of the milonga. (It seemed to work.)

DJ Oblivious

"I'd add that a thoughtful and trustworthy DJ can also make good dancers less risk-averse, and that makes them more willing to dance with inexperienced partners. Because they know the music will be there for them if it's difficult, or for another dance with someone else!"

--Ms. Hedgehog, commenting on El Zorro Gris' entry on breaking the vicious cycle of bad music

So. True.

This is exactly what I find frustrating so often at the Tango Bar, especially last time, and the other nuevo-hosted milongas around town. (Okay, one of the things.) I never know, if I don't care for a particular tanda, when the next time I'll be able to dance might be.

Last week at the Tango Bar, a guest DJ filled in for the regular one, who was out of town. The regular DJ--and bless him, he's been very kind to me, and I always enjoy dancing with him very much--is quite bad enough about catering to people who want to dance to non-tango (or non-danceable tango) music, because he doesn't want to lose those dancers. But he'll usually come back to danceable tango afterward; classic tango is actually his own preference, he's told me.

In the abbreviated time that I was at the Tango Bar last week, the guest DJ played, as I recall, a sequence of tandas that went along these lines: classic tango, then some rather obscure and difficult milongas, then alternative "tango," then blues, then electrotango, then what sounded like eastern European folk music--then "La Cumparsita."

And so after my first dances, to the classic tango and the milongas, I got up to dance ... I would call it one and a half times--an aborted attempt for the set that turned out to be electrotango and very difficult for my partner and me. (It had sounded like it was going to be traditional tango at first--deceptive.) So my partner and I had to sit down, and I didn't get a chance to dance again until "Cumparsita," when that same partner grabbed me again.

It was so frustrating. With every cortina, I'd look up hopefully, waiting to see what the tanda would be--and the DJ would play some more nonsense that I couldn't dance to. This particular DJ dances a wide range of other styles, such as blues and swing, so she was clearly having a wonderful time--but a growing collection of more advanced tango dancers were sitting out in increasing annoyance.

There are a few people in town with whom I will sometimes try dancing to alternative music. Sometimes it works, but I still like classic tango best; other music just doesn't usually feel like tango, in a way that I can't explain yet (but other people have tried, sometimes in quite technical terms). I remain picky about who I will dance milonga, vals, or tricky music such as Pugliese with, if it is played at a particular milonga--because when they're done well, they are so lovely, but when they are done poorly, they feel awful. But what Ms. Hedgehog said is absolutely right. If my partner is less than ideal, classic tango is easier for both of us to deal with. And if I know that I am likely to have the opportunity to make up for a bad dance, I'm much more likely to take a chance with an unknown dancer or unusual music.

Most of all, I go to tango evenings to dance tango, not to dance to Gypsy ballads or swing. I can't object too much to alternative tandas played sparingly--they play occasional chacarera, rock, or tropical tandas in Buenos Aires, for a change of pace (and it is worth noting that the dancers then dance in those styles to that music; they do not try to dance tango to it, like so many do here)--but tango is our primary reason for going to a milonga, isn't it? So I can't help believing that danceable tango ought to be the basis of any milonga that dancers aren't forewarned will be non-traditional. Play alternative stuff occasionally, as El Zorro Gris discusses in an earlier post, if you feel you must; I'm happy to listen and content enough to watch, even though I don't often want to participate. But then, please, come back to tango. It's why we're at the milonga and not at a salsa bar, a swing dance, or a hip-hop club.

Happening across Ms. Hedgehog's remarks has helped me sort out why I had such trouble with the guest DJ's wild music selections last week--even more than usual at the Tango Bar. I'm so glad that the regular DJ is back.


ETA (4/2)
Further proof: At the next milonga I danced with, I think, three new people--because I knew that I could make up for those tandas if they did not go well. Happily, two of them were very nice (and the third was better than I thought it might be).

On a bad day

Here is the ugly truth, if you want it: Sometimes I am jealous of every single other person you dance with.

Turn of phrase

We do not realize that we have misjudged how much time is left in the song. We step onto the floor and embrace for a few seconds; maybe we had the chance to change weight. And then the song ends.

We step apart in the brief silence between songs, and he makes a slight bow and remarks, grave-voiced but with a twinkle in his eyes, "Thank you; that was very ... pure."

Don't try this at home

Managed a cabeceo with a partner several seats down the row from me, in the mirror of the room where the milonga was being held. We were awesome!