milongueros

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A warm British tango embrace

August 5, 2010 in Live your dreams, Sallycat in the UK, Teaching Argentine tango | 11 comments

I’ve had to let Buenos Aires go this summer.

No good being nostalgic for the stuff I could miss: my Wednesday morning race along the pavement of Corrientes from the number 60 bus, to make it to Writers’ Group (roughly on time); creamy banana licuados poured from plastic jugs by one of a pair of senior waiters (who must have at least 100 years – between them – of  tostado mixtos under their belts) in Los Galgos on Callao; eye contact with one of the ‘milongueros I love the most’, as the first notes of a vals tanda threaten to send me to the very edge of becoming a woman desperate to dance. If I let my mind dwell, I could miss these things and many more things besides, but instead I am choosing to let my love for them slip beneath my conscious thoughts, as I put into practice living in the now.

When someone you love is unwell and needs you, it sure offers you a sharp lesson on getting into the present and staying there. Where you were last and where you will be next almost cease to exist. The meal you are preparing or eating, the sleep you are about to sink into or are waking from, the challenge you are listening to or the solution you are offering — these are the simple things that have become the regular heartbeat of my recent days. But, to give my best in any situation to anybody in whatever circumstance, I know that I must also feed the pulse of my own soul and stay in touch with who I really am. In my case that means two things above all else: writing and blissful Argentine tango. Writing, I know I can do anywhere. In the relatively small town (compared to Buenos Aires) of Shrewsbury, Shropshire, UK, I may have once thought that the tango might be more of a challenge. I would have been wrong.

At The Lantern in Shrewsbury, on Thursday nights, I am dancing with an amazing group of British men. They dance to traditional Golden Age tango music (and one or two even sing it in my ear because they know their favourite tracks so well). They allow me to embrace them as closely as I want to (very close) and they hug me back without reserve. They improvise every step to the music they hear and so let me in on who they really are. They escort me back to my seat with a thank you in their kind words (and in their eyes I am delighted to say, as it reveals that I have managed to give them something special too). Yes, these men are amazing in their enthusiasm for the music and the social dance they are learning to love, and I am already calling them, over a J2O and a laugh in the pub afterwards, my ‘Shrewsbury milongueros’.

Are these men great dancers? Ah well, that will depend on what you mean by ‘great’, won’t it. If I asked them, I am certain that they would say No, not only because they are modest and grounded folk but also because, in their own words, I’ve only been dancing just over a year, or I worry my dance vocabulary is a bit limited, or I’m sorry if it’s a bit boring. I say, Sod all that. It doesn’t bother or bore me. Far from it. I know that continued lessons in strong fundamentals from their fab teacher, practice on the dance floor to tango music classics, and a bit more self-confidence, will sort out their doubts. I’m already looking forward to dancing with them again next year. Why? Well, I believe that great Argentine tango is all about the connection between the partners and the tango music, and the resulting powerful feeling; I think that these men are already on track to discover rising levels of true tango-bliss and to give it to the tangueras in their arms.

But what is the secret? How do you actually go about creating ‘milongueros in the making’, on the border of England and Wales, far far from Argentina, out of ordinary (in the nicest sense of the word) middle-aged British blokes? An intriguing question, and one to which I’m enjoying discovering the answers: answers that predominantly seem to involve the encouragement of a love and understanding of Golden Age music. I’m delighted to say that I’m being given the chance to add my two-penneth into the mix, as my experiences of dancing social tango in the Buenos Aires milongas leave me with some clear ideas that I am keen to convey. The guys seem to be taking my teachings on board, which is very exciting; I’ve even had them dancing with C. in order to gain a sense of exactly how it can feel to be in the arms of one who dances the music and uses it to find and celebrate the woman in his arms. Dancing man to man may sound extreme, but these amazing men stepped up for it with gusto (and I have discovered since, that it is part of their regular weekly practice); after all, once upon a time in Buenos Aires, men danced with men (’tis said) to gain skill, confidence and understanding before they were ever let loose on the women. Whether or not the men of Shrewsbury will ever come to think of themselves as the greatest dancers in the room, they may find themselves to be the most popular dancers in the room… as are the milongueros of Buenos Aires that I love the most.

I imagine it takes a fair bit of determination for your average forty-something-and-upwards Brit guy to apply himself to learn an intimate dance from scratch, in a world that is all too often about looks and competition and achievement and comparisons… the best, the flashiest, the most attractive, the best (yep I said that one twice). Yet, how relevant is all that stuff, really? In looking for my ideal dance partner, I expect a certain basic level of skill, yes. I also want someone who moves smoothly and competently to the music and who appears to hear and love the same tunes that I do. And, I want him to know a few secrets (but, if I’m teaching him, I’m pretty confident that I can help him with those, if he is up for it). I’d never choose him for his flash moves, but rather for exactly who he is, whoever he is, if I think that his love of the music and the warmth of his embrace and his body shape may suit mine. In my tango mind, you see, there are no ‘bests’, apart from in the sense of the men who may suit me best. And the men who may suit me, may not suit you. There is someone who will be the perfect match for every other someone, in this incredibly special dance that we call Argentine tango. How fab a prospect is that? It means that we can all be winners.

So, given that I am kind of stranded in Shrewsbury for a while with my mind on some pretty serious matters, it feels like a little miracle that I have found (without having to look very hard at all) some amazing tangueros who definitely do suit me, right on my doorstep.

And it isn’t just the men at The Lantern who make me smile, but the women too. They have welcomed us into their community with a warmth and enthusiasm that shines with the gleam of generous hearts; they share their men with me and in return, I share mine: C. dances his Argentine tango-heart out, and we all go home happy. One of the tangueras, a talented artist, has even been sketching us which is a treat, and it is she, the wonderful Beverley Fry, who I have to thank for the photograph of Me and C. at the top of this blog entry: Beverley entitled the photo, Listening: I love our matching skinny arms, our hands framed momentarily by our chests (on their way to their meeting), and the glow that seems to fill every single space.

Somehow Beverley’s pic of Me and C. at The Lantern is warm through and through, and fittingly so; I do not think that if I had ordered it from God’s salon-service menu, he could have given me a cosier British tango embrace than I have been offered in Shrewsbury. I am more grateful for that than I can say.

How is your own search going for tango that suits you this summer (or winter, depending where you are dancing)? Are you finding it easily? Why not comment on this post and share your experiences, and so help us all to find our ‘tango homes’ in the event that we are travelling to a tango salon near you soon. If you want to know more about what I mean by the term ‘tango homes’, why not treat yourself to a copy of Happy Tango: Sallycat’s Guide to Buenos Aires, and find out. If you haven’t bought yet, you can now read an extract from the Introduction of the book, by clicking right here. Happy reading!

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The milongueros I love, the giggle, and you!

May 3, 2010 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams, The tale of my book - Happy Tango | 19 comments

One of my basic beliefs about creating art from the heart has been proved true, right here on this blog: if you do what you love and put it out in the world with good intention, you are rewarded a million times over, in ways you could never have imagined.

When I wrote the post The milongueros I love – The Gift (Part 1), a week ago, I knew that it had come from my heart. No question. It poured out in a few hours of intense (up all night writing) activity, and I was powerless to stop it. When I hit the ‘Publish’ button, I knew I’d written a cracker (cracker to me, meaning, my truth, in a language the world might understand and be entertained by). Question was though, Would people be inspired enough to comment on the post and share their experience? In my three and a half years of blogging, I have learned that it takes a fair bit to get a reader commenting on a blog for the first time. Yes, your friends and family might comment, but people you’ve never met, or people who don’t normally comment on blogs, or who don’t blog themselves? It can be a bit trickier to hook them. But, I wanted your feedback. Sallycat, be bold, I said to myself. Ask, and maybe you will receive. I did, and oh boy, I did.

In the three days after I published the post, thanks to your emailing, Twittering, Facebook-ing and posting, it was read around 1000 times, and over the period of a week I received emails, messages and comments galore. I’m not talking one liners either. You sent me essays (often extremely personal and moving), some of which I yet have to digest. Incredible. I spent hours replying to all your generous shares, and I am still doing so. Basically, I couldn’t blog until now, because I’ve been overwhelmed by feedback and I’ve ended up writing almost a book in replies, myself!

Bloggers have kindly blogged as a follow up to the post, and one was even inspired to write a poem entitled, The Older Woman (ah, I may be 47, but I can still inspire a man I’ve never met to write from his heart…). Check out Tango Beat for the poem, and Tango Commuter and Accidental Tangoiste for mentions of my post. Thank you guys and girls. And, if you blogged on the theme and linked to my post, and I didn’t spot it yet, please comment and tell me, and I’ll add you here.

If you haven’t already, do read the 67 comments (at Monday 17th May 2010) written here. There is some amazing stuff, and to be honest, I’m not yet quite sure where it is going to take me. One lovely theme that emerged was how we show to our partner (knowingly or unknowingly) that we have given or received the gift – and just to clarify, to my mind, the gift is elicited (often via the behaviours I mentioned in my post) and received by men, and given by women. Joe Tango surprised and delighted me with his knowledge of ‘the giggle’ – Where are you man? Come to Buenos Aires and dance with me! On Saturday a milonguero asked me why I was laughing as we pulled apart. I explained the word ‘giggle’ to him. After that he insisted on calling me Sally Giggle (or rather, Saleh Gigul, pronounced in lovely Castellano-style), and he giggled a lot too; see Joe Tango, you comment on some chica’s blog, and your spirit ends up with her, on the dance floor of La Leonesa, Buenos Aires, on a Saturday night… I mean to say, I’ve always giggled, and milongueros have always asked me about it, but this time, fired up by the discussions here, I was moved to pop the word ‘giggle’ into their vocabulary. Wonderful!

Another intriguing theme, and perhaps the crux of it all — in terms of whether this ability to elicit the gift and thus to experience even more bliss himself, can be taught or encouraged in a man, or whether it can only develop naturally over time — was the business of how much a woman can influence the man’s ability to receive the gift: he has so many things to think about in the early days of developing his dance, said a few folk, and yes, of course they are right. I’m interested to know, though, how many men in the very early stages of learning to dance tango have actually stopped dancing (and so removed all those distractions), in a safe environment, and simply hugged (or, OK, if hugging seems a step too far, embraced very closely) the woman in their arms, as a piece of tango music they both absolutely love, plays… and if they have, what have they felt? If they did that, could they gain a glimpse of the bliss to come further down the line, and so become more inclined to worship the Goddess of tango gifts, rather than fall at the feet of the God of tango moves? Food for my thoughts.

Then there is the all round matter of what, if anything, can be done to tear down the walls of ego and social conditioning within both men and women, in order that they can shed the blocks to giving and receiving the gift. This is the point that fascinates me. I remember how horribly awkward I felt in my first close embrace. My British reserve? Not a touchy-feely type? Not at ease in such close proximity to a man? More of a tomboy than a woman? Ego-driven anxiety about doing it wrong? I’m thinking about all that too.

The long and short of it, is that I’m not ready to write Part 2 yet, although perhaps this is a kind of Part 2 in itself. The creative process is one I am slowly getting used to, and for me, periods of ‘cooking of ideas’ are required; the cauldron has to bubble for a while.

Meanwhile, here’s a sneak preview of the magic stuff most recently conjured up by my creative process — my first book, Happy Tango: Sallycat’s Guide to Dancing in Buenos Aires. I cannot tell you how excited I am to show you this – the front cover (click here to see it)! Everyone is asking me, When can we buy it, have it, see it, read it, touch it? The answer is, I hope with all my heart,  in June. I am willing The Universe to make it so. Please help me by doing the same. I will post news, as soon as I have it! I am longing to touch it too.

Once again, I thank you for sharing your tango experiences with me. Without you lot, all the people I’ve met through tango, there’d be no book, and no tango magic at all. Here’s to us. Tango dancers who seek bliss, wherever we are in the world. People, we rock!

.

Photo of Me and C. giggling in La Glorieta, with thanks to Julie-Anne Cosgrove.

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The milongueros I love – The Gift (Part 1)

April 24, 2010 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 73 comments

After a two week break from the arms of my milongueros, I am pining — big time.

I miss the thrill of hooking a favourite guy with the merest glance; I dream of melting into a familiar chest; I need the moment just before the tanda ends, when I never want to leave his arms. Ah, the passion for tango has not left me, you see. No indeed.

I wish that tonight at the milonga, some of my most-desired regulars will be there. My favourite boys always sit in the same seats, and lately I’ve noticed how when one of the seats stays empty, I feel a little pang of sadness. I’ve been asking myself why. What is it about those particular guys that makes me want them more than the others? What makes them the milongueros I love?

I have a theory that the milongueros I love the most of all, share a secret. And, it is the secret of how to obtain the gift. The gift is unbelievably precious, is given by women in the tango embrace, and once tasted by a man, cannot be resisted: it will keep him dancing tango, in pursuit of bliss, until the day he dies.

What is the gift? If you dance tango, you’ll probably know what I mean, or maybe you will by the time you’ve finished reading this post. Let me describe the 6 classic bliss-seeking behaviours of all the milongueros I love the most: various combinations of these things guarantee that I will give the gift to them, and these guys know it, the clever devils.

  1. The mystery. He’s that tiny bit aloof. I know him; we dance together every week, maybe one or two tandas. But, he often makes me wait a while for his cabeceo. And, although once we are dancing, he might chat to me between the tangos (like most Argentines do), his first cabeceo in my direction will probably bear no hint of a smile, and sometimes neither will the moment before the embrace, when we stand facing each other on the dance floor. He plays the seductive ‘tango-strangers game’, you see. And, he does it knowingly, because he is a master in the art of tango foreplay; he knows I’m longing for his embrace, and he’s holding every hint of warmth back for the bliss of the hug.
  2. The hug. Others may love the tango embrace. I am a hug girl. I want to snuggle in. I want to feel him shift to fit me, and I want him to let me shift to fit him. When it’s perfect, I call this meeting ‘the melt’, and after it’s done, we are one. I remember one of the first lessons I had with an Argentine, long ago. He made me dance with my arms around his neck. Hug me, he said, and then, No, I mean really hug me. I’m British, was a beginner and was definitely most comfortable in an open hold: I blushed bright red and giggled too much. But, I hugged him anyway. He was probably my first tango crush. Why? Easy. He let me fold into him, breathe with him, become one with him — sometimes I describe it as ‘getting into him’ because I just can’t say it a better way. If you’ve seen the movie Avatar, just think of the thrill of the tails fusing. In tango, unless this fusion (for want of a better word) happens, for me, there will be something missing. If you dance with me, and your embrace offers me the possibility of the hug, then for the three minutes of the tango that follows, I will be completely and utterly yours. But, for the most exquisite execution, the hug requires the pause.
  3. The pause. This is obvious isn’t it? If I am to feel his heart beat, he must give me a moment to find it. If I am to breathe with him, then I need time to tune in. When the guy gives me space to adjust to him before we move an inch, he’s telling me that I am worth finding and that so is he. He’s telling me that he is unafraid to be discovered — exciting, no? He’s also prolonging that foreplay I mentioned earlier, and it’s tantalising. With the achingly lingering drag of the pause, he is also letting me know (so that I’m smiling inside, even before we dance a step) that he understands the art of perhaps the most crucial behaviour of all, the slow reveal.
  4. The slow reveal. The first time I dance with someone new, this is what seals the deal for me. If he’s been dancing a while and he still hasn’t mastered this one, I probably won’t want to dance with him again. If he has mastered it, in short, he knows how to listen. To me. He starts simple and he finds out what I can do. He listens to my body, my degree of relaxation, my level of confidence, my ability, and then, he makes me feel like a Goddess — regardless of what I might appear to be able to offer him. As he works out who I am, and feels me relax in his arms, he gradually reveals his dance, his ability, his character, his little musical tricks and treats; as he does so, I can’t help smiling. It’s like his soul starts chatting to me, or loving me, or soothing me, or celebrating me, or calming me… depending on the music, his mood (and mine), and on how I respond to every tiny thing he does. He knows there will never be a moment when I don’t understand what he asks of me, because he only ever dances what he knows I can handle, and if he is really clever, what he knows I desire. He never allows me to feel that I made a mistake, he is far too wise. The smart milonguero knows that the slow reveal can get him straight to the soft heart of the gift, fast, and so it would never occur to him not to use it. He knows it is the certain route to tango gold. It is also part of the courtesy.
  5. The courtesy. He treats me like the precious jewel that he knows I long to be. From the moment he first looks my way, he has eyes for no-one else. He makes certain there are no cabeceo cock ups and that I am not stranded on the dance floor without a partner (and I help him by staying in my seat until there can be no doubt). He keeps me out of danger at all times; if there is even a hint of a collision, he checks I am OK. He asks me if I’m comfortable between tangos. He knows I might be disorientated at the end of the tanda (a direct consequence of having given him the gift), and he always escorts me back to my table. He tells me that dancing with me was a pleasure, because it was. If he’s an especially crafty character he also delivers the punch line (and leaves me smiling, for a bonus point).
  6. The punch line. Him: How long is  a tango? Me: Um, about three minutes? Him, almost whispering, so that I have to lean in a bit and his mouth breathes close to my ear: Let me tell you something. For three minutes you are in my arms, and you are completely and utterly mine, no? Me, laughing, but feeling like the most irresistible tango dancer on the planet: Tenés razon (You’re right, but said with the tone of You might just have a point there, you wicked old tango wizard you!). OK guys, I’ll be honest, you’ll probably only be able to pull this sort of thing off if you can do it without sounding like you say it to everyone, even if you do. A few of my boys can deliver these entertaining (and I admit it, slightly smarmy) lines as if they have heaven on their tongues, and they know that I will love them for that final smile they put on my face. With these remarks they are saying, You’re a beautiful woman. Or they might choose to compliment my dance as a safer option: my musicality, my walk, my lightness in their arms. And just to be clear, I’m not talking about annoying, phoney remarks here. I know when the compliment is genuine, even when it’s delivered in Castellano, and so will most women.

You might be wondering how I presume to know about the intoxicating nature of the gift. After all, I’m not a male milonguero, am I? And I’ve never danced a tango leading a woman in my arms either. No. But the proof of the gift’s existence is in the sparkle in the eyes of my guys, when they reluctantly pull away from me, as the final notes of music die. They cannot hide the truth from me. I know their bliss exists, and that the gift of it comes from me (though, oh so masterfully conjured by them).

I’m becoming fascinated by the behaviours that prove to me that the milongueros I love know the secret to getting exactly what they long for in their tango — something that I am absolutely certain includes the captured heart and soul and longing of the woman in their arms, the gift itself.

Now, I’m doing a spot of research on the matter, for a future project, and I need your help. Even if you’ve never commented here before, go on, be brave!

Tango dancing guys reading this, have you experienced the gift that I speak of, for yourselves? Do you understand the secret to getting it and would your behaviour show me that you do?

Tango dancing girls, do you know when you have given the gift? And what, in your favourite dance partners, ensures that you can — any of the behaviours I’ve listed above ring luscious-sounding bells?

I’d love to hear what you think. And if your tango dancing friends would be interested to read and comment too, please pass on the link to this post, with my love from Buenos Aires: you can use the Share/Save button, below, to wing the link around the globe: blog it, Twitter it, Facebook it, email it, tango-forum it, help it fly far and wide. I’d love as many of your thoughts as possible, and when I’ve got a few of them, I’ll write something more on the subject if I can, in The milongueros I love  - The Gift (Part 2). Thank you, my friends with generous hearts and great connections. Gracias.

And, in the interests of passing on good things myself, in case you want a little more inspiration before you comment… in a synchronistic twist (so marvellously common in my life these days), my attention this morning was drawn to this wonderful post, by Mari at My Tango Diaries. Cool.

Meanwhile, all this talk of milongueros, secrets and gifts is too much damn foreplay, even for me.

I can hold back no longer. What time does La Milonga de Los Consagrados start? Look out boys, here I come.

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