Tangoing

You already know that I’m a tango fan and, though I’m far from calling myself a tango dancer, I’m doing my best to be called so one day. I decided to tell you a story about how it happened that I am where I am now, i.e. how come that I, despite my age, started to dance tango. The purpose behind it is twofold. First of all, running a blog makes me an exhibitionist and tango has become a part I want to reveal. Secondly, maybe after reading this some of you will decide to give it a try.

The story begins with unrequited love… I don’t cope well with feelings and when I’m overwhelmed by them I either don’t do anything or I throw myself into work. Since being in love is a rather long-term state, and for me this was a really miserable time, it was difficult to do nothing for half a year or so. The only option I had then was the second one – workaholism. I took on more classes, more students, I started to cook like crazy, usually preparing some very time consuming, gourmet food, just to turn the feelings off for a while. The flat was maintained in a high state of cleanliness and I never rested. Finally, I got tired. Took me six months to get tired. Tired of doing stuff, tired of the thought that nothing I was doing would change the state of things, that is the “unrequitedness”. Then came a moment when I finally woke up from my workaholic haze and decided to take control over my life and change something, to bring its taste back, and I did what I’d always dreamt about – I went to a milonga.

The idea of learning to dance tango had been there for such a long time that I don’t even remember where it came from. In that aspect I have to agree with the ones who say that you don’t choose tango but tango chooses you and it’s not an easy relationship, the kind where you take to doing something and it gives you satisfaction. No. It’s not like that.

My not being the most open person in the world, that milonga was a challenging experience for me, but later on turned out to be fruitful. I met my future teacher there. The only thing I needed to do was to find myself a dancing partner and I thought: “Ok, you finally did it, you went there, so you can as well take one step further and look for a partner on the internet”. And so I did. Two months later it didn’t turn out to be such a good idea because he wanted something more and I wasn’t interested. The next one got ill with hernia or something like that but he came tipsy to the classes anyway and, well, let’s just say that it wasn’t in accordance with my control issues. The third guy was nice and danced well but he was a hen-pecked husband and generally wasn’t allowed to go to tango classes or milongas. The fourth one, and my last, was a professor from Norway, a guy in his forties, shorter than me, the features which eventually turned out to be disadvantageous. The problem with me (not with them) is that I never know what their objective is and if there is a ghost of a chance that they want to date me or have their way with me, I instantly go into reverse. I just want to learn tango and it is surprising for me that they don’t seem to get it, that sooner or later most of them want something more. I always thought it’s women who get emotional when working, not to mention dancing in pairs. Well, I don’t. The problem with tango, on the other hand, is that there are not enough guys who want to learn, so the women have to make do with those who do.

Despite the fact that I’m not very talented when it comes to expressing music with my body (I can hear the rhythm and I can repeat the melody but I can’t externalise it), despite the fact that all my dancing partners were failures in one way or another and despite the fact that the tango circle is really hermetic, due to which I’ve had many crises, I am grateful for one thing. I am grateful for the people I’ve met thanks to tango – if they read it one day, they’ll know it’s about them.

There are days when my little tango adventure really gets me down and when I have a feeling similar to the one when something you love doesn’t love you back. Imagine that you feel repulsed by your dancing partner and yet he is one of the few people who want to dance with you, because if you are a beginner there ARE few guys who want to dance with you, and you do want to dance. A perfect, vicious, sadomasochistic circle. Then, there is the economic aspect, of course. Tango, apart from being a wonderful experience, is also a business, which you can see that all the time. You pay for the classes, for milongas and workshops. During the classes you do learn the basics, different combinations of steps and so on but it’s the milongas that carry the most educational value, as they let you dance with different people extending your knowledge to the choreographies they use. However, if you are a beginner, no-one dances with you, so you don’t develop, so you should also go to workshops which usually are (contrary to a functioning fridge) an extravagant expense. Another vicious circle. Those who share the journey through tango as a couple probably have it easier.

That’s all about the possible obstacles. Why do I go on? Probably because being in conflict with myself gives me the feeling of fulfilment, the feeling that something is happening and that I’m alive. I don’t think I have ever done something more difficult and conflicting than tango. I’m a control freak and yet in tango I have to be dependent on another person, a man, who invites a woman to dance with him and then is supposed to dance both of them safely through the music and the dance floor full of people. I’m independent and self-reliant and here I have to take support from a partner and listen to the signs he gives me, to work in a tandem. I still have my streaks of independence and believe me, I use it when I know he isn’t decisive enough, but now I don’t mind being treated as “the little woman” as long as I’m respected as a woman. My feminism and liberal point of view died or at least were subdued and I don’t mind it. Just as now I can’t imagine myself wearing trousers only or only flat shoes. Just in case someone thought I might have been: I don’t feel brainwashed either. Now I feel more like all the puzzles in the jigsaw were finally on their right places. It all fits. Maybe I have become more conservative about certain things but I don’t care about the people who are going to criticise it.

All that aside, what can be better than meeting someone, dancing the music and the magic (if you’re lucky) with him for 6 or 7 minutes and then walking away, no remorse, no hurt feelings, no other knowledge of him except for the way he dances. When you have this nothing else matters and when you felt it even once, this feeling will be your beacon of hope that maybe one day you’ll feel it again, this sense of unity when you are yourself but also your partner, the music and floor on which you take your steps of cautious decisiveness.  

A void

No matter what I do, I just can’t blend in with other people.

I went to Pepe’s house, the guy I met at the milonga, Teresa (also from tango) was also there and the most amazing thing happened – a home tango lesson and practice, for free. This is what I miss in Poland – people are interested in tango but not interested enough as to do something like that.

Yesterday, Pepe texted me, asking whether I’d like to go with him to milonga to Alicante and I did something typical of me, I panicked. I mean, I barely know him, he’s a lot older than I am and I just want to dance tango and I knew that neither Teresa nor Carmen were going to go with us because they weren’t in Murcia at that time. To that I have to add my previous experiences with men, who turned out to be thinking about one thing only and with one part of their bodies and that part wasn’t the brain. In the end, I came up with a lame excuse and I didn’t go. The good thing about it is that I don’t feel remorse or anything.

At the same time, I was at the official opening of the academic year for the Erasmus students, hoping that maybe I’ll be able to bond with someone. I couldn’t do it either. People were already in groups, I didn’t recognize any familiar faces and besides, to me they seem to be like 16 and not 20. They want to get drunk, get high, fuck and do all the stuff they couldn’t do in their country. They live with other Erasmus students, using English, not Spanish, which doesn’t make sense to me, and I’m still counting the days left or the days left till Monday because this is when my tango classes are (even though the classes are pretty impersonal too).

The day before yesterday I went to visit N and D who also came here from my university and who happen to be living 6 minutes on foot from my flat. I thought it would be more… personal, that for a moment I would feel like home. It wasn’t and I didn’t and I felt the odd one out, not wanting to smoke weeds and expressing my doubts about my being here. I bet that when I left their place, they went on behaving as they had been when I was there because, in fact, when I was leaving they were a bit high.

In consequence, I’m not in Poland, but I can’t pull myself together being here, I just don’t feel it. I’m not sad because of that, I’m empty. I left my friends and family, people who matter in Poland; my hopes and expectations related to my stay here shattered, or maybe something less dramatic – they just died; I am here alone hardly knowing anyone, being in love with no-body, and with a whole volume of things I would like to say but I can’t because of my language inadequacies, so I might as well have written that I am here only partially, because only a part of me is externalised. Yet, somehow, it doesn’t matter. I just feel empty and tired. 

Así se baila el tango (?)

Today was the D-day for me. I went to my first milonga in Murcia. (For those who are not acquainted with the world of Argentine tango – milonga is a place where people dancing tango meet, talk, drink and first of all dance tango). Of course, I was really nervous but, on the other hand, a year ago it had been my first time in Poznań, so I knew what to expect more or less.

There weren’t that many differences between milonga here and milonga in Poznań. People were also not so open, there were groups and the whole environment was quite closed. Probably there are also conflicts I don’t know about. It is a pity that something as beautiful as tango is spoilt by the pursuit of money but this is how it is, and for me it was a bit disappointing that even here, where people generally care less, it is like that.

Another trivia from the Murcian tango world is that here milongas, or at least this particular one, are more chaotic (yes, I know I’m in Spain). Sometimes there are four, sometimes three tangos in a tanda; the rule that a man should dance with one woman throughout the whole tanda wasn’t respected that much and it wasn’t because the women were poor dancers. Instead of a traditional cortinas, sometimes the people were dancing salsa or cacharera, which was quite shocking to me.

Anyway, I had an occasion to dance with a few middle-aged men going by the names of Pepe, Jose, Antonio or Alfonso and another one with a two-syllabic name starting with P. With Alfonso or Antonio it was crazy but creative, with one of the P-named guys it was boring, but the most fascinating was to dance with Irina, hopefully my future maestra here. I don’t have to mention that now when I’m writing this, Irina is probably treating her mutilated feet (I admit to committing the aforesaid mutilation). Nevertheless, with her I felt the music, I was the music, she interpreted it so beautifully. For such moments it is worth paying the price of all the doubts in the world, and believe me, I’ve had a lot of them. 

A romantic

- Tu eres una romantica

- Y?

- Y yo soy una punky.

This short dialogue explains it all. We are completely different. Not that it is an obstacle in us sharing a flat. Apart from the lifestyle defined by the cultures we were brought up in, we differ in many ways. Ana likes experimenting with things and I, understanding as I can be, don’t feel the need to try everything just to know that it is not for me. I will never try drugs, for example. This is the line I will never cross, not because I’m a coward but because I don’t need it. She doesn’t mind meeting with a guy just for sex and I do. I may be old-fashioned but in that sphere of life there are no compromises for me and, yes, I do realise that I may end up old and alone. I am task oriented, I start, I finish and I go on to do something else. Ana is a multi-tasker, she starts a lot and rarely finishes. She has all manner of friends but for me these friendships of her are just close acquaintances which take a lot of time, I wouldn’t be able to maintain so many relationships at once.

- ¿Cual es el mío? – I asked her wanting to know which piece of salmon stuffed with Russian salad was mine.

 - A lo mejor esto. – she answered with a certain playfulness in her voice - Tu eres ordenada, y yo... mira – she pointed at the piece which looked more like a battlefield rather than something edible.

This shows another difference between us. Despite all this, I have learnt that these are the type of gaps one can easily bridge by not questioning them, by accepting that this is the way people are and there is no point changing them. 

Paso a paso

Still functioning with the USB-stick Internet and it’s painful ;/

Today I had the Erasmus orientation day and well… For the first time here, I felt really alone. All the Erasmus people were in their own groups, usually depending on their nation, and they weren’t very inviting. It didn’t touch me much, as throughout the years I’ve got used to loneliness, to observing instead of participating, but it would be nice to have someone to talk to, preferably in Polish. What also hit me was the fact that, when I was trying to talk to someone, they responded in English or Spanish and then went on to talk in their own native language as if I didn’t exist.

Anyway, the orientation day resulted in me having to write a few e-mails after which it turned out that they, at the University of Murcia, don’t know whether I can participate in Master degree courses here. So where the fuck can I? And who is supposed to know that? Damn their fucked up organization.

Speaking about their organization. Imagine living a week without a fridge with the climate of 29 degrees each day. Impossible? I thought so too but then it turned out that it wasn’t all that bad and that now I understand people who don’t have a fridge. They simply buy less and plan one day ahead instead of storing everything for the whole week and then throwing half of it away. But telling people that a fridge is an unnecessary extravagance is not my purpose. My purpose is to show the Spanish way of solving such a problem which could be counted as existential.

In the case above, in Poland, in a middle-class family, when a fridge breaks down, one goes to a shop and buys a new one paying either the whole sum or buying it on the instalment plan. No such thing here, or maybe no such thing with Ana. It took her a week to find a second-hand fridge, or more precisely, it took her 2 days to find one. The rest five days she was thinking how to get rid of the kaput one (by the way, she damaged it by trying to defrost the freezer with a knife!) and how to bring the new one in. After all this thinking we finally took it downstairs by ourselves (I never thought I could muster so much strength as to take a fridge down from the second floor with very narrow staircases with only one more person) and in the evening some bunch of guys brought the functioning one. Normally, one would now connect it, clean it and then put the things that had yet to go off inside. Surprise, surprise! Here it was put off until 3 p.m. the next day. Again, if I hadn’t done it, Ana wouldn’t have done it either, because c’mon, after 8 hours of work they are dead tired here.

This is the way it all functions, step by step (with the steps being very, very small) and I don’t have to mention that every step is cherished like some great accomplishment. I don’t and I won’t understand it. I like my things finished once I begin something. 

Getting to know myself

Ok, today I’ve learnt that rock climbing is not for me. First of all because I don’t have enough strength and secondly, because I don’t feel the need to exceed my limits. I prefer hiking more, less extreme but enough of a challenge to feel the satisfaction when you’re finally on the top. It’s been nice trying though, and I’m more keen to agree with my Spanish flatmate, Ana, that one should try everything just for the sake of knowing whether one likes it or not.