Mari Travels with Tango

Paris. Here I am, after all those weeks on the road, at the End of this Road. And I Love It: The city is lovely, the weather is beautiful, the people are friendly and the dancing is good. Most importantly, though, I feel really good about the achievement that took most effort in the very beginning and the last few days. As a matter of fact, I did get here already Friday evening, but time has just passed in such a blur that I simply have not had the time to sit down and write about it. Even as I write this (at 4 am on Sunday morning, having just returned from a milonga), I am about to fall asleep while seated, so I will need to be brief. On Friday morning, I had an early start from Peronne, and despite the minor (?) logistical problem of a 40-km stretch missing from my maps (funny, considering that they were the neighbouring pages of a series of maps) managed to cover most of the remaining distance without getting lost. This changed, however, the moment I got into the...

Looking back, I can see how ridiculous my anxiety about crossing the French border was. Essentially, nothing changed dramatically, as the bike paths, and especially their signposting, had been getting progressively more sporadic and less coherent the further I got from Holland, itself admittedly the Mecca of cycling. Once in France,this reverse evolution came to its logical conclusion as the bike lanes either disappeared or became littered with broken glass. I did not mind too much, as the drivers seemed to have no problem with me riding on the car lane and left a safe distance when overtaking. Even the change of language did not prove to be such a great barrier as I had feared. As a matter of fact I can now understand most of what it says in roadside signs, while in the Netherlands and Belgium I was only guessing. I even managed to take care of all communication in my patchy French that may not be pretty but seems to be close enough to get myself understood. I did do my best to ...

After two days of dragging my feet, I cannot think of any more excuses to prolong this: I just HAVE to get back on the road. For some reason, this last stretch of the trip seems almost impossible to start. I am hesitant about every single thing regarding it: the route; how many days to budget, whether to take the train for a part of the journey, whether I even want to do it anymore. And yes, I suppose I better admit it, I am also worried about how I'll manage in France. It is silly I know, as after all, I have travelled in places far more difficult, but still, crossing the border makes me really nervous. Last night's milonga in Antwerpen was housed in an old circus (?) tent a little bit outside of the city centre. Getting there involved, once again, a 15-min ride through some deserted wasteland by the docks, and cycling in the fast deepening dusk (and drizzle) I could not help asking myself if one of these days I will get into trouble on these journeys for tango. Although th...

Contrary to my (admittedly vague) plans, I have not managed to make it further than this Belgian port town in the two days since leaving the Hague on Saturday. Yesterday, upon riding into Antwerpen at around 7 pm, I was feeling pretty crappy. It had been a long day, riding mostly in rain, and my moods had not been the brightest. It never ceases to amaze me how different the riding can seem, depending on my moods. You see, ever since leaving The Hague I have been suffering from a terrible lack of motivation that is making the cycling ardous even when the terrain is flat and I have the tailwind to spur me on. Having made the bookings for Paris as well as for the return journey by train and boat, all of a sudden I find myself in a weird limbo; I feel no great urge to ride on, although, and I have to be honest about this, there is also very little enthusiasm about returning home. I suppose it is because I can now clearly see that the end of this trip is ...

Amidst the dizzying variety of tango shoes. After 4 wonderful days in The Hague, I am back on the road. The weather that has not been much to rave about during my two weeks in The Netherlands has once again turned rainy, and I must admit it is not making this any easier. The cycling itself is effortless enough as I have the wind in my favour, but the constant drizzle is making me wonder, once again, why I must do this. One big reason for my reluctance to leave was that I felt so relaxed, at home and in peace in The Hague. I was visiting Antonio whom I had met at Tangocamp Sweden a few weeks earlier, and he was doing his utmost to make me feel welcome. He was cooking for me, taking me to all the milongas in the area, sharing his life with me, and I almost felt guilty for the amount of trouble he went through for me. On Friday, we drove to Amsterdam to take part in the Tango Marathon. It was my first Marathon, and I was really excited to see it. The event would go on the whole weeke...

Perhaps as a logical continuation to my emotionally charged time in Amsterdam, the past couple of days have been filled with deep contemplation and reflection. In this, I have been helped along by long, meaningful conversations with inspiring people, some moving encounters on the dancefloor as well as a renewed contact with my family history. To my relief, Sunday night's milonga showed me that I was slowly recovering from the dazed state that those tangos in Amsterdam had induced in me, and that I was once again able to appreciate the many different kinds of leaders as well as the connection that I could establish with them. Until then, I had been caught up in a stubborn refusal to accept anything else but `The Best`, as often happens after a truly rewarding dance. Most importanly, I was reminded of the fact that just as in love, over half of the joy of pleasurable tango comes from sensing one's dancing partner's delight and enjoyment. I had many such tandas in Utr...

Leaving Amsterdam this morning. I have passed these few days in Amsterdam in a state of daze. The powerful experiences on the dancefloor, meeting some truly wonderful people, earlier happy memories of this city as well as new meaningful encounters, all have contributed to making this a very emotional time for me. Since that first night, I went to two more milongas, mostly with good but not exceptional dances. There were, however, the tandas that I danced with Rodrigo, and although I had been afraid the magic would be lost the next time we danced, fortunately this was not the case. On the contrary, with every dance the sense of connection, the loss of self and the sense of unity just grew stronger. This is what all tango people dream about, what drives them and motivates them to travel the world for tango; that magic moment when two people cease to exist as two separate individuals, and instead, one new being emerges. I like to call it the "us" that takes the place of ...

The guys at the Coffee Shop who helped me find the milonga places.  As you can guess from the heading, I have now arrived in the capital of the Netherlands. My approach took some time though, as I was not in any particular hurry. Along the way, I had all kinds of weather and a couple of creative solutions to accommodation problems, but mostly, it was a very pleasant ride. The first day I got as far as Leeuwarden, a town in the North of the country where I once went for a tourism conference. I had no other reason for wanting to go there and it was actually a bit out of the way considering Amsterdam, but hey, I had the time and it was within an easy reach from Groningen. The ride itself was very enjoyable (and short!), as it took me through the seemingly endless plains filled with grazing cows and sheep, plus the occasional horse and pony to entertain me. In the orientation, I was greatly helped by the fantastic bike route signposting system that always points to not onl...

My wonderful Danish Gentlemen ;-) I did make it to Holland (or to the Netherlands, as I have been instructed to call it) in the end, and have now spent two days savouring the delights of the Dutch way of doing things. I must say that it really is VERY different from the German way, and this reaches to most aspects of the everyday life, and naturally, to tango as well. Getting to Groningen on Satuday involved a lengthy ride through the windy plains that began slightly before  the German border, and for all I know, will probably continue well into Belgium. I have no complaints about the flat terrain (I had my share of uphills and forests in Sweden!), although the pretty strong headwind on Saturday did it best to slow down my progress. However, the Dutch (I wonder if this is the correct term either?) have had the decency to plant windbreaks in the plains, and they were a great relief from the gusts that would otherwise have been even more of a hurdle. I arrived here in early even...

Peter on his Liegerad that he has now sold as he plans to move on to a campervan-normal bike combination. Getting ready to leave Hamburg yesterday took a long time, and in the end it was noon before I got into the saddle. This slowness to get going was partly due to having danced until 00.30 at La Yumba. Once again, my night had imroved towards the end, as they were playing more powerful music and I got to dance with Dimitri, a Greek who had recently moved to town from Frankfurt. It was quite heart-warming realising we had at least one tango friend from Romanfabrik in common! Another reasom was that I had come to like the hostel (with a slightly funny name 'Instant Sleep') and the people working there a lot. In particular, this was because of Peter, the housemaster, who as an experienced bike-tourer himself had been looking after me so well. Peter has been touring the world for the past 5 years, using the low, almost lying-down position bike,and had a lot of stories to tell....

At the park 'Planten und Blumen', contemplating life and love. After  4 days of basically doing nothing else besides dancing in different milongas around Hamburg, I will be moving on tomorrow (Thursday). Not because I would be tired of this city, but because my curiosity about tango in Holland (an indeed, France!) is getting too much to bear. Even if by now I know that the experiences I have on the dance floor will be dictated by so many other things besides the nationality of dancers, I must admit that there really are differences in the tango culture of different countries. Last year, I had the (admittedly very subjective) experience that my best dances would always be with immigrants, people who were to some extent 'outsiders', even if well and permanently integrated into the society in question. This time around too, I have been moved by the deep, speechless sense of understanding and connection that I have felt on the dance floor with people who represent some m...

In front of the Botanical Gardens, where I found myself inexplicably drawn to all those plants of African origin. After the previous days' hardships, yesterday's approach to Hamburg proved easier than expected. True, it was still raining, but only slightly, and due to the steady tailwind and the predominantly flat terrain my journey through the misty landscape was quite pleasant. I had a fair bit of ground to cover (about 120 km), but I knew I could do it as I was well rested and determined to reach my destination in time for the milonga. It really is amazing how different a kilometre can feel at different times and energy levels. Now, with the wind giving me a firm helping hand, the 15-or-so km's between little villages on my route seemed to fly past almost without effort. By lunchtime, I was already well over half-way, and could take a long lunchbreak, reading the Stern magazine that I happened to find on the cafe table. In the magazine, there was a thought-provoking...

The heading says it all; today, for the first time during this trip (maybe for the first time on ANY of my bike trips), I found myself thinking that next year, I will think of something else to do for my summer holidays. The reason was nothing more exotic than getting tired, fed up and slightly mad at the weather. What had started as  slightly hesitant, freezing cold showers (still powerful enough to pierce my face with needle-like ferocity) on the short ride to the ferry harbour, calmed down to an almost enjoyable drizzle during my short visit to Flensburg, accelerated to a downpour that cannot be described by anything else than pissing down by the early evening. Now, basically, I am of the opinion that complaining about the weather is useless. If only I had proper water-proof clothing (yes, they did sell this Gore-Tex outfit to me as waterproof, just like they had sold the previous two outfits), gloves and shoes, I would not really mind the rain. But the fact that aft...

Today, my laissez-faire attitude really backfired on me. Having made it my habit not to check out neither the weather forecast (thinking it is often better not to know), the terrain ahead (assuming I would just fret about it) NOR the actual distances I am planning to cover, it is no wonder that at times, my plans become mere over-optimistic daydreams. Perhaps due to my late departure from Copenhagen yesterday, I had not managed to cover much more than half of the ground I had wanted to. Stubbornly, I was still quite convinced that getting to Hamburg for Saturday night was doable. In my mind, if I had managed the whole distance in two (admittedly very long) days last year, doing the same in three leisurely days would be no problem at all. This assumption was of course quite irrelevant, considering the fact that I was NOT following the same route as last year, but had chosen to cut accross the Danish islands of Zealand and Fyn, thus approaching Hamburg from the NW instead of the NE as...