Like sand between my fingers (Amsterdam)

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 "you" and "me". For a brief moment, something that the Tibetan buddhists call the illusion of separate identities, needs and wants disappears, and instead, one finds oneself (re-)united with not only one's dancing partner, but indeed, the world.

Although I have had this experience before, the moment when that sensation emerges always comes as a surprise. How easy, how natural and uncomplicated it makes everything when all of a sudden you don't see people as separate beings with conflicting interests, but instead, as what they really are, parts of the same organism with essentially the same needs, hopes and fears. The tragedy of it all is, of course, that the moment the dance ends and you wake up to the "real world", it is so very easy to forget the revelation and to slip back into old habits.

Having dinner in a restaurant where I once went with someone special, thus another moving experience.


Another risk related to such moments of pure bliss is that you mistake it to be something unique to the person who you shared it with. Quite naturally, you tend to think that this experience is only possible with this particular person, and that it "proves"something about the nature of your relationship to them. I think that anybody who has been dancing tango for more than a few months has already fallen into the trap of seeing unforgettable tandas as a sign of deeper personal feelings, indeed, of "belonging" together.

I'd like to think that I have already learned my lesson in this respect, and am now better capable of distinguishing between tango and love. On the other hand, the sense of unity you sometimes achieve on the dancefloor cannot really be described as anything other than love. Be as it may, I tend to be quite emotional and slightly shaken after it has happened. Anywhere I look, I see things that really touch me, that resonate with me, that make me feel connected to the world.

Paulina.

Thus, my days in Amsterdam were characterised by many beautiful encounters. It started with Paulina,girl working at the hostel, who had just got married and was so overflowing with happiness that I could not sit for more than a couple of minutes in her company without being moved to tears. Fortunately, being Polis she was not disturbed by this, as in her country this is quite common: people laugh and cry together, and even strangers can share a moment of spontaneous joy.

At the Tropenmuseum (the Museum for the Tropics), I went to a fantastic exhibition on the many meanings and uses of the colour Red. There were lots of artefacts from around the world, mostly to do with important stages in human life, Gods and demons, and the uniting theme was the significance of red in them. In addition to being of great symbolic, aesthetic and attention-drawing value, red just happens to be my favourite colour, so it was all very interesting to me. Having spent almost two hours looking at all those objects on display, the last place I looked in the museum was also the most touching; in the furthers corner of the hall there was a video installation of the initiation rite of the maasai morani (the young warriors), in which red plays a very central role. Here, too, I was deeply moved, as my own, powerful experiences amongst the maasai, now already almost 10 years ago, are still so clear in my memory.

Perhaps the most touching encounter, however, was with Esther whom I met in Friday night's milonga at Academia del Tango. She plays the cello in the Luxembourg Philharmonic Orchestra, and they were in town to give a concert on Saturday. Having danced with her (she leads beautifully, probably due to being a musician), we started talking and she invited me to listen to their final rehearsal before the concert. Having thought about how I would really like to go to a classical concert on this trip, I was of course happy to accept.

The concert consisted of two main parts: Tshaikovsky's - 2nd Symphonie and Brahms's - Violinconcerto in D major, with Viviane Hagner as the solo violinist. I truly enjoyed the whole concert, but it was her powerful, moving and emotional playing, together with her slim, fragile and almost reluctant appearance that truly spoke to me in volumes. For some reason, I identified with her very strongly, and her playing seemed to open up locks or dams in me that I had had no idea even existed. I cried volumes, but left the concert strangely rejuvenated. I am no great expert in classical music, but to me, this was the most beautiful concert I ever heard.


Afterwards, I shared had a lovely afternoon with Esther, and once again, had a sense of deep understanding, closeness and sisterly love with an almost complete stranger. We shared some of our life stories, cried and laughed, ate and drank together, and at the end of the afternoon, already felt like old friends. That really topped in up for me, and afterwards, I felt simply overwhelmed with life. There being no milonga on Saturday nights, I spent the evening on my own, saw a French film (with Dutch subtitles!), slowly trying to come to terms with all that had happened. This feeling still prevails, and I think I will need some time to digest it all.

 With Esther.

Am now in Utrecht, a town about 40 km to the South of Amsterdam. Last year, at the beginning of my bicycle tour in Stockholm, I met Marieke who lives here, and am now visiting her. Tonight, there will be a milonga and I just might be able to convince her to come with me. My feet are still quite sore from the blisters I got from dancing so much in Amsterdam, but there is no way I will stay away if there is a chance to dance.


Although happy and fulfilled by life, I also feel a sense of sorrow and sadness that I find hard to explain. I think it is related to the temporary nature of such encounters, the fleeting moments of unity, dispersed so sporadically in one's life. I know it is no use trying to cling to them, as it would be like trying to hold loose sand in your palm: the harder you hang on to it, the faster it runs from between your fingers. The only option is to calmly observe its flow, appreciating its beauty, trusting that although you cannot possess it, it will always be yours in memory.