Mari Travels with Tango

After thinking about it long and hard, I have now decided to move all my tango-related Facebook postings to my blog. The reasons for this are many; I want them to be easy to locate, but with Facebook, I feel severely limited by the site's ever-changing policies on what exactly is shown on your timeline. Also, I want to have more continuity in this blog, as otherwise, there are long breaks in updating it. I do travel a lot more than this blog has so far indicated, and in reality, every day is a journey with tango, NOT just those occasions that I am literally on the road! And finally, I want to be able to read all my tango-related ponderings even years from now, and for some reason, I am not confident Facebook will still exist in say 20 years from now. I haven't decided to quit Facebook just yet, But I am getting more and more ready to do that one day. This media is simply better suited for the way I want to communicate. Will be copying my earlier FB posts here little by litt...

It is the International Day of Tango, and an appropriate moment to reflect on the central stage that tango has taken in my, and so many of my closest friends', life. Growing with tango is a slow, painful and often humbling process. At first, you think it is about a set of skills, of fitting a certain ideal and playing your part, and that achieving that would suffice to be a "good" dancer. There are new movements to learn, a lot of unknown social codes to memorise, but it is doable, and you are confident you will get there. And just when you think you are starting to know your way around in this parallel reality, when you are not anymore constantly bewildered with what exactly it is that you are expected to do, not just fighting to stay on your feet while looking calm and serene... that's when you are hit by other kind of turmoil. All your fears and dreams, all your unrealistic ideas about yourself and your desirability as a dance partner/woman/person/friend are ...

At Riga airport, waiting for my flight home. No matter how often I have visited, each time this city shows me a new way of enjoying tango life. This time, my biggest pleasure came from the early-morning dancing on the stamp-sized floor of the breakfast room of our hotel, and that one mind-blowing tanda with a leader whose musicality was only enhanced by the lack of shoes and the availability of red wine. 😊 The warmth, love, laughter and joy that surround me at the Riga events would in themselves be enough of a reason not to miss a single one. When on top of that I was blessed with moments of perfect unity of souls on the dance floor, my attachment to this place became stronger than ever.

Many things are wonderful about this journey called tango, but there is nothing, nothing quite like sharing a Pugliese tanda with someone who hears it the same way as you. In tango heaven.

People sometimes ask me if one has to be very fit to be able to participate in tango events that go on for several days. While the actual dancing really isn't that strenuous, what is indeed needed is a certain stamina and ability to enjoy the slightly confused state of mind brought about by lack of sleep, throbbing feet, deep conversations (whether verbal or through dancing ) with people you met just 5 minutes ago, as well as all the emotions induced by the music. All this  creates a weird sensation of the whole world being condensed into the microcosm formed by just two buildings: That of the milonga and that of the hotel.You have a vague recollection of there being some other, more real world out there, but dismiss the thought as irrelevant as you dive back into the sea of emotions. Being slightly crazy is not required, but it does help.

Rewind and replay: once again, on the train to the airport, late as always. Running to the train, I could see a flash of longing on the faces of the two old ladies  I passed. A thought flashed through my mind: Them thinking: "oh, how I wish I could travel like her!". Me thinking : "oh, how I wish I had the peace of mind they have!". We smiled at each other and continued our journey.

On the road again, after a long time (or so it seems), headed for Budapest. Funny how sometimes, 3 months can feel like a lifetime. It is as if the stars had changed their position, tides had turned or sea currents had shifted since the last time I was there. Contrary to what one often thinks, change is not always linear, gradual or subtle. Instead, it proceeds in leaps and bounds, sometimes taking you way off course, sometimes presenting you with unforeseen clarity as to where you are heading. I like change, even with the bumps and detours it may bring.

Driving home in the crisp autumn evening while listening to my Tanturi/Campos playlist, I realise with a pang how perfectly their music fits this season. While their tangos are filled with warm, gentle sounds reminiscent of summer days gone by, there is also a chilling, almost metallic tint to both the notes of the bandoneon and Campos's velvety voice. To me this contrast, like so many others this music is filled with, feels strangely satisfying: It is a bit like the first frost that makes us shiver, but brings with it the flaming colours and unique flavours of the Nordic autumn. At this rate, I will end up in love with all the major orchestras of tango. Then again, there are worse fates than that!

As so often after returning from a satisfying tango event, the slow evaporation of post-trip glow is creating a vacuum that all kinds of self-doubts and existential questions are quick to fill. It is an interesting state of mind, as at the same time, there are lots of new ideas and associations between things experienced, dreams fulfilled and new horizons opened. However, there is also a certain vulnerability that makes you feel over-sensitive to loud noises, harsh tones and  lack of understanding between people around you. I am sure there is a purely neurobiological explanation to why it is the perceived distance between people that hurts you the most. At your best moments in tango, you allow yourself to be totally open, trusting and permeable for other people's emotions and intentions. The contrast to so-called normal life with its caution, calculation and dissimulation is so stark that the brain, heart and body are struggling to cope.

Sometimes, a brief meeting with someone can leave a reverberating effect in your whole being, like seismic waves that return days after the initial earthquake has passed. You feel at the same time impressed, inspired and humbled, and in one fleeting moment, realise how little you still know, how immature and egoistic most of your actions seem, and how petty your problems and worries are. Wisdom cannot be borrowed or bought, but there is always hope that the years will grant you some insight.

Last night, i got an indication of what it must have been like in milongas back in those days when instead of a DJ, you were dancing to the music of one of the superstar orchestras of the 1940's we now emulate, when Orquesta Típica La Juan D'Arienzo took Tampere by storm in the World of Tango festival. The powerful combo of 4 bandoneons and violins was packed with youthful male energy and D'Arienzo-like drive that spread like wildfire amongst the audience and dancers. It was without a doubt the best concert i've ever been to, and this morning, my heart is still vibrating with joy, gratitude and happiness.

Last night, I made one of my sporadic attempts at a night out without tango. Consciously choosing a casual style of jeans and t-shirt to contrast with the laces and satin that have become my usual Saturday night attire, I headed out to the surprisingly warm night, planning to check out some of the venues I used to frequent those days when I still had a "normal" life. Two hours later, I still hadn't entered anything resembling a bar, but instead was walking around the city listening to Tanturi, DiSarli and Pugliese, my feet aching to dance. The lyrics, the melodies, and the emotions and memories brought by them, were just so much more engaging than anything a bar could offer. To my surprise, I realised that contrary to what I have thought, my love for this music is only growing stronger. Tango is a sweet illusion, yes. But so is life.

How does a tanguera prepare herself for the annual tango camp weekend (the one that that she has missed almost every year, preferring to go cycling to some faraway tango destination)? Solo backward ochos in a last-minute attempt to fix those swaying hips thar keep pushing her out of her axis? Concentrated packing up, to ensure outfits matching the colour themed milongas? Nope. She decides that Now is the time to wash all the mirrors in her flat.

After 4 days is relatively sedentary life, my body and mind are starting to get used to less physical strain, more free time, and different challenges from those one has while constantly on the move. I know from experience that the transition is never easy, and the bliss of achievement will quickly fade, no matter how much I concentrate on wonderful sense of carefree existence that always accompanies my last days of cycling. Still, the fall is always at least a little abrupt, bringing with it all kinds of emotional and physical upheavals.

Arrived, happy and content. Life is good and right now, there is nothing more that I need for happiness. Will write about the last part of my wonderful trip soon, now putting on my heels for the first time in almost 3 weeks, heading for the "Summer in the City" tango marathon that is my reward for all those kilometers in the saddle. After all, this blog is about travelling for tango, isn't it?

And so, after 10 days of cycling, I am now almost within shouting distance of Budapest. What remains is 35 km of winding bike track, hugging the side of the now slowly, almost dreamily flowing river. The sky has a few scattered clouds that at this hour (11am) still offer some shelter from the heat that is set to climbing up to 40 degrees as the day progresses. Knowing there would be little escape from the sun, I set off from the campsite at 7, stopping in the centre of Esztergom only long enough to get some groceries for breakfast. A minor problem arose at the campsite reception, when the same guy who had refused to charge me when I arrived last night, saying I would have to wait until the morning, now said the reception would only open at 9. Now this was Far too late for me, as it would mean I would have to cycle the whole 80 kms in the already merciless heat. So, what to do? I simply put on my tour leader mode, the one that was once needed to keep my safari staff operational, ...

You would think that I would have learned from my mistakes and taken extra care with following the route signs after that time that happily cruising along a jetty brought me to dead-end and having to retrace for several km's in the pouring rain. But no, yesterday showed me once again that despite all my trips and experience with reading the map, I will still end up in places that were not at all my intended destination. As I was enjoying Bratislava so much, leaving it took me much longer than expected. Pushing my bike through the old town once again, I just couldn't bring myself to leave quite yet, and although the temperature was already climbing, decided to sit down for a final cup of coffee. The streets were again filled with people, but this time the Bold and the Beautiful had been joined by hordes of cruise tourists, taking a break from floating down the river. Watching them and drinking my coffee, I was extremely happy, and promised myself to come back for a longer vis...

ByYesterday showed me once again the rewards of leaving the familiar and heading for the unknown. Despite my initial reluctance to bget back on the bike, the cycling turned out to be effortless, light and joyful. Getting back to the riverside from the Favoriten suburb was the hardest part, and despite having made careful notes on each turn, of course I missed one of them. With pure luck, and following the general direction of downhill (I mean, rivers seldom run on top of the hills do they?) did finally get to the Danube, and from there on, it was a very straightforward journey all the way to Bratislava. By now, I know that when everything is straightforward and easy, that's when the mistakes happen. Sailing along in the powerful tailwind, not even minding the drizzle that was picking up intensity, I ignored a sign for a turnoff, and the next moment, found myself on a paved embankment flanking the river. This in itself was nothing new , but the fact that there were no fences betwe...

Just about to ride out Vienna,as always reluctant to leave the comfort of City life: cosy beds, Lifts and fridges to be replaced by Camping mattrasses, uphills and track Food. Staying at my friend Heinrich's wonderful place, with ist magnificent views over the City and enjoying his warm welcome is really not making it any easier to get back on the bike. What is helping, however, is that for the first time in my bicycle travels, I have now decided to take the slower Option, covering the remaining 336 km to Budapest in 4 days instead of the 3 that was the initial plan. The reasons for this revolutionary decision are related to both my knee Problems (that fortunately seem to have lessened during this break from cycling), but also a certain Revelation that really, I am not as fit as I once was, nor do I really gain anything by pushing myself to the furthest Limit every time I get on that bike. So, Instead, I will take it easy, even booked a hostel for tonight in Bratislava that is the...

It really is amazing what a Little rest can do. Yesterday, waking up for the first time in a bed after a week of Camping, my whole Body aching and sore, I felt there is no way I can carry on with the trip by bike. However, after a second good night's sleep along with some very heart-warming human interaction, I already feel like a new Person. I spent most of yesterday just relaxing, refusing to give in to the usual touristic temptations (or obligations) that a City of Vienna's calibre has. So, instead of going sight-seeing, visiting Museums or exhibitions, I did what i love most of all: i watched and talked to people. The hostel that I had found based on their ad in my route map turned out to be one of the typical establishments full of youngsters doing their first Inter-Rail, enjoying the freedom from parental control. However, along with the social media era, somehing fundamental has changed in the atmosphere of these hubs where travellers come together. When earlie...

Sometimes, a little incident can set the mood for the whole day. Having pitched my tent at a nice and quiet campsite in the little town called Melk, I was confident I would get a good night's rest in preparation for the final push for Vienna today. I did sleep well enough, but several times during the night, was awakened by a sensation, almost a gut feeling, that someone or something was moving close by. It didn't sound threatening, but kept drawing my attention,even when sleeping. In the morning I discovered I hadn't been imagining it, for upon taking down the tent I found that one of my cycling shoes that always stay outside of the tent was filled with grass. At first I considered the possibility that one of my fellow cyclists had played a prank on me, but shaking the grass out, saw a little mouse fall out too! She scrambled into safety, and I felt grateful that she hadn't had time to give birth to a whole family! It did seem quite coincidence to me when a few m...

Sometimes, I cannot believe my luck. Not only am I in the very fortunate position of being able to live my life exactly as I please, make trips like this one and not fuss too much about stretching every penny. In addition, thinking back on all my travels, both before and after cycling, I have been extremely lucky with the weather during the trips: Often, I have had weeklong spells of wonderful tailwind, moderate temperature and showers that always occur just when I am near a suitable shelter. The recent days' record heat, while being trying for sure, still feels like a gift compared to what kind of weather I left behind back home. The biggest gift, however, is the overriding sense of happiness that has once again enveloped me. Yesterday, riding through the most beautiful stretch so far on this trip, in that narrow valley with brilliant sunshine, old forests and gently flowing river, I felt so overwhelmed with happiness that I almost cried. There were only cyclists on that road, ...

After spending a lazy afternoon in Passau yesterday, this morning I was eager to get back on the road. The fact that I had finally mustered up the courage to look at the map for the rest of the way had a big impact, as I was very positively surprised by the distance that there was left to Vienna and on to Budapest. Now, any normal person would of course have known this from the beginning, being well prepared and with a clear plan on daily routes and destinations, but for me, *not* making those plans has come to symbolise ultimate freedom. At times, this has led to unpleasant surprises as I have discovered that there is a lot more distance to cover than I thought, but this time, the remaining 630 km to Budapest seemed like child's play as I had been worrying it would be double as much. Funny how the mind works! The morning was fresh, almost chilly, something that seemed like a wonderful gift after boiling in my own sweat for days. I set off from the campsite in Passau, populat...

I should have known it from all the previous trips that the third day is always the hardest: The overflowing enthusiasm of the first couple of days has been spent and the body is starting to protest the relentless, steady demands of continuous physical exercise. Even more important, the mind is all of a sudden filled with all kind of doubts that physical discomfort only makes worse Yesterday was such a day, and in hindsight I can say I came very close to giving up. The temperature that had been on the border of uncomfortably hot the previous days, now climbed to new heights, which together with the first real headwind made the going much less of a joy than the first couple of days. Moreover, my eastward route means that I have the sun in my face in the morning, making sunburn only a matter of time and degree, no matter the amount of sunscreen used. However, the worst thing by far was the pain in my knee; it took only a few kilometers for it to reappear, and after that, become more int...

Funny how the night can change everything. Getting to bed last night I was trying to ignore the pain in the right knee, this morning I woke up with both of my wrists throbbing with pain. As nothing has happened to them and last night they were fine, I think it is just more of the same; my body trying to find a way to go back to the lazy living. Still, am not sure how far I will be able to get to today. Passau is another full days ride ahead, and the temperature seems set to climb again. These are the moments that test me the most: Not letting the difficulties take the wind from my sails, not thinking about the worst possible outcome that such wandering pain could bring. Instead, I try to be trusting and positive. Whatever comes, it's all good.

Two days down the road, and things seem to have fast-forwarded to the usual madness that tends to envelope me whenever I go cycling for anything longer than a casual pedal around the park. Despite the tropical heat, I have been happy to discover that the two years since my last trip have not made my body forget, and it is quickly adjusting to what is asked of it. Indeed, today I already caught myself in the bizarre but familiar situation where there was"only" 70 km left to my destination, and it only being a little past four in the afternoon, this seemed like a perfectly doable afternoon ride! The record temperatures of the past few days have luckily now cooled off a little, and so far, I have been very lucky with the wind: It is pushing me along nicely which is a very welcome help! The route is mostly following the Danube closely, and I have been riding on gravel roads for most of the time, something that I usually avoid. However, the little -used service tracks flanking ...

Wow, how tiring travelling can be! Almost 3 days later, still not more than 15 km of cycling under my belt, I already feel pretty exhausted from all the sitting on trains, my neck stiff from the life-saving but slightly overdone air-conditioning and my mind as always at this point of a journey, having serious doubts about the cleverness of this idea. It all started easily: the luxuriously leisurely sea voyage was a delight, and things were running quite smoothly for most of yesterday. In the morning, I rode the easy 14 km to Lübeck in perfect conditions, having had the sense to start (for me) untypically early. The birds were singing, the gentle wind was pushing me along, and every cyclist greeted me with a friendly wave of the hand. In Lübeck while waiting for my train, I had enough time to do the necessary shopping (now I have the maps although still haven´t looked at them) as well as indulge in my favourite pastime, people-watching. It quickly became evident that the heat w...

usually, getting into the philosophical frame of mind takes about a week of cycling or a couple of days of hiking, but this time around, all I needed was riding the short stretch from the gates of Vuosaari harbour into the guts of M/S Finnmaid. Sharing the ship with literally a hundred other cyclists (a group doing a charity ride to Paris to raise awareness on children's cancer) has converted this whole vessel into a huge bubble of cycling euphoria. Last night, as the ship was gliding through the Helsinki archipelago in the loveliest weather Finland has experienced this summer, I felt happy to be leaving the country  under such conditions. Embarking on a trip is always a slightly emotional experience for me, as I cannot help asking myself if I will ever return, or at least, how different I will be the next time I see the same vistas. For there is no doubt that these trips do change me, and I always return a slightly different person than the woman who left. After sitting on...

How fast time flies, and how quickly one forgets the hardships it has brought! Another two years have passed, and after hardly any cycling for most of this time, tonight I will be starting another bike trip. The first leg involves a sea journey from Helsinki to Travemünde in Germany, so in effect, I am retracing my steps as my last trip ended with this same journey in the opposite direction. However,  as opposed to all the other trips, this time I will not be starting the cycling from the harbour but rather, take the train to the South of Germany to the city of Ulm. From there on, I will be following the river Danube all the way to Budapest, passing through Wien and Bratislava on the way. This is the most popular bike travel route in Europe, and for a good reason: the scenery is lovely, there are lots of facilities for cyclists, and marked bike routes follow the river all the way. Indeed, the biggest challenge for me is to have the presence of mind to follow the river in the righ...

(Share one of your favorite Argentine Tango Songs (tango, milonga,or vals) and promote someone else to do the same 3 Day Challenge) Although I don't generally care for most of the challenges that circulate the web, I must say that I have enjoyed this one tremendously: It has sharpened my focus on what touches and motivates me in tango, how the music influences me and what I am looking for when dancing to it. The third and final orchestra is for me as obvious as the fact that night follows day, winter is forever chasing the summer and all living things must die. No matter how beautiful, powerful or touching other orchestras' interpretations may be, there is no-one quite like Osvaldo Pugliese. While there are times when I seem to drift further away from him, the re-encounter is every time more satisfying, as if I was finally back home from wandering lost, cold and lonely in a strange and inhospitable land. However, Pugliese's is no easy-listening music. To continue w...

(Share one of your favorite Argentine Tango Songs (tango, milonga,or vals) and promote someone else to do the same 3 Day Challenge) While yesterday's choice may have been somewhat unexpected, today will be no surprise to anyone who knows me in the tango context at all. For several years now, Miguel Caló is for me the single most important reason to get up and dance, indeed, to even go to the milonga. If Troilo is deep water, Caló is like sweet, ref reshing spring water or a light, warm summer rain; it restores my faith in life, it soothes my aches, it makes the air easier to breathe. After dancing to Caló, I feel like a seedling that was about to wither but has just received the life-saving drops of moisture, and is ready to grow again. My only difficulty, and a huge one as such, was to select a song that would be above all others, that would epitomize what this music means to me. In the end, I settled on "Los Despojos" for the effect that the lyrics have on me, eve...

(Share one of your favorite Argentine Tango Songs (tango, milonga,or vals) and promote someone else to do the same 3 Day Challenge) After giving it a long and hard thought, am finally ready to post my current favourites, totally aware of how perilous such an attempt is. My first choice has been obvious since the moment I received the challenge, and may surprise some of my friends. As my tango years accumulate, the music of Troilo is becoming increasingly important to me, and in some way I feel it simply couldn't have happened before. While Biagi or D'Arienzo are like fast-flowing rivers easy to surf on, Troilo is deep water and dancing to it is like going swimming alone in a deserted forest lake on a moonless night. Although you know it can be dangerous, it beckons you deeper and further out from the shore. At the same time, it is comforting in a melancholy and all-encompassing way; listening to it you understand that whatever you may be going through, there have been cou...

Leaving Vilnius, sleep-deprived but content. Just like when visiting your childhood playgrounds, returning to tthe place of your tango toddler days leaves you feeling slightly nostalgic: The buildings seem to have shrunk, the colours faded, and the summer is never as warm and sunny as back then when everything was new and exciting. It is good to see the old buddies, but leaving, you feel a sense of relief. In the end, horizons may broaden and tastes may change, but the memories will stay forever.

Still barely able to grasp the wonderful Present I received on Sunday, these photos by Tatyana Matveyeva prove that the magical, exhilarating, moving, joyful and ohh so loving birthday dance really did happen. I want to thank from the bottom of my heart Every Single One of you who were present, as well as all you who sent your greetings via personal messages. Being surrounded by such love is the greatest gift of all. https://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.860826070674751.1073741871.774985029258856&type=3

Deep in the throes of my worst tango crisis ever, very few performances manage to move me, inspire me or give me any hope of ever getting back into the flow that once was such a frequent occurrence in my dancing. Still, when I watch them dance, I can feel a little of the flame that used to burn me so intensely that I could hardly stay away from the dancefloor for more than a day. And obviously, nothing beats Pugliese in these moments when all seems lost. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3x9XIDgo9E8

Sometimes, being caught in the middle of a human whirlpool of kicking legs and shoving elbows during a powerful Troilo tanda can be the magic formula for re-discovering your dance. Besides that Troilo being one of the very few tandas that I liked, other magic ingredients were the tightening circle of wild energy around us, the ever-shrinking space, and without a doubt, the determined calmness of my wonderful leader that did the trick. It was a bizarre, unique experience, and I emerged from it feeling rejuvenated, relieved - and very, very grateful.

Leaving Tallinn after another weekend of tango. Feeling relieved that the all-encompassing, almost suffocating sense of self-doubt and meaninglessness that has plagued my dancing seems to have eased off. Perhaps it was all the laughing, the late-night sight-seeing tour or the vanilla- (and rabarber) flavoured refreshments, or simply the precious company of friends that lifted the veil of desperation just when I was starting to think all was lost. Today, catching glimpses of the joy that has been missing from my dancing felt like the first real sign of spring.

Tango is a journey, not a destination. The most interesting part of it is how you and your co-travellers change when conditions change or new travellers join the tour.

There is something quite unique about these mornings of your favourite tango event, waking up after another afterparty that lasted almost until breakfast time, you feet throbbing, you eyes unable to focus, your mind struggling to grasp the difference between reality and illusion. Perhaps it is the physical exhaustion, being surrounded by others experiencing the same sense of everything happening right now and here, or the music that seems to get under your skin more and more, the further the event progresses. All of a sudden, you have lost all sense of time and place outside the milonga, and find your senses tuned more and more into the frequencies of listening to another person's heart through the movements of their body. On mornings like this, you wake up, and listening to Pugliese is the only logical option. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SExl9L6VC3w

On my way to Riga Tango Marathon, as always opting for the overland (and -sea) mode of travel. Boarding the M/S Star for the first leg of this familiar journey, I became aware of the symbolic importance of these trips that have been a regular part of my life ever since I started dancing tango. In many ways, the Baltic tango community is my home community just as much as the Finnish one. I started travelling for dance quite early on, and have experienced many of the turning  points of my tango life while visiting the events in Latvia and Lithuania. In these years, I became good friends with many of the people who frequent the same events, and they have been by my side at crucial moments, both happy and sad. Meeting every few months, we have seen each other's tango evolve, relationships form (and fall apart), events grow and become popular. We have learned from each other, we have supported and encouraged each other, and little by little, we have formed loose but lasting ties that...

An encounter seen in the supermarket: A little girl, perhaps 4 years old, has seen a cute little dog, lying on the floor about 10 m from where she is sitting with her dad and baby brother. While the dad is keeping busy with the baby, she starts to approach the Westie, looking at the dog with an eager smile on her face. She is not simply walking up to him, but rather, inventing funny poses and movements to catch his eye: Looking at him upside down from between her legs, dropping down to all four and wagging her bottom in an imitation to a dog's invitation to play. The dog can clearly see her but determinedly does Not look at her or express any interest in her. After a while, she gives up and turns back to her family. Clearly, even dogs and little children understand cabeceo perfectly.

One of the most bizarre comments I've been hearing, and not infrequently either, since I started leading, is: "Oh, so you are a man?" While I could somehow understand this coming from an Argentinian as the equivalent for "leading" doesn't seem to be widely used and instead, they just say "dancing the man's role", what puzzles me the most is that it is usually highly educated, modern Nordic women who make this statement. These almost two years of learning to lead have not made  me feel more manly. However, they have definitely given me some insights into what it must be like to "live the man's role' in everyday life. Similarly, I have been delighted to discover how differently men behave, feel and reveal themselves when being led than in any other situation I can think of. The sweetness, softness and openness i have been lucky to glimpse in many of my male followers has truly opened my eyes to how the expectations the society tra...

Last night, my re-encounter with tango was a bit like two lovers meeting after a major fight: hesitant, careful and unwilling to show too much enthusiasm, but full of secret joy, despite the heartache. We were both observing each other with sideways glances, and after initial shyness, made tentative steps towards reconciliation. While neither one of us was prepared to commit to anything long-term just yet, one thing was clear: the old love is still there.

As my latest tango crisis that appeared out of nowhere has quickly managed to darken the otherwise clear skies of my new year, I have decided to administer the most potent medicine I know: A two-week break from tango. Three days into it, and there are still no signs of withdrawal symptoms. Instead, am amazed at the amount of time I suddenly have in my hands. Now I understand how normal people manage to get so much done in a day!

After days of surfing on the crest of the marvellous Remolino wave, this evening the reality caught up with me upon returning from the local milonga in Helsinki. All of a sudden I feel like a piece of driftwood washed ashore after the tide has withdrawn, or a fish tossed on dry land by a particularly powerful wave. There is no denying it. Although they are still dancing in L'viv as I write this, for me it is over now, and all that is left are the memories: the snippets of co nversations remembered, the sensations of embraces still felt, the sight of people so immersed in the pleasure of shared beauty. There are funny memories too: laughing and crying at the same time at the midnight madness of simply having to go back to the milonga despite the exhaustion, the Ukrainian pronounciation exercises by drunken friends after-milonga, oh, and the big-bellied man with the three pick-up lines... The most powerful and lasting memories are, without a doubt, the moments of unity, love ...