Mari Travels with Tango

For some reason that i am yet to understand, any tango event has, invariably, a moment when you find yourself wondering why you keep doing this: spending so much time, effort - and money - to travel to places where you suddenly feel like a total outsider, the one who doesn't belong. Why, after all these years, it still doesn't seem to be getting any easier, why, the more you discover your own voice, the fewer people seem to "get" what you want to say. Any why does everybody else seem to be having so much fun, while you are cursing yourself for all the events you already booked and paid for, if this really is the end. Obviously, you have been there many times before, down this road of desperation and utter loneliness. You remember very well that it did pass before, but somehow, this time it feels more final, more irreversible. You ask yourself what you will be left with, now that *tango is gone*. And then, as if by a miracle, a secret door opens, letting in first a fli...

Returning from Soñando Tango Marathon in Amsterdam, once again taking stock of what it is that these trips mean to me, and why, even after so many years, a tango life without them feels impossible. A month ago, during one of their fantastic lessons at our Frostbite festival in Helsinki, Maja and Marko introduced the concept of a "Zen Moment ". While they were speaking about finding a way to pause meaningfully during a song, I find the concept applicable to other aspects  of a milonga, tango event or even life in general. In short, a zen moment is an instant when you become aware of the inexplicable beauty, heartbreaking sadness and undeniable fleetingness of anything you appreciate, be it a song, a journey or a love affair. While making you breathless with melancholy, this realisation also fills you with a deep gratitude for having been able to experience it. And essentially, the only way to really appreciate it is to do nothing. Just stay still and take it in. For, as ...

Recent conversations with distressed friends, as well as personal experiences in my 7 years of involvement with tango, have led me to think about the nature of recurring crises that seem to plague, at least occasionally, every tanguero /tanguera. Although there might be a certain correlation between a type of crisis and the number of years spent dancing, so far i have not been able to find a way to avoid the reoccurrence of any specific form. The first type usually attacks you very soon after the initial introduction to the world of milongas, and I call it the "They don't like me" crisis. It usually occurs when you find your attempts at mirada/cabeceo repeatedly rejected and find yourself spending most of the time sitting in milongas while everybody else seems to be dancing. Although common sense tells you otherwise, you explain this to yourself as being caused by the "snobbery" or "prejudice " of the more experienced dancers, or, worse still, by so...

The morning after my first performance as a leader, and like after any extreme experience, the colours are brighter, the sounds clearer and the sensations stronger than before. It is interesting how one seems to need the temporary discomfort to recognise and appreciate all the good things in one's life : the freedom to explore, the safety provided by material and emotional security, and the unwavering support of one's friends. For once, the constant demands on myself to do more, concentrate better and express myself with more honesty have quietened down. Perhaps it is just the adrenaline being replaced by endorphins, but the afterglow certainly makes me understand why people voluntarily do scary things!

In the life of a tanguera, some occasions are like stepping stones when crossing a river. You have your doubts about getting to the other side without falling in and getting swept away by the fast running current, possibly hurting yourself (or your ego ) in the process. At the very least, you know you will be getting your feet wet. Still, you know there is no turning back. If you want to stay open and keep discovering, you must cross that river.