Gezellig etc

After El Cielo in the Dokzaal Pieter wanted a change of scene for dinner before his train but everywhere we looked for food seemed closed. It took us ages to find a place we both liked that was open.  We found Cafe Koosje on a corner of Plantage Middenlaan that was something between a restaurant, bar and pub.  I was ravenous and we had as kind of shared starter, but apparently inappropriately, bitterballen.  Pieter said it was more what you have as an early evening snack and I suppose it was heading towards 8pm.

We seemed to spend a long time in this place where the atmosphere either was or was not gezellig.  Later I found out it was knus.  Doesn’t gezellig mean 'cosy'? I said, ever curious about words for feelings for which there is no English translation. Like 'hygge' or 'gemütlich'?  It appears not.  Gezellig seems to have a bit more pizzazz to it. The way Pieter explained it in straightforward Dutch manner, the Dutch are loud so gezellig plus loud is the Dutch version of 'cosy'. When on another day I asked Dutch-speaking Sebastian for his take on the term he illustrated it by saying the atmosphere on particularly that Wednesday afternoon in El Cielo had been gezellig.

As in Cambridge, I had overdone things. Dancing swapped in the embrace with a beginner guy in a very busy ronda of a milonga one does not know with dancers in front and behind whom one does not know is in my experience just about the hardest thing a girl can do and as it nearly always does it had taken it out of me.  Then there had been the sightseeing and the lateish dinner.  I couldn’t face going out again and as in Cambridge skipped, not without reluctance, the evening milonga run by Corine's team from La Bruja.

I had been before during TangoMagia and knew the Duif, a former church in central Amsterdam, to be, aesthetically, a lovely venue though I was not sure now what I would think of it as far as good conditions for a milonga.  I mean for instance the size of the room.  I remember lighting being good but the room being large with rows of seating one behind the other and it being not necessarily easy to see across the room for cabeceo.  Three years though is a long time and I could not now say any of this with certainty. My main memory of that evening in 2013 is meeting Franc who I found out later organises the Oranjerie salons in Arnhem.  We danced two tandas.  He struck me as modest, a nice guy and a marvellous dancer - one of the best dancers I had encountered at that time.

Duif is pronounced more like dowf only the vowel sound is softer and more nuanced than that; you need to hear it from a Dutch speaker. The DJ was going to be Jacob El Jirafa whom I had enjoyed hearing at La Bruja the first time.  I expected the milonga in the Duif to be very popular and thought it would be mobbed which the next day I heard had been true.

I had seen Jacob's soubriquet  written as El jirafa and La jirafa.  Which is it if it's a guy? I asked Enrique by email.  He said:  the correct way of writing it is "La jirafa". A male giraffe would be "la jirafa macho". Although "El jirafa" for a DJ even if not grammatically correct doesn't sound wrong and is quite catchy.

I knew Enrique because some mutual friends had put us in touch when I had been looking for Spanish conversation before going to Buenos Aires. He wanted to learn to dance so he could dance socially with his wife.  He had been to some milongas abroad to watch but had not enjoyed classes.  He liked the idea of learning more naturally.  What this meant in practice was that he came over one weekday evening, met the boys and we chatted over a cuppa in my kitchen as I cleared up the boys' tea because if we had not got on it it would have been a no-go. I doubt either of us could embrace in dance someone we did not like no matter what the arrangement.  But we did get on and went more naturally to the milongas in Edinburgh once or twice to dance in swapped roles.  I know how easy it is to slip into and stay in one language but he was very good about chatting away to me in Spanish even while I, able to say more than I did, but lacking confidence, replied in English.  By the time I got back form Buenos Aires Enrique had wisely left Scotland to live in sunnier Spain. He was a lovely guy and a natural dancer, really good and with all the right instincts.  Since then I have learnt a lot about dancing with beginners, including beginner guys,  especially how to slow things down as with new dancers they can tend towards the opposite.

Tango Train - Arrival and El Cielo Cafe

El Cielo cafe and bar, looking from the entrance towards door to the dance salon

In December, shortly after Christmas I went to the Tango Train milonga festival in Amsterdam because:

• There were lots of regular milongas
• There were no classes
• There was variety of hosts and venues
• It was easy to get between the milongas (I hired a bike)
• There was no registration. You could just turn up.
• There was no list of dos and don'ts, which I think are unnecessary and set the wrong tone
• There was variety of dancers and they were not the hand-picked preferences of encuentro and marathon organisers
• Because there were no classes it attracted social dancers, not class dancers
• Being just milongas, it was relatively cheap
• It was in a city, with other things to explore and a good place for a solo dancer not to stick out, compared to in e.g. Sol de Invierno which I also considered but which was hosted in a village.
• Many Dutch men are tall
• I knew one or two Dutch people who might be there
• In general I liked my experience so far of Dutch people and culture!

My husband had kindly given me the hotel points he accumulates with work.  I stayed then, feeling very lucky and very pampered in a smart hotel bang in the centre with lounge breakfast and evening drinks/hors d'oeuvres included.  If that had not been so, Amsterdam accommodation being so expensive, I doubt I would have gone.  Another version of this kind of festival of local milongas would be great in a cheaper city with a good vibe.

I was delayed in my plans to get to the El Cielo afternoon milonga on Tuesday 27th but went anyway to meet Albert at the cafe there for dinner.  He said to hurry up - there were a lot of extra guys that day.  In the event there was not much time left to both have supper and dance.  The salon looked nice and from the cafe DJ Oliver's music sounded good.  I knew that Oliver can no longer dance and it was sad but instructive to see his choice of track on his DJ page, Tanturi's La Vida Es Corta.

 This milonga ran in the afternoons of the Tango Train festival.  The cafe here was run by at least two different catering outfits changing over on different days. One was the CousCousClub  with the intriguing rubric:  Couscous and cocktails, slow food and fast fun. There was also, a picture of a naked woman.  It seemed very Dutch.  Prepare to be confused!  There were vegetarian and meat options and the other company provided something similar, I forget what exactly but I think there were some nice looking salads. The food was simple, cheap, popular. You ate it at rustic trestle tables with other dancers. 

Albert told me he lives in Friesland right in the north of the Netherlands but said he is moving to near Utrecht to be more central for tango. There will be trains that will get him back from out of town for 0130. From that location he will be able to dance all over the Netherlands.

In the cafe Albert introduced me to very tall Hans from Friesland who, amazingly, remembered me from TangoMagia some years before. "You picked the guys" he said and I smiled nervously wondering "What does he mean?", remembering that I probably had been fairly overt at that time. But Hans seemed amiable and easygoing. Then he said - we were all sitting down:  "You are very long, no?"
"Yes" I said, smiling.  Albert told me Hans has a milonga up there in Friesland.  I think it is the Salon Amarillo in Leeuwarden.  I liked Hans. He was careful in what he said and very quiet.  He was a nice dancer I found later.  We all discussed the options for the evening. There was Los Locos which many people had told me about, run by, among others, Wim who I knew.  There was some kind of tango-art milonga which had a lot of people interested on Facebook but did not interest me much and there was La Bruja.

I wanted to see if it was going to be as difficult there with the men as last time. I did not want to feel crushed by that milonga.  If milongas were like people I wanted to feel I could look at it full in the face and not be the first to look away or to leave it on good terms or at least to walk away without feeling beaten by the guys there.  I just wanted to see if it was going to be possible to have a good time there with the guys as well as the girls.  Why does entering some - many - milongas feel like being a stranger in a cold, unwelcoming land, even when the host does not seem to be like that?  Also, that contrast is unusual.

Luckily, on this evening, I was not alone.  Albert, who has danced for years surprised me by saying he had not been to La Bruja and Hans had been I think only once so we decided to all go. Albert had his bike too so he I and cycled part of the way together until he went to get his car.  Hans wanted to dance longer until the end of El Cielo so we me him there later.

The house on Chile

Of all the stories I have wanted to tell about my trip to Argentina, top of the list is the one about the ten days I spent at Juan and Josefina's.  I wrote recently to Juan mentioning a friend currently in Buenos Aires.  That correspondence and the fact that in Barcelona I will soon meet Hellen who was one of the house guests brought everything back.

During the trip I planned to stay in three different places all in the area of central Buenos Aires called Balvanera.  I chose three places because I knew that if I became committed to one place I did not like for three weeks it would spoil the trip.  I was curious, besides, to see different corners of the neighbourhood and to meet different people.   I might have booked a place for the first ten days and chosen where to stay next while on the ground, but being alone, in an unfamiliar place very far from home and where I did not really speak the language I was cautious and did not in any case want to spend my time looking for accommodation.  I wanted it planned out in advance and to know where I was going.

The house on Chile between Alberti and Matheu was the first place I stayed.  In Buenos Aires people often omit the "street" or "avenue" part of a street name.  It was walking distance to most of the milongas I had heard about.  Janis gave me invaluable advice in this respect as on much else.  She said:  you need to be close to Entre Rios between Rivadavia and Independencia. So that is where I started looking, and no further west than Avenida Jujuy.   I considered  hotels, a studio, a tango house - all places people I knew had stayed.  I nearly did book a tango house but I have had a lot of success with Airbnb and especially in Buenos Aires wanted to be around people with local knowledge.  The first place I really liked turned out to be - though I did not know it then - a block away from Janis.  She went to see it and sent photos of the neighbourhood together with much other useful information.

Photo on the right by Janis

I liked my hosts immediately and soon trusted them. It was one of those instinctual likings that was, if anything, confirmed when Juan cautioned me in his polite, calm, explanatory way about security after I made a mistake with the door lock.  After I left, an iron grille was installed on the door.  I saw Juan much more than Josefina who works as an English teacher.  So Juan had most to do with the house and tenants and came by usually in the late morning or early afternoon on many of those ten days. 

I often heard dance tourists say that "security is the same in Buenos Aires as as in any big city”. I did not much believe this before I went and when there could see plainly - and made a point of finding out - that it is not at all the same. Security was a big deal. I trusted three people on that subject: Chris in the UK and  in Buenos Aires, Janis and Juan.  I am glad they all in their different ways made their points. 

Juan (right) with house guests Hellen and Bruce

The same day I arrived, Juan and I were soon deep in a conversation about Buenos Aires, and the history and culture of Argentina/  This continued during my stay and afterwards because I met both him and Josefina after I moved on.  I was delighted when Juan hailed me on Belgrano one day and we went for coffee in La Ochava.  Josefina I met for coffee in a bar notable near her work in San Telmo and once near the end of my trip I took a friend to meet Juan and discuss property.

Rianne with Josefina

I was often offered strong, dark real coffee in the house.  Chat with Juan ranged over topics such that it felt a bit like how it is to drink strong, real, unsweetened coffee. The photo above is the only one I had of him and I had none of Josefina until my friend Rianne went to meet them yesterday and took these. As I knew she would Rianne felt the same about the house.  She said: I loved the place...those patios, the quietness. Juan was occupied with a guest when she visited but she said: I loved Josephine within a minute...like the ideal mother and so much more. 

Juan and Josefina

The house was simply a haven. I have said before that even with Janis' kind guidance, at first I found things in the city and the milongas confusing and disconcerting.  It was a matter of being in a very different place with insufficient language skills for good independence and far from my children.  But no matter how nervous I felt on the street, nor what happened in the milongas, the house was another world.  There I felt relaxed, safe, secure and let the atmosphere there mend my confidence, frequently dented outside.

During the day I wrote, often in the conservatory, or talked to Juan or other house guests or tentatively I went for shopping or cash or explored the streets or went on walking tours. Some afternoons and every night I went out with, strangely, fewer nerves, walking between the milongas and the elegant, unostentatious golden house that I was always happy to return to, often writing again at the desk in my room in the early hours.  

Janis in the fruit and vegetable shop; Jose Luis (lower picture)

The house was well located too. Janis showed me around the neighbourhood. She seemed so well-integrated in the neighbourhood.  The street was quiet.  Around the corner on Independencia there was a fruit and vegetable shop (also a butchers) run by lovely people, including  Jose Luis who is learning English.  The fruit and vegetables were excellent and cheap.   I never found a shop I liked better for that.  After trying the steak, most of the time I, like Janis, stuck to salads and fruit

There is a bakery nearby, and a health food store selling nuts and dry goods run by helpful brothers Martin and Ezekial. There is a well known bar notable, Bar de Cao on Independencia, an asador (for takeaway roast meat) three blocks west of there and the usual kiosks for phone and transport cards, regular supermarkets and Chinese supermarkets. 

El Español

There is a neighbourhooNot far away was a restaurant, which was recommended several times called El Español. I went once, near the end of my stay.  The lassitude of the heat and many late nights, even for something as simple as preparing food, was stealing over me.  I felt uneasy and conspicuous in a place packed with locals but the waiters were pleasant and correct, the food was nice and the portions huge. It was the only proper restaurant I went to for a meal apart from lunch with Janis in the must-see tourist trap of Cafe Tortoni when, out walking, we passed it. For the most part I made a salad once, sometime twice a day or ate empanadas from cafes. Only men I noticed tend to snack in the milongas.  With so much novelty around to experience, with fruit and vegetables so good and freed from the requirement to cook for family, food held little interest.  Between that, walking dozens of blocks (cuadros), daily and dancing I discovered when I got home and my mother greeted me appalled, that I had lost about a stone effortlessly.  I was delighted.

The house was fifteen minutes walk to the milonga venues I seemed to frequent most often: Gricel to the south and west on Tuesdays and Thursdays and Obelisco, south and east on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays and walking distance to all the central milongas and milonga venues: El Beso, Plaza Bohemia, Nuevo Chique, Lo de Celia, Los Consagrados, El Arranque, Confiteria Ideal. Of these latter, I liked Milonga de los Consagrados best, on Saturday afternoon and evening in the airy venue  Centro Region Leonesa. 

The house on Chile was graceful, simply furnished, elegant with the beautiful tiles and the glass and ironwork so characteristic of Buenos Aires.  I saw it used for a few hours as a set by a modelling agency.

Entrance towards conservatory

Conservatory towards kitchen terrace

Kitchen and terrace outside

There were several connected terraces down one side of the house, giving on to the rooms. My room was large and airy and gave on to one of these terraces. I had my own large bathroom, a walk-in closet, an iron and ironing board and a large desk. I was initially interested in another room but took this room on Juan's recommendation and was glad I did.

My room and terrace

Main living area

Towels are not normally provided but being used to them provided in Europe I had brought none and they were given me.  There was no washing machine available at the time I was there but there is a laundry service on the street nearby.  My room had a fan but the house was cool and even in February I used it only occasionally. In the room there was a comprehensive and useful guide, a mix of tourist and practical information that my hosts had made for visitors.  Lucy, trusted by the family for many years came to clean the house once a week.

Juan is an architect and he and Josefina, who teaches English and sounds like a gentle version of one of the calmer Radio 4 presenters, raised their family, now grown up, in the house. These days they live in another part of the city and the house on Chile provides rental income. They were and are keen to have tango dancers to stay.  Juan’s father had danced, elegantly he said. Their children dance. Sometimes he goes to La Glorieta an outdoor milonga to watch. 

It is hard to describe how nice it was to be around Juan and Josefina. Like the house, they are quiet, reserved, unostentatious. They are warm and kind, never overly demonstrative.  It was a great antidote in some ways to how surprising the milongas could be to someone fresh from Europe. The men in the milongas in Buenos Aires can be lovely to dance with but trust some of them or give an inch in any sense that is not actually dancing at your peril.  This includes what you allow to be discussed between dances, per "What does your husband do?" or even keeping hold of your hands between tracks. I was told by someone who knows him that a milonguero viejo had said the only truly correct subject for chat between dances was music.  Sometimes I could see why.

Juan seemed to find particularly distasteful the broader problem of trust generally in Argentinian society and the related issue of corruption in Argentina.  I was always aware how I was treated with genuine courtesy and respect by him and noticed how thoughtful he was of Josefina. It was so unlike the means-to-an-end respect one can sometimes sense in a milonguero. Juan listens attentively, is reflective and considered in his replies.  Josefina is kind, non-judgemental and understanding. There is a sense of calm and of reliability about them. When George Eliot writes about the virtuous characters in her novels one has a sense of what at that time the contemporary examples of politeness, courtesy and kindness were like.  That is how I think of them.

Janis thought I was nuts to be going on anywhere else. Things were ideal.  She was right but the other places were already booked and I did not like to cancel. 

I also visited a couple of pleasant tango houses and heard about dancers, nice or interesting people, people I saw often in the milongas who had flats to rent or who hosted guests. Even so, I cannot recommend enough the house on Chile as a place to stay, so much more than just a place to stay. 

You can contact Juan and Josefina via one of their Airbnb listings (in the name of their son) or by email.

Janis

I probably would not have gone to Buenos Aires if it weren't for Janis of Tango Chamuyo. Two almost missable remarks got me there. How significant the small things can be, even from people we do not know.  The first though was from Chris and happened in chat about music and dance:

F: I do mind them dancing tango to non tango tracks!

C: Well, I never have that problem. Because if I see them dancing non-tango, by definition they are not dancing tango.

F: :) You're such a literal guy. Do you not ever feel you make the world fit your view of it!?

C: Get thee to BA.

F: No way!

C: Fair enough, but then keep in mind that you and I are not viewing the same world.

F: Don't harry me! It would be lonely & scary & very likely demoralising & unsuccessful. I'm not ready. Let's not talk about it.

C: Sorry. I was not really suggesting, more making a point. Because it really is an important one. To people who really dance tango, those people "dancing tango to non-tango" are not dancing tango, even badly. They are dancing non-tango.

That conversation and others related to Buenos Aires dogged me for over a year, though I forgot about the "I was not really suggesting".

The second was something Janis said later in a reply to a comment of mine in her blog. It was something like "When you come and dance with the milongueros in Buenos Aires..." The remark just assumed I really would in a way I had not considered. It was after that that I decided, despite all the misgivings and the obstacles that I should go and soon, while there still were the milongueros Janis wrote about.  Without Janis and her blog I probably would not have gone to Buenos Aires, or at least, not then.

But I did not know Janis except via her blog and I did not want to presume anything by contacting her and asking for advice. I remember that came up later, when I was there about something or other, I forget what:

- But you didn't ask! she said.

- I didn't like to! I said.

- I was expecting you to! she said

She is that ready to help.

This is how I got in touch with her. Once I had virtually decided to go to Buenos Aires Chris was the obvious person to ask for advice:

F: Have you advice about the trip, the stay, anything? 

C: Top priority is security. 

F: From mugging/street attack? 

C: And the rest.

F: Is that common? 

C: Yes, very. 

F: Everywhere? I remember reading that Janis walks about at night. 

C: Second priority is: ask Janis' advice. Esp. on good (inc. safe) accommodation. I would stay with an English speaker who understands [about security].

F: Do you know anyone? 

C: Janis is the one to ask. 

I had confidence in Chris and he, who is careful, had it in Janis. So I did. Still, I did not really expect her to answer a stranger, just as when eighteen months previously I hadn't really expected Chris to reply, when a year after first wondering where to find a copy of a foxtrot some guy had mentioned on the internet I finally contacted him to ask. I could not have been more wrong about either of them..

Janis when I met her was a force of nature. She is tiny, very petite and it was astonishing how much strength of mind, personality and will could fit in such a small frame. She was interested in everything and everyone related to Buenos Aires. She chatted to lots of people on the street, in shops, in the neighbourhood. She talked to babies. But she did not talk much in the milongas.  There, she listened, she watched, she danced. In fact, though she might catch up for a few minutes with a friend here or there, she did not seem to like much chat in the milongas. Sometimes she introduced me to people or made an advisory remark.

Janis's blog is about other people. It celebrates other people. In her apartment she had lovely photos of her parents and I thought she should tell that story. She had an attractive collection of small objects. I think they were stones with words on them which were meaningful to her but I could see they also related to tango and to life and I thought that would make a lovely post. She seemed to see that too but she shied away. I don't really talk about myself in the blog was as much as she would say. And that is true. But there is no false modesty - she appears in photos with her friends, but her posts are about the city, the concerts, events, the milongas and the milongueros.

I cannot begin to say how kind and helpful Janis was. She told me so many useful things before I went to Buenos Aires I could not say them all here. She arranged for me to be picked up at the airport by a well known milonguero and came too.  She showed me around the neighbourhood, lent me cash til I could get some and came with me to get money - luckily, as the place had moved. She went with me to the milongas in my first week, even showed me where the ones she didn't plan on going to were.

I already knew from the blog that she spoke her mind but I think many people admire and respect Janis for telling it straight, for saying what they would not necessarily dare to, for standing up for the manners and mores of the traditional milongas, for alerting foreigners to these and for keeping them up to date with the people and places they love to meet and to visit.  The posts about the changes in the milonga Lo de Celia after the sad death of Celia are a case in point.  It is well known how much Janis loved that milonga. It was the first one she took me to. We went three times in five days. Some of her posts talk about it like home and family but when it changed and became unrecognisable from what it had been, she moved on. She said she adjusted "faster than it took to walk from LdC to Obelisco. I put the past behind me and embraced a new tango home."

When we went out to the milongas, she always looked top dollar and she did it all on a shoestring. 

Janis gave advice, told stories, answered questions and took me on an excellent walking tour incorporating history, tango and architecture. She kind of just said one day that was what we were doing and I am so grateful we did.  She is knowledgeable about many aspects of Buenos Aires as well as about the milongas and the dancers. 

She had thought I would blog every day about the trip but I said probably not, that I liked things to settle though even I did not expect it to take a year. I notice it is a year to the week since I went. She offered as soon as I arrived to arrange for me to dance with a famous milonguero in a private lesson. I did not want to offend her nor foreclose wonderful opportunities but I had to explain that these days tuition in tango was "against my religion".

I dreaded explaining this though I should have realised straight-talking Janis probably respected honesty. I felt if I gave in on that, even with a famous milonguero I would be faking everything I danced with him, withholding myself from the dance and lying about any enthusiasm or interest I showed. I would hate myself for that and it would be disrespectful to him. It had to be a real dance in the milongas or nothing. I didn't say any of that but Janis seemed to understand. She proposed something else with him instead, which was fine with me. She knew on this and other things, like her I had my own way. She just accepted it and let those things be. 

I am not sure now if I would do the same again. Some men teach and make you "think dance" and you don't learn but some men just dance with you and you do learn. There is a big difference. But I still have a problem with paying someone for something that is about feeling between you. If you pay them it is necessarily going to be fake. On the other hand, I felt there is something wrong with a western tourist turning up expecting to learn for free from a milonguero in Buenos Aires. I am not sure I thought things through like like this at the time but I did feel things would get sorted out in the milongas.

Recently I told Janis I was going to write finally about the house I stayed in on Chile.  A friend writing a book about tango was in Buenos Aires and it was bringing it all back. I asked Janis if I could mention her in the blog. She said "By all means, tell people that I live a block away and am available for walking tours, etc. I started a free and open tango class on Thursday from noon to 3:30 for anyone who wants to join me.  I had understood it was a class for women and asked for clarification.  She said, What started out as a women's only class is changing.  We need men who want to learn. One woman asked if a friend can join us, and I said of course.  I'm inviting friends who already dance to give the women practice." 

As it turned out, my first dance in the milongas was with that milonguero but I was by then so keyed up and out of practice it was disastrous in that I felt stiff and embarrassed and in the spotlight.  Though he was most courteous and invited me again later I finished it on the verge of tears at my nerves and inability to dance.  While she might have been surprised that the world did not move for me, I guess Janis was not really surprised, given that I had turned down that opportunity to dance first outside of the milongas, to get used to new things.  She is very clear-sighted.  She didn't make a big deal of it.   I imagine when Janis, talking about her new class says friends she means or includes Argentinians so I think her project sounds interesting.   And I doubt it would be anything like a European class.  Besides, the men dance very differently to a lot of dancing in Europe and if you are anything like I was when you first arrive, especially if you are alone then it might be a good thing to have that experience before going in to the milongas.  Apart from that just meeting Argentinians is a lovely, warm, experience - and I liked too meeting other tourists and expats who come again and again to experience the milongas of Buenos Aires.

Janis is vegetarian. She lives very healthily. She looks amazing. Her indulgence is very dark chocolate, especially organic dark chocolate which is hard to get in Buenos Aires and can't be posted. The best I know of is from The Raw Chocolate Pie Company.

Even on that she thinks about others when she could have just considered herself. She wrote: A friend of a friend arrived a few days ago from the USA and brought along a box of Green & Black's bars which I ordered in August for my local health food shop. The guys were pleased to have 85% chocolate for their customers.

Kinky boots

Recently, my friend was telling me about the roaring fire at the Poema milonga in Liverpool that I have wanted to go to for ages, not least because she goes, Bill goes and I love to dance with him, Pablo DJs and I hear he is good, the venue looks nice and some people say Liverpool is the next big thing for tango in the north.

- Very 'hygge', I said

- Indeed...had to look that up You know how I live in a bubble.

- I don't! You are out there exploring all the time

Ramsbottom itself has history, walks and is a good place for food. When I sent that piece to the same friend who had been to that milonga weekend (review) she said with characteristic frankness and fun:

- You completely failed to mention this place... Do you recall the film "Kinky Boots'? I think it was based on this mill.

- See, what bubble?!

- I'm very clued up on certain aspects of life...

She can make me laugh before midday.

- And there was I thinking ought I to have mentioned Robert Peel.

How they see us

I found this in a family album recently and photographed it to show my son, who can occasionally have the same look when under duress.

Do we know how we look to others? Sometimes you get an inkling but it is different when you hear things directly. 

Maybe, travelling alone, determined, despite unknown floors and unknown dancers, not to return home with an aggravated knee injury I had been defensive and looked it at Tango Train because not two days earlier a man had said something similar to the Resting Bitch Face remark.

Do we in general trust what people of the same sex tell us more than what the opposite sex say? I have been taken aback by Dutch directness several times. When I heard what I did at the TangoTerras milonga at the Muziekgebouw aan 't IJ in Amsterdam I was not sure if the directness of it was just the Dutch way or a soft sort of punishment for not accepting the guy earlier that day or a genuine attempt at being helpful. Probably the latter. Still, that sort of 'feedback' from a stranger, mid-embrace, mid-dance is likely going to foreclose any genuine dance feeling between you or any attempt to get lost in a tango dance embrace. But actually, if you are having to try, clearly it isn’t just happening naturally. Dance communicates feeling and is not usually expressed in words.

The music and conditions of that milonga, especially the floor surface were far from ideal for me so I was particularly cautious. I saw a man with a kind face I recognised from the El Cielo milonga either that afternoon or from other afternoons that week. A short time later we were introduced by a mutual friend. The man seemed open, gentle, polite, attentive, respectful. I liked him. A little after that, he invited me by look. I accepted, a bit hesitantly because, well, do we always know why we accept? Because it was great D'Arienzo just then, because I was curious and precisely because that mutual friend had just introduced us and was still there. I thought I should at least tell him about the knee which has been holding out well - but then I had accepted very few guys that week. If guys don't turn out to be light and gentle dancing then one track can cause the damage.  It is often only then you have an opportunity to explain why you are resisting or avoiding pivots and as a knock on effect, why you are obviously tense. So sometimes I mention I have a knee problem up front.  He was very careful. 

I think he must have already spoken because I almost never initiate any chat during the dance but found myself thinking aloud: It is a shame that we did not dance this afternoon. I meant that the floor - the conditions generally - had been much better earlier and so I might have pivoted with less worry which might then have meant we both relaxed. Oh! he said. But I walked past to see if you were interested yet you gave me such a look as to say very clearly: “Don’t even think about it”. He mimed a mock version of just such a look. I stared, frozen in surprise, probably re-enacting the very same look as that I was charged with. He in turn arranged his features to an expression that was mock-quailing and understandable in anyone on the receiving end of such a fearsome thing as he plausibly had been - or perhaps in someone having second thoughts about raising such a subject on the dance floor.

I hope I looked apologetic. It was true, I had not looked to dance with him. I could remember the guys I had been looking for. It is also true that my for the most part fairly unconscious look can fend off anyone who appears insistent or who looks like they might be. Oh!, I said, aghast, suddenly aware that a look conveys more of my inner state than I realise - or at least, conveys it with more strength. 

And yet I was reminded of a girl friend who had whispered, helpfully after I endured a hellish dance from a handsome, happy guy at the Edinburgh International Tango Festival last year: You need to hide what you feel! 

- I know! I said. It was just…

We were just not compatible is all.  I had felt guilty and embarrassed during that dance and afterwards and, knowing I can be hopeless at dissembling some emotion had thereafter been even more careful about which guys I accepted, which is a good thing. 

In Amsterdam, the Dutchman, seeing my confusion said kindly: I don't mean to cause any bad feeling, It is just...feedback, you know.

In a real dance

In a real dance the life around the edges of the floor goes fuzzy and blurs out. The movement and the music and the partner become somehow, without one even being conscious of when or how, for a few precious, too few minutes, the whole world.  

To be so much the wanted focus of the partner - who may be a stranger - and to give that, is special.  It is an attitude.  It has nothing to do with a technique or a figure.  To trust that way or to be given that trust, to sense what comes of that during the dance...  The whole is a union of compatibilities: of sensing the music, of sensing movement in the other, of bodies compatible in dance and of feeling towards the other.

No wonder we don’t talk about it.  How could we, beyond this?   Perhaps that is what tango music is like, that sense of reaching out for something lost or rare or absent, something we had at one time, but not now.

Yet from the way people often talk about the dance especially in online forums, those sinkholes of idiocy, some never feel this.  Or at least their compatibilities are very different, say to mine.  I meant to warn you not to watch that if you love Laurenz.

It is as though as soon as there is any mention of a feeling people look at you very Britishly, suspiciously and askance at this mention of an inner emotional life, as if you have said a dirty word.
- I don't want a relationship with my dance partners the more forward of them scoff.
- Well, no perhaps not, at least not in that sense but....
- I just want to dance with them!
It is hard to explain and one realises there is no point.

Proponents of the just want to dance with them view are often happy dancing with almost anyone.  Of these, the women object to dancers not swapping partners or people being choosy about partners, or they object to same-sex dancing, especially between men, or inverted role dancing - anything in fact which prevents the possibility of a man dancing with them.

It is difficult in the UK, to find a whole tanda of good classic tracks that permit that kind of special dance. It requires a whole good tanda, a compatible partner, good dancing conditions, which are many, and the mood to dance.  Compatible attitude is the rarest of these things. I mean only an attitude one senses within the dance because often one doesn’t know anything about the partner. In a year, I might find it in a handful of guys - a good year.  It is so rare and almost never present in a British guy.

Perhaps if more people knew what a real dance was like they would not go chasing how to obtain it - and diminishing their chances - by going to dance class. Because what you learn in class does the opposite of equipping you to experience those real dances.

Real dances like these are where the girl at least loses track of time and place and needs to be escorted off the floor as, in those final seconds she comes back to reality feeling, Over so soon?

Tania

I met Tania last year in a shop in Edinburgh where she was doing alterations.  I only met her once or twice. She did great work and I just liked her manner so I was dismayed when she left a short time later.  Luckily, I found her. She continued doing alterations for me and we became friends. 

She and her husband, Enrico, have been to the milongas a few times.

No wonder her work is great - Tania was a fashion designer in Belarus where she reached the top of her profession. Winning a fashion competition after college meant she got to travel round Europe. Years later it was back in Italy that she met her husband.

Just after I got back from the Netherlands after Christmas, I came by their flat with an alteration. Tania gave me a hand-stitched bear, beautifully worked, as a present. She showed me a giraffe she had also made and I bought it on the spot, feeling that affinity and because, when my youngest son says toys have feelings, I understand and I didn’t want bear to be lonely.

Tania also makes dolls which are for sale (see below). Her dolls and animals have something about them that is bittersweet, like tango. The red haired doll is a queen, of course.

You can get in touch with Tania for dressmaking, design, alterations or her dolls via Marinich Dolls or Marinich Fashion Design.

Tatsiana Marynich (MARINICH) is a member of the Belarusian Union of Designers. Her creative development started from taking part in international clothes designer contests. Her work has been presented in shows in Italy, Germany, Sweden, numerous times in Eurasian Fashion Week, Belarus Fashion Week, Mercedes-Benz Fashion Week Russia.

Resting bitch face

Hallion clothing

My friend suggested lunch out.  

The restaurant manager is scary, I could never invite her to dance!  I said. I had just assumed one of the waitresses was the manageress. She was loud, terrifyingly confident, dominating every situation. I tried for a long time to get the bill, turning in my seat. Even while I was looking for eye contact I realised I was actually avoiding it.

You try! I said. She had the bill within two minutes. She looked prettily submissive as she made the request across the room. How do you do that?! I said amazed.   My dad taught me, she said, smiling.

Another friend who dances is feminine, mischievous, outrageous and funny. She has sparkling, wicked eyes and an irreverent laugh. She is very attractive, has the figure of a teenager and looks twenty years younger than she probably is. She can get just about any guy she wants.  It was she who taught me that there is often more to looking than just looking.

We were in a milonga in Arnhem, talking about men.

I've seen that guy at milongas all week I said indicating a tall, well built man. I think I saw him on previous trips too. I liked his dance. It was quiet and his embrace looked gentle, warm and safe. He knew many people and danced a lot. He looks my way, but he doesn’t invite. Quite often his looks are black, or dark anyway. I don’t know what it means. 

She must have got an invitation from him easily because later she passed me in the gangway to the floor as we were going opposite ways. She held on to me for a moment and whispered: He’s going to ask you. 

- Oh! I said, surprised and pleased. But I was in no rush to go looking and figured it would happen at the right time. Later, I caught up with her: So why now, I said and not on previous days? 
- I don't think he knew you wanted to dance with him.
 - He must have known!  He has seen me looking.  
She rolled her eyes. Yes, but did you smile? 

  - No! I said, as though so much must be obvious. 

-   Well then! You probably had on your resting bitch face, she said, laughing. 

Another friend said much later: Don’t you see! You need to smile at them, not kill them off with a murderous glance! 

- It’s a defensive habit! I objected. It’s how you fend off the bad dancers! 

- Maybe, she said.  Then, as though explaining something to a rather slow child who ought to know better:   It's also how you fend them all off!

In the event there wasn’t a right time. I was chatting to a guy who had just invited me to a vals I did not want to dance, being nervous of a dance with much pivoting with guys I don’t know. I had suggested we dance a tango instead so we stayed where we were. Within seconds the tall guy invited from further down the room. Good dancers in the milonga suddenly like buses! No number one wants for ages then suddenly just what one is looking for arrive together.  He looked and smiled, three times.  That focus and his face transformed as though the clouds had parted and sunshine broken through was so unfamiliar that even though I had been alerted, I was still surprised. I must have done a double-take the first time. He held my gaze the second time When, like a beginner I mouthed Me? still surprised, he smiled again and nodded. 

If I were just to turn him down he would not ask again. So I had to go explain I would love to dance, but could not just then. A bit later I passed him as I was leaving the floor. The friend I was leaving with was talking about going shortly so it was now or never. Heart in my mouth at the impropriety, reluctant and not, I asked casually if he still wanted to dance. They do this a lot in the Netherlands I excused myself, hating my dissembling heart.  

- Yes, he said.   The music began. Oh, but it’s a foxtrot! I said, suddenly unwilling under those circumstances. Hearing the music, his face fell, likewise. Another time, I said, leaving, saying to myself, See!  You should have just left it.  Things would have sorted themselves out.  But I had had so little dancing that week.  So little good dancing, which is the same thing, for me.

Later, I told a guy friend about resting bitch face:

Oh yeh, I've seen that… You're famous for it…

I was aghast.  He said he was joking but I knew that even if there was truth there he would not say. Besides, I had recognised truth enough already.