Compass

Every night in Buenos Aies I went to a milonga but did not immediately feel at ease there either.  Everything was different from how it was in Europe, but wasn't that why I was here?  In Lo de Celia the previous night, my first milonga in the city, I had not danced. The men were small. Their dress, their manner, their language, were all slightly different than those of Europeans; their gaze more serious and more intent, their eyes seemed darker and deeper. I was not sure about things yet and did not seek invitations.  At the time I had felt merely curious, interested, largely untroubled by not dancing, but as Steinbeck says indeed, how well we practice self-delusion.  Looking back, I was just off the plane and my nerves were strung out.

There was one, taller man in Lo de Celia. Across the floor we had exchanged that mysterious silent crackle of intuitive understanding that tells each that there is dance interest, that an invitation is probably wanted and will likely be accepted. But Janis had said I was not to dance until at least two hours were up - the bare minimum of time necessary for me to accommodate myself to the new environment.  I had initially not planned to dance at all that first night and had felt happy with that - until now. I felt him try to invite across the busy floor but my agreement with Janis meant I could not look.  He approached not our table but the bar - close enough to try again, unmistakeably. Still, I knew long before arriving in the city that Janis was a stickler and besides, she had kindly taken it upon herself to be a kind of companion in these first days. I didn’t want to disappoint her so I didn’t look and he went away, puzzled. I regretted not listening to my instincts.

The pressure to dance grew. The second night we went to club Gricel. This is where I first saw Juan. I knew right away and pointed him out to Janis: That is the guy I want to dance with.  She shrugged, she didn't know him. She wasn't enjoying the milonga.  Women at our table were talking too much and too loudly she said and the music volume was  too loud. I watched. He was tall, at least 1.85 and had white curls, Dutch curls I still call them.  He danced close to his partner, very smoothly, musically and with such a focus on her that he looked as though he was elsewhere than in the room. Roberto, who I met later, had that same focus.

Furiously, helplessly, I tried to resist the sense that I ought to be dancing.  People wouldn't start to think I couldn't or wouldn't dance - would they?  I wouldn't care what anyone judging me thought - would I?  This tumultuous new environment threatened my inner compass but the overriding feeling was that I only wanted to dance at the right time, when I was sure as I could be of my guy.  Embarrassed by their breaking of the codes, I refused men who walked up to the table to invite.  Again I struggled to identify individuals in the packed room.  Tense and stressed, again I did not dance. Even Janis, who is discriminating about partners, was starting to get worried:  "Have you travelled so far only to sit?"  Before my trip she had said: I will point out the better dancers to you in Lo de Celia, but I will not ask any man for favors. You have to jump right into making eye contact and surrendering yourself to the dance. I had been silently horrified that she might think I expected her to set up dances for me.  Still, by the third evening, I began to have a sense that she might have done just that.  At least, she dropped hints that a milonguero friend wanted to dance with me.