At Christmas as my enthusiasm for decorations flags, my interest in the milongas and in packing my suitcase rises. This is because after Christmas, in short order, I go away to dance. I have my reasons. The year before last I cycled late at night and in bitter cold between the milongas of the Tango Train experience in Amsterdam.
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| Sol De Invierno |
Last year I plumped, more sensibly, for Andalucia. I spent a couple of days in Málaga exploring that city and trying its local milonga before going on to the Sol de Invierno dance weekend in its gorgeous setting just outside Salobreña on the Costa Tropical. I did some walking tours in Málaga's winter sunshine and in Granada, a few days later, the snow on the Sierra Nevada glistening in the bright blue sky.
In mid-November just past I went to Marbella for the weekend to dance. I walked along its lovely seafront promenade in the sunshine. I had lunch on a friend's balcony facing the sea. It was hard to imagine that a couple of weeks previously we had found ourselves shivering in a Scottish graveyard one evening on a Hallowe'en ghost tour.
This year, just before I was about to book a trip back to Spain I was invited elsewhere so I swapped winter sun for two milongas at a village near Slough a town near Heathrow airport....
(Come friendly bombs and fall on Slough!
It isn't fit for humans now,
There isn't grass to graze a cow.
Swarm over, Death!
- John Betjeman, 1936
According to someone in the engineering department of Stanford university Slough is much improved, since then but I used to live on the edge of it and if that is true god knows what it was like before)
....and a tango marathon in Sheffield, a town famous for steel and cutlery in the former industrial heartland of the cold, dark, north of England.
Friend: Watching The Grinch.......feel a certain camaraderie.......
F: Christmas decorations! You've reminded me! If it was up to me Christmas would be in southern Spain and Christmas dinner would be drinks and tapas on the seafront followed by a walk on the promenade.
Grinch: Sounds idyllic!
F; Back in reality I'm veering between slaving over a hot sewing machine and its manual and trying all manner of strategies to get [son 1] to give his brother back his dressing gown and go to bed.
I asked friend Grinch if he wanted to spend Christmas with our large houseful and two toddlers and was not surprised when he graciously and with dignity declined, saying he preferred peace, perfect peace
F: My phone's auto reply was confused as to whether spending Christmas on your own like that is a good thing or not.
Grinch: The Grinch got the pouty blonde at the end so not all bad.
On Boxing day I hugged my children, knew that I would miss them, told them to call me whenever the liked, prayed against mishap, slammed the boot and drove away from my home. Sheffield is not Andalucia but nonetheless, not long after departure I hoped to feel for a few moments the sheer, bubbling thrill of travel, adventure, expectation and freedom. That feeling is as good as sunshine.
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