Tyro advice

Salt windmill between Trapani and Marsala

Before booking the dance holiday to Sicily, I asked its Italian organiser whether there would be an equal number of men and women attending. The reply was evasive. The sense was that the genders were supposed be balanced, yet were not, but would be, for sure...  He would get, he said some extra local guys along if need be, to make up any imbalance and besides, we would go out to local milongas. He ticked all the boxes for Italian improvisation and their version of chamuyo, but I was already wise to Italians, if not perhaps wise enough. 

But in 2012 my children were three and five.  My husband had been in Egypt for six months, I had received divorce papers and there had been another outbreak of dry rot.  There was a helpxer staying who didn't help much and left my tools out in the rain.  It was like having a third child.  I needed a break.  The fact that I could go was sufficient to make the booking.  That it was to Italy and tango was mentioned were just the hooks on to which to hang this getaway.

In the event there were significantly more women. But it was a group which gelled. My memories are happy: of sun, sea and Sicilian food; of sitting laughing and chatting on the beach together, of conviviality, communal meals and languid, atmospheric excursions.  We did dance, of course, every day, but my memories are less of that. 

Three local guys turned up, variously, to the evening dances - all courteous, agreeable, even friendly. Being so new, everything pleased me. One of these men was good-looking, charming, experienced. He wore a white shirt, had floppy dark hair, a moustache and he danced with me.  We move on in dance and the dancers I idolised in my first few months no longer have that golden glow today. I never saw this man again and my memory of him remains untarnished.  He was fun, gentle, kind and focused on his partner. In those early months, I had already been to classes and workshops, had even had a few minutes of private tuition with the dance teacher on this holiday. But I realise now that the first piece of advice related to dancing tango that I remember, that stuck, came not from any self-styled teacher but from this good, experienced dancer whose name I don't even recall: listen to a lot of tango music.