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Main evening venue - Friday and Saturday nights, the station bar of the Estación de Francia |
This was the first time this event has been held.
I went in part because I had had such a lovely evening with the Paris queer tango dancers beside the Seine in July. I wanted more of that kind of dancing. A friend who didn't go to Barcelona said he expected a lot of people would go because, while untested, as a new event, "It's Barcelona, in November". And it was like that. Sunny, 20+ degrees, not that I was out in it much. I had been to Barcelona in 2017 for a long weekend and wanted to do more sightseeing. In the event, I checked out the afternoon milongas as well so saw less of the sun and the sights than I would have liked.
The other reason I went was to see some friends who live near there. We danced, we chatted, although there was less of both of these than, if I had had much in the way of expectations, I might have expected.
We didn't dance as much as we did at the Etonathon (Thames Valley tango events near London), after Christmas.
Why didn't we dance as much?
1. I didn't like a lot of the music. It was alternative, it was cover bands, it was modern, it was more often that not very dramatic. Several of the organisers were young, very funky, very alternative and I guess they like that style of music. Or maybe that scene likes that music. Most people will dance to anything - and they did.
If I heard a traditional tanda I would rush into the room to try and find someone to dance it with, often not managing because that isn't really the way it all works. I danced a lot on the Saturday afternoon milonga - nine tandas.
2. Nearly all the floors were marble - very hard, not slippy, drenched in talc which didn't go well with the alternative measure I had taken to make my shoes slide.
3. The floorcraft was horrendous. I was mostly in the guiding role and despite ten years experience in that role, protecting the partner, we were constantly knocked, barged into, cut up. It was probably the least relaxing event I can remember going to. Some way through I realised, belatedly that this wasn't, of course, a queer event like the one in Sheffield (2018/19), which had had about 80 people. There had been communal food every day so you could get to know people. In memory, people took considerably more care of one another. Barcelona, was a festival and these are notoriously bad for floorcraft. The last festival proper I can remember going to was the now defunct Tangomagia in Amsterdam in about 2013, on I think its last iteration. Oh, and Edinburgh.
200+ strangers who don't know each other or don't dance often with each other, who have different styles and abilities - that was the case in Barcelona. Young people who maybe don't mind being bashed perhaps take it as part of the event. But there were older guys doing it too. A commiserating Frenchman made the point: "Well, it's Barcelona, the south, the Mediterranean, what do you expect?"
I close my eyes when I am being guided. If I am lucky, I enter "the zone" where you connect, are totally in the moment, where you travel so far from the daily plane that you don't know quite where you are in when you open your eyes. Being bashed in that state is not just jarring, it's a shock that makes you gasp. Most people did not seem to be seeking that state. But then, given the music, the environment, I don't remember getting to it much.
Still, all of my dances were at least good. One or two were great. With most people dancing most roles, it's almost a given. I danced mostly with women plus a few men. A lot of the dancing was also quite athletic, which added to the risk of being crashed into. It was from the men that I was most cut up and crashed into, almost never with apologies. Two men dancing together can just take up considerably more floor than two women, not an issue in itself, but more care is needed and it does become an issue when it is then athletic and dangerous. It was not a problem I noticed with the Paris queer tango dancers.
There was I felt a "look at me" vibe. The upside of his was the great outfits and the glamour, and the way-out shows. One of my friends didn't like all the shows - because there were many and they were long. "Too much bureaucracy" she tossed, over her shoulder as she walked off but I had never seen queer tango shows and was entranced at just how refreshingly different they were.
I did wonder if this vibe of glamour and image was part of the queer tango scene and if that fed into the egotistical dancing. Others didn't think so, necessarily - young people, festivals, Spain, they suggested. The "why" of it was hard to tell.
4. The afternoon venues were dark. It was hard to see people because of lighting and seating arrangements and therefore hard to invite, especially unknown people in those conditions. There weren't enough tables for drinks in the asado milonga venue. It was chaos trying to find your stuff.
5. I felt as though more than half the attendees were "out of bounds". This point is worth making. I went to the Sheffield event expecting to dance with both genders and was utterly floored when this wasn't the case. At the queer events, and I'm told this is normal, guys mostly dance with guys and women with women. I understood when it was explained to me: We don't get a chance to dance together often nor in the way that we like. It strikes me as a pretty odd arrangement. Why not, then, just have events for guys and events for gals? I suppose it makes for more "community" and if you only want to dance with one gender but the other is in your socio-political "family" then sharing an event doesn't matter and may make more economic sense. At the festival, there seemed to be rather more mixing of genders than I remember in Sheffield.
The same person explained that at "straight" milongas they felt like half the attendees were out of bounds just because he couldn't invite men or they wouldn't dance with him. In "straight" milongas I don't feel that - I feel like I can dance with men and women. But at queer events, I do feel like half the people are mostly unavailable. It was a good exercise in empathy. On balance, it worked out in Sheffield because all the dancing was very good and partly because in the end, some of the guys, as well as the women, seemed to want me to guide them.
6. I only knew a few people, three who either lived or had lived in Edinburgh, my two local friends and a few from France. Curiously, nearly all the women I didn't know but ended up dancing with I had first chatted to during tandas I didn't want to dance, whereupon the music later changed. In all but one case with the unknowns, I made the first overture. Many of them were scared: they were new, they hadn't danced for ages. It was eye-opening to realise how much insecurity there is on the sidelines.
In a couple of cases the people I spoke to confessed to feeling awkward, uncomfortable. Oh, really? They were heterosexual they confessed and felt self-conscious as though people could tell and this was some kind of sin. Well if you're attending a queer event, I think you qualify, I said. There is no question about it, queerness is a scale and at that event there were straight people, bi people queer people. This fact and that no-one spoke of it seemed to be something of an elephant in the room, but then I missed the talk/conversation on the first day. It was odd, this undercurrent of "Am I legit?" from some quarters. How would they know? pointed out a friend. Take your blood and test it on entry?
I was hugely relieved when, on the first afternoon I met someone I knew, a guy and great dancer who felt the same - that gender didn't matter to him either. Both of us seem to dance for the dance, for the people, not to connect with someone you are attracted to. But for most people, queer or straight, gender does matter and you can't argue with taste and preference.
Ironically, one of the French guys I knew who had invited me in Sheffield, now blanked me and one of the women I had hoped to dance with I almost never saw. There's a lesson there about going to events "on the offchance" of catching up with people and I'm glad that hadn't been my only reason.
On my last day, I met a woman, older than me, for lunch on a square in Gràcia that had a good empanadería on a corner. Oh yes, my tango experiences have led me into interesting stories that aren't to do with tango, she said, mysteriously.
Really? No, I would find it hard to look at someone I found attractive.
She said nothing, looked at me opaquely through her bold glasses and fringe of hair.
It's rejection, I stumbled on, feeling, absurdly obliged to explain myself. I have terrible pride in the milongas. I wouldn't want that rejection so I generally play it safe.
The faintest hint of a smile played on her face. Still she said nothing.
7. There seemed to be more men (who wanted to dance with each other).
8. There was a strong young contingent who understandably wanted to dance with each other.
I didn't have as many of the chats either with my friends as we might have because people kept coming and going into our conversations; one of us was often prowling about the huge evening room looking for dance and the vibe wasn't too conducive for chat. It wasn't a "sit in your seat" to invite kind of place.
The last venue on Sunday was great for that though. The floor was fine, invitation eventually ended up happening in a partnerbörse that reminded me of Stuttgart. At the end of a tanda everyone washed on to one end of the floor and stood in a great crowd picking up a partner as the tanda started again. I infinitely prefer the traditional Argentinian way: invitation from your seat - but there need to be enough tables and chairs for that. Outside that room were clusters of sofas and we relaxed and chatted on these while the music was in drama mode.
On the Saturday night a friend said that she refused to "sacrificarme" which is to say, if someone didn't invite her by look, from a distance, she wasn't going to move. I understand her but it wasn't going to work in that environment and she was resigned to that. Her options were further limited by not guiding as far as I could see (though she could) and by not knowing a lot of people either. While attractive, well groomed, well dressed and fit, she was also in the older minority. On one evening we ended up sitting in a corner with lots of men. I said she wasn't going to dance unless we all moved to another spot but she said she would move about. I think she did and danced a bit more.
Between the music, floorcraft and the need to rove for dances I danced only three times on Saturday night, choosing to chat for the rest. On the last evening, a few of us grazed, in conversation over running an event for people more of our age bracket, with more careful dancing. She's an idealist, said one friend. I look to the money. He's right. You need to cover the costs. I guess that's another reason they need you to sign up to many events in advance.
On the plus side:
1. The organisers were Argentinian and very welcoming. I didn't get much chance to talk to Mariano, but if he was the guy running the bar in the Friday / Saturday afternoon milongas he seemed lovely, as was Marcela who I did chat with briefly about Argentinian politics. The young women were fun and friendly too. These were the organisers I met. My friends introduced me to others on the team. In that lovely Spanish way, they say hello, kiss you, include you. It never happens that people say hello to the friends they know while ignoring you, as can happen in Britain.
2. There was a great vibe of colour and glamour (which were the Friday and Saturday night themes). There were wonderful outfits, make up, glitter, sequins, punk looks, sparkling capes. Men wore makeup, dresses, heels and looked amazing. It was very free, it was fun and it seemed normal. I lament and not for the first time that this community does not or cannot express themselves in "straight / regular" milongas. Everyone would benefit. The evening venue on the first two nights was similarly glamorous,
3. The Sunday asado was a welcome chance to chat and meet people, albeit it was on the last day
4. The dancing was pretty good.
5. I saw my friends and I had some great chats with a handful of people I met, including Argentinians, which was a great opportunity.
Would I go back to this queer festival, or any? Maybe, but probably not. It was fun but it's not really my thing. I likely would go back to Barcelona to sightsee and see how the regular milongas have changed.
I went to the Casa Valencia milonga (hard floor) on Thursday but we arrived late, sat in a corner where invitation was difficult and I only danced with my friends.
There is also a festival in Barcelona after Christmas. My heart sinks at the thought of another festival but, here we go again - it is Spain in December. I like Spain, I like the opportunity to speak Spanish, to hear Catalan, to see my friends, to hear perspectives about Spanish or Argentinian history, politics or culture from people, directly. I might get the chance I didn't this time, to try restaurants from countries in the Americas, which are hard to find at home, but two-a-penny in Spain.
I am looking for more classic music, wooden floors, better seating / lighting conditions for invitation by look, a table where I can keep my drink / stuff, an atmosphere where I can get into the zone, not be bashed and maybe to socialise over food and / or drinks. So that's probably more an encuentro style event than a queer festival. Encuentros, that old thorn again. "Apply and submit to being selected or rejected". I struggle to think of any Argentine who would go along with that. But in Europe it seems to be the price to pay for the kind of thing I look for.
Perhaps the reason that most puts me off a weekend queer event again is to do with courtesy. This thing about the genders mostly dancing within a gender seemed to lead to a regular blanking of the opposite sex, a failure, upon arrival or departure, to acknowledge their existence or when moving past. In what other context of life is this OK? I understand people may want to avoid committing to a dance and I myself avoided looking at people I didn't want to dance with. But when you're just moving past or are in coats or outdoor shoes, or having a meal, there isn't that risk. I don't want to be in an environment where people simply fail to acknowledge one another. I found it disturbing and it isn't something I want to repeat. It happens in regular milongas too but it happened more in Barcelona.
This doesn't happen in all queer tango environments, so it's lucky this wasn't my first experience. I can't say how beautifully polite the French were in July. I was introduced to people, we chatted, we danced. But then the French, like the Spanish actually, are very good with formalities, with acknowledging people, with hellos and goodbyes and how-do-you dos - the basic building blocks of civility. And besides, the friend who instigated that in Paris and did introduce me on that evening, has particularly lovely manners.
I hear there is a gender neutral event, Tango in Hell, in Trondheim, a stone's throw from the Arctic circle in March. Norway's expensive, said a friend. We all agreed, though I doubt any of us had been. The alcohol is prohibitively dear he said, dismissing it on those grounds, if nothing else. Then, Who on earth goes to Norway - in March? I haven't looked into it properly and am not sure quite what the format is but another friend wants to go and the concept is intriguing.
