How Tango Found Me

I don’t think I’ve ever told the story of how I got myself into this world of Tango.

It was seven years ago. I had never really seen any Argentine Tango or given it much thought. I had gone to see the Carlos Saura film, and while it gave me goosebumps, it wasn’t what “got” me.

It was the summer of 2000. I was with some friends at a funky cafe/home decor shop in Seattle, for some summer cocktails in the courtyard, under the sun. To get to the cafe section of this establishment, one had to walk through the home decor shop, and so I did - noticing that the floor had been cleared and there was a woman and several couples. It looked like she was instructing them in something, though we passed through the shop so quickly that I didn’t get a chance to focus.

My friends and I were laughing and catching up in the summer sun, when something caught my attention. An eery sound that cried love, history, pain, excitement, sensuality - so many things in one note. It was the sound of a bandoneon. I had never really focused on that instrument before but this day, it got my attention. It had something to say.  I wanted to know what was going on and I wanted to hear the music more clearly. I excused myself from the table and went into the store to take a look. What I saw touched me.

The couples I had seen earlier were there…embracing, walking in a circle. The embrace was tender, close. Some of the women had their eyes closed. The woman was just outside the circle, talking to someone and watching the dancers with a nurturing air. I could hear the music now - to this day I can’t remember what it was - and that spooky, story-telling bandoneon was ever present - as were many other instruments…this was a whole orchestra coming out of the stereo speakers. I was amazed.

I could not tear my eyes away from the dancing couples. I was in awe at how they seemed so in tune with the music, and with each other. The way their feet seemed to step at the same time, the way their embrace would never break. I had never seen such a thing in person before.  I remember thinking, “Hmmm… I think this must be Tango.”

I smiled, and returned to my friends, sitting down with a sigh. “Did you see that?” I asked them. “Isn’t it so sensual? So passionate?” One of them responded that yes it was indeed. The rest of them got up and went down to the shop to see what I was talking about. They came back to me with funny looks on their faces, and one of them said, “You think that is sensual and passionate? It’s boring! Lambada, now there is something passionate!” (I’m not lying. They really said that. Fools.)

I shook my head and thought to myself, “They don’t get it.” Over the course of the evening the music would seep through the door and tap me on the shoulder, to make sure I didn’t forget it. I didn’t.

For the next year and a half, life went on. I moved to Switzerland for almost a year, traveled a bit, came back, spent time trying to figure things out for myself. I didn’t dance Tango yet, but that music never left my memory. Anytime I found myself in a situation where I could listen to Tango, I would. A friend had a few CDs in his collection, and I would sit and listen to them with my eyes closed, wanting to weep and smile at the same time. There was something about that rythm that just got me. It beat in time with my heart (or maybe my heart beat in time with it). But I never gave thought to taking lessons. It never occurred to me that it was possible.

In February of 2003, I was at work, and the new loan officer came and sat with me to eat lunch. His name was Gregory. We chatted for a while, and he mentioned dancing. “What kind of dancing do you do?” I asked casually. “Tango” was his response. I think I gasped and then sighed and said something like “Ooooooooooh I LOVE Tango! I have always wanted to learn!” And I had found my connection to the world of Tango.

He had a party soon after that, and I went. Of course there was Tango. I was enthralled and intimidated. A nice guy named Christopher was very sweet to dance with me. I can’t remember if he invited me or if his date had asked him to dance with me. Either way, it was a great experience. I didn’t know what to do, but it was rather nice being in a guys arms and not really having to worry about that. I learned that it was painless.

The real learning of Tango started with a lesson of sorts in Gregory’s house before going to a milonga. I learned about connection, walking - well, okay I’ll be honest. He tried to teach me about connection and walking and I tried to learn but spent a lot of the time thinking, ‘Huh?’ I knew what he was talking about but was too nervous to take it in.

Off to my first milonga - the no longer existent restaurant, Fernando’s Hideaway. I did not know how to react to all of this. There were many people. Dancing. Really nicely. What the hell was I doing here.

It took half a bottle of wine (Guelbenzu Azul if I remember correctly) before I would get up and dance. And you know? I was nervous but we danced a few times and really, in the end it was fine. (It was Gregory. Of course it was fine.) My leader took care of me and the music took care of me. There was nothing to worry about. Except stepping on his foot. But I more or less got the walking part. This was awesome. I was dancing to that music!! 

That night he introduced me to a lovely Argentine couple, Eva and Patricio, who would be my teachers for the next few years. They took me under their wing. A friendship was formed. History was made (well, in my life anyway).

Looking back, I’m glad I plunged myself headfirst into dancing at milongas.  I think it did a lot for my perception of Tango.  I am also thankful that I started when I did, as it meant that I was fortunate enough to have Eva and Patricio in my life.  They are one of the most amazing couples - on and off the dance floor - that I have ever met.  Seattle had it really good when they were here.  I think we all miss them.

This coming February will be my 5th tango anniversary. And I will be in Buenos Aires for the second time. I’m tickled pink.