A Tango USP

Am getting slacker and slacker at writing up my bloggywog. Am preoccupied with finding a new home, because sleeping badly on account of sharing my bed, though not with the species of choice. I won’t shock you with the details. Apart from the excellent La Maria Práctica para Mujeres, a most encouraging class with Soledad and a fun night at La Viruta, I have hardly danced at all. If I had flown over here for just the one week, then this week would have been a washout.

I haven’t been to Cochabamba 444 since the last time I was here. I went there last night with Gesa and her visiting sister. The décor has changed slightly in that there are now lots of new paintings up on the cluttered walls, but the fairy lights are still going strong and the ceiling is still heavily populated with early twentieth century fixtures such as cluster lights and fans with lamps on, so the venue hasn’t lost its quaint, tawdry charm.

There was a beginner’s class, which I found quite useful, but the milonga was clearly full of local regulars and we didn’t get a look in. Nor did any of the other foreigners. I think if I were going to live in Buenos Aires, I would consider it worth frequenting the place until I gained acceptance as a bona fide Cochabambina, but I’m not and there are plenty of other delicious milonga options on a Thursday night, so I doubt I’ll bother. I might give their Wednesday a go, sometime, though.

Next Thursday, I might go José Halfón’s practica at Canning. José dances with Virginia Cutillo and was man of the week at the La Maria Práctica, this week. They only ever invite the best. Or I might go to Villa Malcolm and dance again with the creative dancer I met at La Capilla last Sunday evening.

I find that many men have a signature move or two, which they have invented or perfected and for which they have a special affection, but this guy appears to have a never-ending capacity to spawn new ways of lending his limbs to dance. A USP devoutly to be wished. I met another guy at La Viruta, just as I was about to leave on Wednesday night, who coaxed me back onto the dance floor and danced a wild tanda to milonga with no repertoire of tango steps at all – he moved like a dancer, his musicality was spot on and we enjoyed ourselves enormously, but in tango terms, it was gibberish. Even so, I’d still give him another go. After all, what is tango, if not an educated improvisation?

For the present, I would be content as a leader with an adequate repertoire of steps and some fluency. Right now, I know more than I am able to instantly recall and find myself wishing I could write my moves up on the inside of my forearm, like a dodgy comic who can’t remember his routine. As a follower, I have made some progress, but I’ll need to be a whole lot more disciplined if I am to become as strong and supple as I need to be in order to go further.