Ok, so, I went to the milonga, in spite of ankle and everything. I didn’t mean to; I take very seriously the advice I got from fellow bloggers and tangueros, don’t get me wrong. The thing is, I went for a drink with a friend, who also dances tango. He had arranged to meet up later that evening with some other people from his class on my favourite milonga, and we agreed to have a drink together before that. I wore fairly non-tango clothes and sneakers (very clever of me, eh? but I had danced in sneakers before and it’s not so bad... but anyway, just to point out I did take preventive measures). We had a very pleasant chat and when we got up, he said ‘You coming then?’ And of course I did. And frankly, it did me an awful amount of good.
For one thing, this is a milonga where I feel at home; I simply enjoy being there and seeing the familiar faces, kissing people to say hello on the way to the dancefloor... Also, much as I like to dance, it was fun being there not to dance, for once. We chose a strategic position on the sofa, watched others dance, had some wine – which was nice, because I normally never drink alcohol when I dance; I find it’s not good for one’s balance and I don’t very much like dancing with people who do, unless their balance is so impeccable that they can afford it, which is rare anyway. So we were sitting there, sipping the wine and having a good time, when the others arrived. They were two guys from a lower-level class, one of them with his partner who also brought a non-tango girlfriend.
Now, these two are not very experienced dancers and they hardly ever go to milongas. When they do, they bring their partners and dance with them. I guess it’s understandable, they just don’t feel up to navigating on a crowded floor and coping with an unknown partner, all at once; they think they still don’t know enough and are afraid to bore the woman or step on her feet, or both. But then, how will they ever learn like this?
However, I noticed a strange thing. They danced with their partner, the girl who came with them. But they also danced, and several times, too, with her friend, who had never danced tango in her life and had only come there to watch. They literally spent the evening dancing – either on the dancefloor or in an empty corner, teaching the steps – with someone who had nothing to do with tango! Because, apparently, with her they didn’t feel any pressure or fear of messing up; on the contrary, it must have made them feel, you know, experienced dancers. I was flabbergasted. And, looking at the floor, I saw this guy who never misses a milonga; he is a fairly advanced leader who makes up for his missing talent with diligence and, to be fair, the stuff he knows to do he does well. He is also a flagrant example of a dancer who uses his partners to boost his (apparently shaky) self-confidence. He always dances with total beginners and keeps on correcting them, to the point of being really obnoxious. I pointed him out to my friend and said ‘But what kick does he get out of that? I mean, wouldn’t he rather dance, for once, and have a good time with another advanced dancer?’ Don’t get me wrong, it is good to dance with beginners from time to time, even if you’re advanced yourself. They will learn, and you will have more good dancers to dance with in the future. Every decent advanced dancer ought to know that. But it is not what it’s all about, unless you intend to make your living that way, and, frankly, there are better ways to make a living.
Anyhow, my friend looked pensive. ‘Don’t get me wrong’ he said, ‘but it is actually nice to dance with beginners, there is much less pressure, and you don’t feel bad about botched moves. You know she can’t really judge you.’
‘Sure’ said I, remembering my beginner days, ‘and if it doesn’t work out, she’ll always think it’s her fault. Whereas, like I found out later, if it doesn’t work out, in about 80% of the cases it is the leader’s fault.’
My friend grinned.
