Haha…I am still learning. There are so many things to learn. It is fun to learn new things, to understand myself a bit more… And there are too many responsibilities that come with teaching.

“So you just want to enjoy it.” he then said. “Oh yeah!” I smiled.

It’s happened to me quite a few times lately: people, often strangers, ask me either if I am a teacher or when I start teaching…TANGO!

At Berlin tango festival, a couple of women asked if I was a teacher at the afternoon practica, where I danced with them in my flipflops.

A fellow tanguero friend said to me a few weeks ago: You should dj more often and teach. The music you play and the way you dance shows a lot of sensibilities. People should learn about this side of tango…

A mother, after watching me dancing with her beautiful daughter who was taking her first tango steps at an outdoor milonga, said: ” Are you a teacher?… You have very good technique, I can tell.”

…

About a year ago, the thought actually crossed my mind. At the time, despite uncertain of other aspects of the dance, I was pretty sure that I was ready to show others what a good embrace and posture were. I consulted a wise friend of mine. She encouraged the idea, but advised me to gain some more credentials and experience first.

You should spend a few months in BsAs. Learn everything that you could from your master. Ask them if you could be a teaching assistant. You should be an apprentice before a maestro… but I have no doubt you would be very good at it(teaching).

After that conversation, I reexamined my motive. Do I really want to teach tango?

Most of my intention at the time I was thinking of teaching tango was to build a name for myself. Though a part of it was that I wanted to share what I had learned with others.

Realized that, I put the thought away and started to dance around the world and continued my studying with Javi and Andrea.

One night a few weeks back, after dancing with my first teacher in the milonga, I asked her when we were walking out of the venue: ” I am dancing pretty well now, no?”

You are great. It is in you now.

“What do you mean?” I was bit puzzled.

The dance is in your body. It is no longer in your head. You don’t think about how to dance any more.

A friend of mine, who has been touring and teaching around the world, danced a tanda with me at the afternoon practilonga at a festival. At some point when I had a long pause in the music, she stopped the dance, looked at and said:” Wow, you are super zen.”

There are some other comments from different tangueras and professional dancers that compliment my dance.

The interesting thing is: all these happen after I stopped trying.

Tanguera: I remember the first time I danced with you. I thought you were one of the nuevo guys. It was a milonga tanda, right? I didn’t think you were so traditional.

Me: Oh…I am 100% traditional. But why did you think that I dance nuevo?

Tanguera: Well, most of the people here dance nuevo.

Me: Yeah, very few dance traditional tango… and that makes me rare. I AM SPECIAL!

Tanguera: You ARE special! Now every time I see you I will ask you for a dance.

Me: My pleasure.

” Dancing with women like them is something different. It is not because they weigh 80 Kilos. They don’t weigh 80 Kilos… they ARE 80 kilos… of tango.”— from this documentary.

The first time I danced with a woman who had been dancing for over ten years, I freaked out. She was so different from the other women with whom I had been used to dance. Those women were light on their feet; they were effortless to dance with and they followed me well. But her, despite her average size body, she felt like a giant statue. I didn’t know how to move her, let alone dancing with her. I couldn’t say that I had enjoyed our dance.

Throughout the years, I had danced with many women who have been dancing for over ten to twenty years. They all have a common character: solidly heavy. I couldn’t figure out how, sometimes a petite woman, who weighs less than 100lbs and whom I could pick up with one arm, feel so heavy. After all, I was a three year blackbelt who could flip a guy who was about 50lbs heavier than me and mount him on the his back for two minutes. I felt weak, lack of strength, and therefore nervous, when I embraced them.

A man is like a column…

Andrea told me when I had my first private classes with them. For a few years, when I danced with these experienced women, I still felt wobbly and not grounded.

It was not until recently, when I started to focus dancing with my dantian and moved with my axis, that I realized the reason these experienced woman were felt heavy before was because they danced with their whole body and they were grounded. Less experienced women who haven’t found their own axises are dancing only with part of their body. The movement of a limp feels light, the movement of a body feels heavy.

When I first watched the video on youtube, I didn’t understand what Javier meant: how could a little old lady have 80kilos of tango in her? I guess I understand it now.

I was never interested in being a good dancer, who could execute perfect sacada and lead beautiful beleos, or dance fluidly and brilliantly. I was never interested in the physical aspect of the dance.  I have been practicing and studying martial arts for many years. Complex movement and sequences don’t interest me. Forms is just means to a more profound finding: the internal chi and harmony…  That’s why all these moves: Colgada, volcada, whatever they are, generally it took me less than half an hour to be able to learn to execute it nicely. What interests me, at this point, is to discover the connection and find that magical moment between the two.

Well, I digress (maybe not). This amazing dancer taught me something at that class : you need to dance one step ahead, you need to always know where to put the woman next… an advice I had heard it before. He was right. It was a man’s responsibility.

Back to present time, at festivals and the milongas in Buenos Aires, I sit and watch: so many dancers, majority of them are trying to dance the next step, create the next movement, so busy, so impatient. I feel tired just watching them. And bored. Even with the few who could dance beautifully to the music. Something is missing from the dance.

I met a young German girl from another town at Berlin festival. I spot her dancing on the floor the first night out. The milonga was held at the Berlin City Hall: Rotes Rathause. A grand venue for milonga. A dream place to dance in. Apparently over six hundred dancer thought the same… the place was packed with frenzied dancers. She stood out, so unusually calm for a young dancer. So collected. I tried to cabeceo her the whole night. Three hours later we danced. Then every night after we looked for each other for a tanda. The third night, her last night, after we danced a tanda of D’Arienzo con Maure in a jam packed room, one of the famous performers and teachers at the festival stopped her and asked for her name. Later he asked her for a tanda. I took a look and turned away. Not interesting… disappointed actually.

The after hour milonga continued after 4:30am, I was so tired and  almost skipped it. I went out and  came back. There was a woman I would  love to have a tanda  with. I put on my shoes, then disappointingly saw her taking  off hers. Oh well, the music was good. I sat and  watched others dance.

They caught me eyes: this same young girl and a young guy. They stood out from the rest of the crowd. Smooth, flowing on the floor. Not rushed, not hurried. One body, four  feet, painting the floor. My eyes had been following them, for four tandas (one Biagi, one D’agostino con Vargas, one OTV and one Canaro milonga). I was jealous. She had  not danced with anyone more than one tanda. At the same time, I was happy watching them. It was such a rare joy to watch the music coming from the bodies, the feet.  ( Have I mentioned that I rarely watch and even avoid watching live performances at the milongas? ) Never a moment during that four tandas I felt disinterested.

They were dancing in the moment, every moment, for each other, without the sign of wanting to go to the next step. They just moved when they were both ready. The in between steps were filled with music, energy…

A wise and dear friend of mine, a successful writer, once told me: silence in tango is very pleasant. It is like sitting here with someone you know very well, your spouse, your very good friend, without feeling the need to entertain each other, to make an effort to talk to each other. Just sitting here comfortably, enjoy the presence of each other. Enjoy the moment…

A while ago, a friend asked me in a practica: So what are you working now?

Try not to dance. I answered.

Lately, I’ve been enjoying more and more just embracing my partner, listening to the music and not worrying about what to dance next. Just being in the moment and dance in the moment.

It is such a joy!

But I’d had a very good time, dancing with the few who knew  how to embrace. The highlight of my trip: Watching my favorite, a young German girl, dancing with a young guy, four tandas in a row (tango, milonga, vals, and tango) at 6am in the morning. Not a single sacada, beleo or gancho, not a moment of breaking the embrace.

They were just one body, four feet, drawing music on the floor…

Beautiful!!!

PS. Bravo to the grandpas, who had no physical ability and former dance training, who could barely walk straight without wobbling, to have the courage to attempt difficult sequences that professionals wouldn’t dare to practice, on a crowded floor packed with three four hundred dancers. They truly had the spirit of twenty year old, and the brain of six.