The Project

Try telling people you dance tango, and prepare for the onslaught of jokes about fizzy drinks. Be ready, too, for their image of you to change – you admit to dancing tango and you automatically become one half of a slick-haired couple, parading through the mind of the uninitiated, moving cheek-to-cheek, arms outstretched before you, a rose clenched outlandishly between your teeth.

The reality, I’m relieved to say, is very different. Clichés aside, Argentine tango is a dream, a Narnia without the wardrobe. You need only step onto the floor.

It is danced in couples, one leading, one following. Past the basic steps, there are no sequences to learn. It is one hundred per cent improvised, different every time you dance: therein lies the magic.

Tango is about communication. You listen to what your partner is ‘saying’ and respond with an appropriate movement. The dance is an unplanned conversation, a dialogue held within an embrace.

I have been dancing tango for the past two and a half years, the last couple of them in Norwich. Oh, yes, I surprise you? People dance tango in Norwich? I hear you cry. The local scene is very much alive, boasting four regular venues to dance each a month. And in Cambridge, just an hour away, the enthusiast can dance four or five nights a week.

Once hooked, it’s hard to get away. Outsiders don’t understand. I have learnt better now than to attempt to define its appeal. If anyone makes the mistake of asking, I just shake my head, No, it’s nothing like ‘Strictly…’

The truth is, Argentine tango is darker than that. More than a performance, it’s about a feeling that comes from within the embrace.Sure, there are flourishes, there are show dancers who go on stage across the world, but the germ, the essence, continues to be the kindling of a spark between two dancers’ souls.

Today, tango has spread from Argentina and is danced across the world. Difficult to master, it has been hugely intellectualised by dancers desperate to define its nature. Tango attracts many professionals and people from varied cultural backgrounds.

Ironically, the dance’s origins are a world apart from what it has become. Far from respectable, it began in the brothels of Buenos Aires around the 1890’s, largely influenced by the ceremonial music of former African slaves. Like today’s tango, the dance involved both showmanship and secrets. It served to arouse custom (and customers!), just as tropical birds show off their feathers to attract a mate, so men would dance to attract a companion for the night - whosoever was most adept got the girl.

Despite its intimacy, and reputation, tango need not be sexual. There are many reasons why people dance today: tradition, companionship, to learn a new skill, for entertainment, for exercise, to broaden the mind.

I dance because I love the movement. The music inspires me, and I find the steps a perfect way to express the feelings I receive from it. A large part of the addiction, as I find it is for many, is the pursuit of a ‘perfect tango’. Every once in a while you will find a dance partner with whom you will connect completely with in that particular moment. The music and the energy are just, ‘right’. You will become caught up in the dance, completely focused, able to execute steps and movements you have never done so well with anyone else. The timing will be perfect, and you will fit the rhythm at every turn. Your heart will rush and leap, and you will feel suspended above time and place and reality. Moments like this are rare, unfortunately, but they are worth striving for.

And they are worth travelling for. Being less popular than salsa or ceroc, boasting a smaller dance community, it is not unusual that dedicated tangueros travel impressive distances to get their kicks.

Since learning, I have visited more venues throughout the country than I can count on my fingers, and have flown to both Germany and Denmark, attracted by the possibility of a ‘perfect tango’.

It was in Berlin, Europe’s tango capital, that I realised tango had taught me a second language. I was asked to dance by strangers with just a look. The music started and we both knew the rules of the dance. My partner would turn me in one direction, or lead me in circles, and I would respond. I may have never uttered a word more than ‘danke’, yet I was communicating fully with another person. The sensation is utterly compulsive.

FUCHSIA WILKINS
WRITER