When I wrote that festivals are my future, I’d contrasted those with London tango; but this time I was combining the two. Make a cup of tea before reading: this is a long one.

To be honest, I had very low expectations. Not of this specific event, but of any London tango festival. As it turned out, only one of my expectations was met (you can guess which one, can’t you?) …

Ronda, Ronda, wherefore art thou Ronda?

Yes, I know it means ‘why’ rather than ‘where,’ but grant a chap a little poetic license, will you? Besides, ‘why’ is also an excellent question.

My expectation was that the floorcraft was going to be a car-crash, and boy was that the case! More of a motorway pile-up, really.

The room was more than large enough for an inner and outer ronda, still leaving plenty of space in the middle. Indeed, in BsAs you could have had four concentric rings.

What we had instead was a rather occasional outer ronda, and the rest was – as one of my followers so aptly put it – Brownian motion.

Lest you think I’m exaggerating, join me in a game of Spot The Ronda – cash prizes await:

Leader cabeceo was also almost entirely absent, just people barging onto the floor.

And that’s an uncrowded time. Things were even more chaotic when the floor was busy. I can’t remember who said it, but: You can’t claim to be able to dance anything until you can dance it within the couple’s own space. If that’s physically impossible, it’s stage tango, so save it for the stage.

But, like I say, I expected arrestable floorcraft, even if the extent of it was more … erm … extensive than I’d predicted.

On the subject of less-than-ideal things, for reasons entirely unrelated to tango, I had a very not-fun Saturday, and consequently didn’t make it to any of the three milongas that day. As for sleep …

Still, some people had worse days – which brings me onto something else we need to get out of the way.

El Incidente

My head is always buzzing when I get home from a good milonga, and there’s no hope of sleep for a couple of hours, so I often write blog posts in those early hours. For a festival, I tend to draft each day’s thoughts and experiences, and then edit everything together at the end to post once it’s over.

I thought I had The Incident covered. On Friday night (ok, Saturday morning), I wrote this:

Just as preamble, for those who were there, or have heard about it, I’m not going to say anything about The Incident (which didn’t involve me, for the avoidance of doubt!), nor identify anyone involved.

I’m sure all involved regret what happened, and my view is that nobody on either/any side deserves to have their reputations harmed by a one-off misunderstanding and loss of temper in very stressful circumstances.

It will be talked about, of course, but I very much hope not publicly.

Ha! Such innocence! By the next morning, things were very public indeed. As with many disputes, with three parties involved, I’m sure there are at least four different versions of what happened.

I have no idea who was right or wrong, so will simply do my best to give as succinct and neutral a record as I can of the bare facts as I witnessed them. Although the names are now public, my personal decision is not to name anyone.

Just the facts, ma’am

A performance was announced, and everyone sat in a circle to watch it. There were two false starts, where the performers signalled the DJ to stop. There was clearly some issue with the music, with some reporting that it was the right song but the wrong version.

There was a third start, and a performance took place. The ending of both song and dance was, um, abrupt.

Following this, there was a stand-up argument between various parties. The end result was that the performers left the floor. After a while, it was clear that the rest of the performance wasn’t happening, and after a further period, the milonga resumed.

The next day, it was announced that the performers’ workshops were cancelled, and they were no longer on the championship judging panel.

The performers subsequently posted two videos on Instagram, giving their side of the story.

I shall not be giving evidence

Regular readers will know that I’m not a fan of performances (if I’m going to watch maestros dance, I greatly prefer watching them dance social tango in a milonga). I sometimes use them as an opportunity for a coffee break or a bit of fresh air, and sometimes I video them just to give me something to do.

In this case I was videoing from directly above, so caught the whole thing. I know others did too. Especially as many of us initially thought this was all just a bit of playful theatre. But, uh, no. Well, not playful, anyway.

So yeah, that happened. That’s one video which won’t be added to my small YouTube channel! Still, I decided to treat it as a learning experience, and up my Pugliese game by attempting to act out the drama of the scene.

Oh, and one sore loser in the championships thought the event didn’t have quite enough drama, so decided to accuse the (remaining) judges of ‘corruption.’

Phew. Ok, onto the good stuff, beginning with the bottom-line …

I absolutely adored this event

I really, really didn’t expect to. For me, three of the things I love about festivals outside London are (a) great floorcraft, (b) milonguero-style dancing, and (c) a friendly atmosphere where everyone dances with everyone. I was not expecting any of this here; I simply went into it with the attitude that it had to be tried once.

But, floorcraft aside, I had a truly incredible time! It was friendly, with people actually socialising with strangers, like no-one had even bothered reading the first sentence of the How to tango in London handbook. This clearly states ‘A milonga is to be treated like a tube train: never make eye-contact with strangers!’

The music was wonderful, and I had many breathtakingly beautiful dances. This was an experience right up there with the other festivals I’ve attended, and some of the dances rivalled the best of those I’ve had in BsAs. No exaggeration.

The Friday night and Sunday afternoon were amazing, but in the Sunday evening milonga, something truly magical happened. Despite by this point feeling zombie-like from lack of sleep (or perhaps because of it – who knows with tango), I just seemed to be in a permanent flow-state. Anything I wanted to lead, I could. With more than one follower, I didn’t even know what I was leading some of the time. I was sure it included things I’d never done before (and for all I know may never do again), and yet they worked, perfectly.

Then there were things I’m working on, and usually have to very consciously think about. One example: leading with breath. It’s a joy when I pull it off, and it’s one of the things on my work-in-progress list – yet that night it was effortless.

No, more than effortless: automatic. I just found that every time we were approaching a pause in the music, and without in any way planning it, I was ready to take an in-breath. And somehow my follower always was too. I did so, to lead the most amazing-feeling suspension. Breathed out, and off we went.

Or not: I’d also lost my self-consciousness about longer pauses. That’s another thing on my WIP list: I know it can feel wonderful, but I’m still kind of worried about it seeming pretentious, or followers thinking ‘Get on with it, won’t you.’ But again, not this evening. Sometimes we just remained in the suspension, turning almost imperceptibly slowly, for a whole phrase. Possibly even longer a few times. So much sensation and emotion in (almost) stillness.

When I’ve tried new teachers, they often comment approvingly on my calm lead, saying they thought I’d been dancing significantly longer for that reason, but this was a whole new level of calm.

In the course of seven hours, I danced probably 80% of the tandas, closing in on 100% in the last couple of hours, and had literally one which wasn’t beautiful (just different priorities). Again, no exaggeration: every other tanda was beautiful at a minimum, and more than a few were just wow!

It also passed the Laura test:

Actually, I’ve skipped over the beginning of the lesson, which was a kind of tango therapy session – addressing the ‘feeling like a toddler’ bit. Laura said that whenever we get that self-doubt, look outside, not inside. Are my cabeceos readily accepted? Can I feel my follower smiling? Am I in sync with the ronda?

Er, ok, maybe not that one. Where was I? Oh yeah …

Do I get a hug at the end of the tanda? Do her friends want to dance with me afterwards? Forget my internal dialogue and doubt: look out, not in.

Looking out felt as great as looking in.

Did I mention the wonderful music?

The only DJ I knew beforehand was Hubert Voignier, covering the Saturday afternoon slot. I adore his DJing, and sadly that was one of the one milongas I didn’t make – but I hear that the music was as wonderful as ever.

Friday night’s DJ was a new one to me, Benjamin Lee, and I loved his choices. I think he offered something for everyone, with very layered music for both the rhythmic and melodic fans.

Sunday afternoon came to us courtesy of Yuko Amano, who Ivan (a fellow tango forum member who’s recently moved to London) had been told was amazing.

Ivan and I generally have somewhat different musical tastes (though I’m doing my best to educate the poor chap), so a recommendation for him might not apply to me – but in this case, it did. It so did!

I’m British, and not 15, so obviously don’t use the acronym OMG. But if I did … I haven’t ruled out asking her to marry me, just to get daily access to her music selections.

One of the highlights was a delightful vals tanda of familiar songs, but played by Spanish guitars. (Um … Spanish guitar players? Guitarists in the style of Spanish guitar players? Spanish-style guitar music? Anyway, you know what I mean, stop being so bloody pedantic.)

Oh, and Yuko even got me dancing milonga tandas! But that’s a story for a separate blog post on another day.

There was no gap between afternoon and evening milongas: one just morphed into the other. I really didn’t want Yuko’s set to end (ever, really), but Gabriele Sabato was another truly incredible DJ. Taking over from Yuko, he read the room, and continued the silky-smooth style.

Some DJs make us wait for the good stuff, which I why I so often arrive late to milongas – I want to skip the appetiser, and move straight to the main course. Gabriele served the most delicious supper, with generous portions of Di Sarli, Pugliese and Troilo. It was as if the two DJs were in perfect sync, and I was in utter musical heaven.

I later thanked Gabriele effusively, but felt that two marriage proposals in one day might be overdoing it.

More variety of embraces

I talked in my previous blog post about embraces in London tango.

There’s no question that my favourite embrace is now the Argentine one, but at the same time, you have to have a flexible attitude when dancing in London […]

I decided to partly view the evening as an interesting experiment in the effects of different embraces [and it proved] fascinating to understand the difference preferences of different followers.

Again, I won’t attempt a meta analysis of these! But treated as a scientific study, it continues to fascinate me. One rather common pattern was beginning with a typical London embrace and then at some point in the tanda relaxing into a fully-closed one. I have a vague theory about this, but I’d love to hear a follower perspective if this resonates with you.

Many new followers

Speaking of followers, there were fewer friends and familiar followers than anywhere I’ve ever danced in London. An all-milonga pass was £96, and while that worked out at a very reasonable £16 each if you did them all, not everyone has the schedule flexibility to do that. Even if the ticket did include Friday Night Theatre.

Additionally, despite the attempted role-balance (more on this in a separate post to follow), these things are always more of a gamble for a follower. So that gave me plenty of opportunities to dance with new* partners.

*Ok, ‘seemingly new, in some cases: when I introduced myself to an Italian woman after the first song, she said “I know, we danced in El Beso.” Another told me we’d danced on Friday night. So, yeah.

I’ve said more than once that it absolutely mystifies me why some leaders won’t cabeceo strangers (and vice-versa).

How are you going to find your next favourite follower if you never dance with new ones?

I would have missed out on so many wonderful tandas had I not done so.

Compulsory cabeceo confusion

It’s hardly a full-on milonga experience without some mandatory cabeceo confusion, of course.

One situation I always find awkward, and which I found myself in more than once …

There are two followers sitting together. Either friends, or just temporary milonga companions. I cabeceo one (hazardous in itself!), and it then seems polite to cabeceo the other either immediately afterwards, or a little later. But the ‘little later’ approach can lead to confusion about whether I’m inviting the other follower, or seeking a second tanda with the first.

However, I managed to solve this one. As is so often the case in tango, the solution was blindingly obvious in hindsight: tell the first follower what I plan to do! I did so, and the second one feigned surprise when I cabeceod her. Sorted.

There was an even better CCC example later, when Ivan and I thought we were cabeceoing the same follower at the same time. We each tried to defer to the other, while the followers (clue) looked from one of us to the other and back. Then as we each stepped forward, it turned out we were each cabeceoing a different follower, sat side by side!

Ending on a high note

If you’d told me beforehand that this event was going to be one of my tango highlights, I’d have sought a psychiatric referral on your behalf. Yet it was.

If you’d told me, while I was dragging my sleep-deprived self out of the flat on Sunday afternoon, that I’d stay until the end, I’d have rolled my eyes (if I could have kept them open long enough to complete the manoeuvre). Yet I did. Almost.

‘Almost’ because, while the evening was just one high after another, the third-to-last tanda was exquisite. With just two more remaining, it seemed silly not to have that one be the perfect ending. So it was.

I jumped on the tube home, but got off early and walked the last 30 minutes because I had so much spare energy to somehow dissipate. My watch tells me it was still 5am before I finally fell asleep.

Next weekend, The Feast!

On Friday, I’m once more heading down to darkest Devon for the summer edition of The Feast! Here’s a video I shot of the winter one as a taster:

Somehow, between now and then, I have to figure out how to catch up on sleep. Wish me luck!