Today, I checked out the local college, San Juan College, for a spot to host a practica. It was closed when I got there so I went to a bar. It was a nice bar, very comfortable and beer was cheap because it was happy hour. I met a lawyer there, told him what I was doing and he also suggested the college. Thinking he might be privy to women who may be interested in tango, I gave him my card.
This is a pretty big town, 50,000 people, so it is possible to get a tango community started but it all depends on me. First, I’ve got to find a place with a wood floor that is good for dancing. It has to be free, or close to it, because my budget is zero.
Second, I’ve got to find people who are interested in tango. There’s not a whole lot of Eastern Europeans here, so my hunt is going to be tough. Women from Russia, Ukraine, Poland, etc., I have found, have a greater propensity to pursue dance as a form of recreation.
One thing in my favor is the uniqueness of the area: located at the butt-hole of the Rocky Mountains and sandwiched in between three large Indian reservations with huge mineral deposits just waiting to be exploited, this area feels like smoke just before it becomes flames.
Third, once I’ve found a place and the people, then I’ve got to teach them how to tango.
I danced with a woman in Albuquerque who wondered what I was doing there and where I was going. When I told her I was going to Farmington, she said there was no tango there.
“Well,” I said, “I’ll just have to teach them then, won’t I?”
She replied, coldly, with a certainty I found unsettling, “Good luck with that.”
I went hiking today, training for a backpacking trip in Mesa Verde with my daughters. This place is incredible, lying at the juncture between the canyonlands of the Southwest, the Rocky Mountains and the Great Plains. At 5300 feet above sea level, I found jogging and hiking with a pack much more arduous than it was back home, below 1000 feet in elevation. I found the challenge invigorating. I could easily forget I had ever danced tango and begin chasing a new activity but the words of the tanguera from Albuquerque haunted me. She seemed to know the area I was dealing with and had given up hope.
She was very sure of herself. She knew she was a good dancer. She was sure tango could not grow in the town where I was headed. However, I didn’t know that. I found her technique lacking, her overconfidence an impediment.
When I talked to the lawyer, I felt like saying tango is mostly danced by professional women but I knew that would not be true. Tangueras are unique and each one arrives by a different path. Armed with this knowledge, I am sure my task is not hopeless but it sure seems like it at this time.
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