Antwerp practica: TangoFabriek El Sur

The practica Tangofabriek "El Sur" on Hertsdeinstraat  in Antwerp was in a quiet, pretty area of mixed use.  A derelict factory seemed to be the venue of the eponymous practica.  The number of bikes suggested this might well be the case.

Deciding to take my borrowed bike inside for safety I found a warehouse-like space and - unusually- no sound of music. Locking the bike I found a set of steps but it was blocked with the sorts of things you might find in an attic.  Going up different steps I was disoncerted to find myself in a sort of minimalist modern garden.  I noticed a teenager working in a room with sliding doors ajar giving on to the garden.  Feeling uncomfortable  I walked past to what seemed to be a door on the far side but was not and retraced my steps.  Puzzled,  I hailed the boy who came out telling me the area was private.  With an understandable reluctance at being disturbed countered by a clear desire to be rid of me, he escorted me back to the warehouse indicating the door I had missed.  As with countless dance venues I have been to, it was by no means obvious.

I quite liked the set up.  It was a long room with a bar on one side opposite a relaxed area with table and chairs.  There was brighter more open and less comfortable seating area with bar stools just in front of the dance floor. 

Some of the music was good and some was awful drama.  It just felt fairly random.

There was a handful of couples dancing, obviously guided by the teacher. The dancing gave me the shivers.  None of it was in the embrace.  Some of it was practising without music so actually it wasn't dancing at all but attempts at synchronised movement.

It was immediately clear to me that these people had almost certainly come as couples and that per "begeleid practica met enkele nieuwe figuren", this was a very "guided" practica. There was one  tall, thin, uptight looking man alone near the bar, watching.  I sensed almost immediately that I was going to be the obvious choice as his partner being the only other free person there, female and tall to boot. In about the same moment I was almost certain I did not want to be.  But we greeted one another politely and chatted cordially until the teacher approached.  He doubled as the barman and I bought a drink.

Both men asked me if I belonged to the expat network Internations which is apparently common there. I learned that this teacher started tango dance of some kind in the city in the 1990s. He said he does not DJ because he likes to dance. He was going to be running a milonga the following day.  I had seen the venue online.  It had looked nice.

My troubles began when then the teacher announced that the tall man and I could practise together.  Now tango is a dance inherently about partner choice. It is about moving to music with the person you choose to embrace.  In my case that's a close embrace, none of this partner-as-a-shopping-trolley nonsense.     It is for this reason that a friend called third parties partnering people up for dancing tango "perverted".  I searched rapidly for a polite definition of my boundaries:

"Actually, I mostly dance the other role," I said not untruthfully but, for brevity, not with crystal clarity either.

"Oh. But you can dance as the woman?" said the teacher, pushing me into a corner.  Insistent types will do that, especially where a regular paying customer is involved. 

"Well, yes", I said. Then, sensing the imminent danger, I  turned to the tall man. "Can you?"

I didn't do so consciously then, but have since learned that when people are presumptuous one strategy is to do the same right back.  This doesn't usually end well but is interesting for the shock & realisation of how some people treat others and of course, to see the sparks.  But perhaps it wasn't fair.  The easier way might have been to just insist that I wasn't going to dance right then as the girl.  Or perhaps I should have challenged the teacher who had put me in this position instead of the guy himself.  I felt though that they were of the same ilk.  

"What?" he said, disconcerted

"Can you dance as the woman?"

"What? No!" he said, certainly surprised, clearly uncomfortable, slightly appalled.

"Do you want to try?" I said, knowing I was going too far, but thinking in fairness, he deserved the benefit of the doubt.  Perhaps he could. 

"No!" he said, horrified.

A guy not able to or refusing to ever dance as the woman with anyone is a terrible omen both of character and of dance ability.

"Why not?" I said thinking, "In for a penny, in for a pound," and curious besides.

"I’ve been learning as the man intensively for a year. And taken many private lessons" he added, as if to imply he must therefore be an excellent and a dedicated dancer.

I started to sense dogmatism more than preference in his reply and decided to counter it:
"But you do know that dancing as the woman is the fastest way to dance well as the man?"
"I don't want to dance as the woman. I want to dance as the man!"

So we left it at that and I was relieved. It wasn't unreasonable after all.  I had just wanted to make the point that he had been but I think that had been lost in his alarm. 

The couples came off the floor.  I waited to see what would happen. There were some very faint acknowledgements but everyone was evidently sticking the way they were. The atmosphere was fairly tense all round.  A relaxed atmosphere is one of the key conditions for good dancing.  

After a drink the couples returned to the floor, forming the standard gender-segregated groups facing one another while the teacher drilled them in stepping mechanically through the male steps and the female steps that were supposed to jigsaw into these. My heart sank but I stayed to watch a little more, hypnotised with a horrid fascination.  It had been so long since I had seen this sort of thing that I had nearly forgotten it really does exist, and that some are duped into paying for this miserable experience.

 "Look," said the tall man who was still watching, "the men and women are separated now, you can join." 

"Oh," I thought.  He's being charitable! He has realised I don't want to dance with him but that, since I am still here, I may still want to 'dance'" -  if you could call 'dance' the mechanical, unpartnered motions that the students were enduring.  I expect he thought I would join the women. He went to join the men. I, still thinking with foolish, vestigial hope there might be some social dancing later or that some miracle man might walk in, changed my shoes. 

I was mistaken about the charity.  After the drill the tall man approached me again and said "Well, shall we?"

Incredulity battled annoyance.  Then I thought I should again give him the benefit of the doubt on the off chance that he had had a change of heart.

"Who is going to be the woman?" I said, carefully.

"You!"

"No!" I said becoming cross at my decided preference and clarity on this point falling on such deaf ears. Who would want to dance chest to chest with a man in a dance that is all about listening to the other body, when even his ears don't hear what you say or the connection between brain and ears is apparently severed?  But in class the point about the physical, intuitive response to one another is never made because class dancing is about leading and following not sense and response and mutual awareness.  That sort of thing, anyway, doesn't lend itself to explanation. 

I ought to have left it at that but decided strong attack was now the better form of defence.  Besides I was riled.  Was I some kind of moving object to do his bidding?  I had stated a preference which had anyway been a mere charade to draw a polite veil over "You shouldn't be asking, not once, and certainly not twice.  I don't want to dance with you".
"How about you be the woman?" I said now knowing  I was entering dangerous territory.

Still, I didn’t want to appear - what? As though I knew my own mind?  Difficult? Willing to do what I didn't want? So I suggested a compromise: "Or, we can swap turn and about?" 

"No!" He said, getting angry. "I will not dance as the woman."

Considering I was already way out on a limb I decided to appear, for fun, especially reasonable.   "OK. To be clear though, I am happy to dance as the woman 50%," I said, earnestly.

"No!" he said, really annoyed now.

Within minutes he left in what felt like cold anger. Five minutes later, so did I. I could almost hear my father saying: "So you charmed them again, did you?"

That was before I heard his real view.