Tangodurians

Tango is like a scent, that unexplainable entry that hits the very core of memory, yet unformed, tangible, oh so tangible edges, but forever just a feeling. Like a memory that has just slipped your net and you wait for serendipity to find it again. It might attack when...you're driving home late at night without too much on your mind, or in a darkened club high on life. Sometimes when I see certain pictures of a certain classroom, all I can wonder is...was it just a dream?

Today I felt the missing invite of tango I havnt captured in sometime. Walking outside comfort zones remains so much fun, because you capture the times where strangers are treated as friends. Like the fabulous New Yorker, all of 80 ( I'm guessing), who lifted my spirits just as I was about to bolt from triangulo after not very many dances. He proceeded to tell me to stay then told me the story of how Adam Hoopengardner was the same level of tango as him until he ran off to B.A and got better. Or an apology from an Oregon-ian living in Taipei who was apologizing for not catching me for a dance, n who then proceeded to remininsce with me about tango in the USA. Or another friendly girl who was chatting to me as we walked out after the Milonga, and the bonding over how marvelous tango is. Fleeting moments where we most likely won't see each other again, save that warm feeling of making someone feel welcome. Friendliest tango scene I have yet to come across:) Taipei you have