Tango at last!

Three months after moving to Buenos Aires, I have finally started taking tango lessons in the tango capital of the world. It seems a terrible waste of time to my dedicated dancer friends that fly 30 odd hours from Taipei every few years just to soak up the tango scene for 2 weeks, or a month if they're lucky, dancing every night till the sun comes out.

I blame my procrastination on decision fatigue. I was overwhelmed with choices of tango salons, schools, and milongas, not to mention a multitude of tango teachers. When I asked my dancer friends for recommendations, I was only left more puzzled by their vague assurances that there are too many good teachers to name. (I later learned that for a beginner like me, I don't need a high-flying pair of tango teachers.)

Turns out I just needed a pair of sexy tango shoes to spur myself into action. Though it's a wonder why I didn't have decision fatigue shopping for tango shoes at the annual Tango Festival and World Championship! 

Tango shoes aside, I also have my friend Hong I to thank for knocking some sense into me when I was obsessively analyzing the local listings of tango classes based on location, reputation, teacher bios, class times, etc. "Stop thinking!", shaking me lest I miss the point that tango is for experiencing, not overthinking.

My first tango class with Damián y Nancy (far right) at Club Villa Malcolm