For my birthday present last year, Juan promised me tango lessons. When we insisted to the flamboyant Aussie at Arthur Murray (yes, the same dance company of law school fame) that he teach us something Dancing with the Stars-cool he resolutely pointed to a tiered, poster board of names and told us that when we made it to the gold level in 10 years (ten years!) we would learn stuff like that. Hmm…overpriced lessons with nothing rock star sexy to show from it? No, thanks. We already spent six weeks, and a pretty pound, in London for the privilege of walking, stiff-legged, around a dance room.
Realizing that we’d be spending time in the birthplace of Argentine tango, we figured it’d be worthwhile to wait nearly a year for some authentic lessons. There are plenty of tourist traps for people with the same idea so, after researching a number of options, we settled on DNI Tango. It was a quarter of the price and they espoused a system of dance that involved technique, one-on-one dancing with an instructor, and yoga. All of the instructors are fun, young twenty-somethings that look like Penelope Cruz. Yes, I kept a close eye on Juan and secretly wanted to be friends with all of them.
We didn’t learn anything super fancy, but we’ve got the ochos and sacadas down flat. And perhaps, more importantly, Juan has learned to lead and I have learned to follow. If only that extended to real life, Juan would be a happy man.