Before we left for Buenos Aires, Stefani and Ogie warned us of an important bit of milonga etiquette: that before dancing with someone at a milonga, we would need to identify a partner with a look – that momentary connecting of the eyes between a man and a woman indicating their wish to dance together.  I’d wondered what this across-the-room look would look like.  Would it be a mafioso-like member-of-the-club wink so subtle you’d wonder if the person had something in their eye? Or a direct wide-eyed ‘hey-you-what-about-it?’  Or something else all together?  All I could do was speculate about this ritual, and I noticed that my speculating felt a little like panic.  I imagined two scenarios: first, that I’d wind up sitting through entire evenings waiting for the cherished glance that would never come; second, and worse, that while casting about for the look I’d find myself eye to eye with some macho Tanguero aficionado, with whom I’d wind up stumbling about the floor on three legs to his two, trying miserably to follow, totally humiliated. 
 

Neither of these scenarios played themselves out in full, only in parts.  Instead, my experience of the look went something like this: 
 

Here I sit in a milonga, all decked out, the room filling with smoke, a couple of glasses of red Argentine wine and this tragic longing soul-felt music pumping through my blood.  I cast my eyes around.  I meet the eyes of a portly older gentleman sitting catty corner to me.  He looks quite ordinary, but I know by now that this is no indication of how well he can dance.   My hopes are high but I am not quite sure of how to give the look, so I just let my eyes linger for a fraction of a second longer than normal, hoping against hope that he will give me that subtle tilt of the head, that slight lowering of his eye-lids.  And then he does, and I wonder whether I have read it right, whether perhaps he is just checking out my shoes, until he pushes his chair back and I realize the dance is on.  We’ve each moved our pawn; the game has begun.  But here’s the thing…the irony and curiosity of it that I hadn’t counted on.   Everything I have done, from getting dressed to the look, IS a sort of game – a build-up to that moment when we enter the close embrace and the real reason I am here, doing tango in Buenos Aires, takes over: I simply LOVE the dance.  I love the way, when I let myself follow, it is all about balance (or at least striving for balance)  – balance in my body, in myself, balance between me and my partner, balance because my role compliments his … and as I enter into that music and that movement, the game-playing disappears into the bliss of the dance. 
 

Once I’d tried it a few times – had succeeded in getting past the look and up onto the dance floor, it became less intimidating.  My confidence grew.  What the hell, I thought…what is there to loose?  I began to give the look to just about anyone who would give it back.  Some of our Bali gang teased me for how brazen I was.  And it was true – I was in Buenos Aires alone for only two weeks (my husband had stayed home to take care of the kids…what a guy!).  This was my opportunity.  I wasn’t going to let the damn look get in my way!  
 

But it was funny.  My internal pendulum had swung from fear and insecurity to overzealous courage.  I felt at times like a wide-eyed nocturnal Tarsier, too eager and too open.  But then about 4 nights before I left Buenos Aires to return to Bali, that fear-to-courage pendulum started swinging gently to center, and I started to realize that in truth, the moment of meeting eyes can have its own grace, its own subtle balance, just as the dance does – that it need not be just an obstacle to climb over before reaching the river of gold. It needn’t to be a macho power play, or a sexual overture.  Rather, it can be kind, friendly, playful, subtle.  I even started to see how sensible the look is, because it allows both man and woman to accept or decline graciously simply by a nod of the head or down casting of the eyes.   Neither partner has to risk walking across the floor only to be rejected!  
 

I left Buenos Aires filled with energy, music, life, and a confidence I hadn’t felt in my body since before having kids.  There was a liquid flow to my step, and I slept dreaming of the Valtz.  But I also left feeling seriously humbled. I realized that two weeks isn’t long enough to perfect even the art of the look, let alone of the dance.   I realized that Tango is for life – not just a little two week jaunt in Buenos Aires.  That look that had at first caused me so much anxiety, had in the end become just like Tango; an invitation for more balance, more grace, coordination, better communication with myself and with others, and a whole hell of a lot more practice! 
 
 Anni Crofut

April 27, 2006