Tango, Our Passport

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A few nights ago La Serenissima flummoxed us with her mysterious calli, fondamenti, and campi. We got wind of another Milonga so Saturday afternoon I did my due diligence to locate the space.

“follow those people with the shoe bag, ” we both said when we alighted from the vaporetto. We were rewarded when I led us to the spot I had found and saw a welcoming sign:

A year and a half ago we would have felt in a foreign country, but now the music, the line of dance, the steps we recognize, the food table, the clothes, and of course, the shoes all felt familiar. It was time to stamp our tango passport here in the Cannaregio section of Venice.

This Carnevale Milonga reflected the general population of Venice these days; some costumed dancers, some elegantly outfitted tangueri, and some like us in just simple attire.

We danced reasonably well for a few hours. Yes, Pierre, we stayed in our lane, didn’t trip anyone else or each other, had no collisions, and, get this–no arguments! By 10 pm we decided we’d had enough and given our history of “getting tired =major meltdown ” we decided to leave.

Just at that moment I spied Michele daFina, a handbag designer whom Savannah snd I met last year after the infamous Milonga. She recognized him as we strolled by his shop one day, so we went in to chat and both ended up buying purses.

I reintroduced myself, and he remembered both me and Savannah!! We ended the evening with a new Venetian tango friend who promised to send me exact directions to the Tuesday night Milonga the next time we return!

So, tango passport stamped—Buenos Aires, Lisbon, Madrid, Edinburgh, Savannah, Philadelphia, Allentown, and now Venezia!! πŸŽ­πŸ’ƒπŸ»

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