01 May 2010

swiss club practica, cairo, egypt

This is the (empty) bar at the Swiss Club in Cairo.  Looks very Swiss, no?  And so very NOT Cairo.  If you're ever in Egypt any time soon and want to dance some tango, "The Swiss Club Practica" is held every Tuesday night at 19h00 in the "bowling room" by the back garden.  When I was there, you could dance a bit, the room is very small, and then go outside to chat or watch, sitting on wicker chairs and surrounded by tiny palm trees.  Like a little oasis.
There aren't many dancers, but some are wonderfully good, and all of them are very nice people.  Egyptians (and there aren't just Egyptians dancing, some expats and foreign people like me who stop by) are excellent conversationalists, so the energy is pretty positive.

29 April 2010

(not) to do today

I'm sick.  With a cold.  I coughed on the sidewalk today and then cracked up laughing at myself, because when I cough I become a sad and pathetic being, and everyone looked at me like I was insane.  I've been coughing, laughing, coughing, sneezing, laughing all day.  I tried to put on make-up to go outside (at 3pm, to meet a professor) - I sneezed, my eyes started to water, and then I started laughing.  Repeat 4 times.  Qu'y faire??

As you can see, my "to do" list is pretty ambitious for someone in my state.  Take notes on the psychology of volcanoes (I have to psychoanalyze a volcano, like volcanoes were people, within 10 days, and make it seem like I know what I'm talking about - a note about this, I designed this project, yea, I got myself into this mess), learn the Coptic language, don't spill coffee everywhere (which I DID - EVERYWHERE, in the middle of a café, on my jeans, my face, my food, the table, my sweater), and update tango blog.  On something, yet again, that has nothing to do with tango.  Please bear with me.  Buy some tango shoes (nueva epoca, the ad on this blog below twitter, actually has AMAZING tango shoes), keep yourself occupied, and keep dancing!

28 April 2010

is it true?

...  Is it true that there is a human being attached to these shoes?
...  Do you ever wonder...?

25 April 2010

22 April 2010


... but not tango.

Use your imagination and pretend this is me, standing on the street in NYC, outside of a dance studio in Manhattan on 8th Ave.  I've just come from a workshop and I'm furious.  Other tango dancers are standing around outside, talking to each other about getting a coffee (not wine??) before the milonga (it was 6.30pm, why not wine??).  They are speaking Spanish.  I just hung up the phone, speaking in French with my friend, because I was talking about how awful the workshop was.  I figured with French I was safe from being detected - this is probably a stupid thought in NYC and also among tango dancers, but whatever. 

Now before I alienate myself from the New York tango scene (not that anyone knows me anyway), let me explain.

It was boring.  Yes, boring!  Why??  Why was it boring??  I still can't wrap my head around it.  Two great tango instructors, a lot of good tango dancers (kind of obsessed with themselves), but the vibe was so low energy, and even though it was an advanced class there was nothing challenging about it, apart from controlling my neuroses and the raging ridiculousness I felt at having taken the train all the way down to 8th Ave. when I was about to take a nap.  But the scene was so familiar - tango workshop, studio, people putting on shoes, taking off shoes, talking to friends, using the same words, blah blah blah.  Half the time I wanted to scream, DO SOMETHING INTERESTING!  I was probably in a bad mood, yea ok I was in a bad mood, but why is tango putting me in a bad mood lately?

Then again, I DID come to NYC in part to get a feel for the "cosmopolitango"(can I copyright that? or do people already use this?) that a big city like New York might offer.  Instead, I left the workshop with the wrath of God inside of me, put on my sunglasses, turned up some Turkish dance remixes on my iPod, and what did I do?  I went shopping.  Because the night before someone had approached me and said, "Hey, are you a model?"  In NYC that's pretty impressive.  Or it was just a creepy guy hitting on me (but everyone needs self-esteem boosters, and often!).  So thanks, creepy guy.  

Didn't buy anything - whew.  Instead I drank wine and ate flourless chocolate cake with a friend at Wine & Roses.  Lots of wine, lots of chocolate.  Trying to forget that there are so many amazing tango shoes out there, if ever I am worthy of them...  And ultimately just deciding, "Hey, yea! I'm a model!" and pretending for awhile that I get paid to look fabulous and drink wine with my friends...