It is tango.

And fire.

And fiery tango. Not actually sure if there’s any other sort though, really.

Even if it’s a fire that smoulders, slowly, maddeningly, coursing through your veins until you are overwhelmed by the passion, the music, the motion of two bodies in constant seductive communication, it’s still fire.

Phwew. and just a little bit of rawr.

I was speaking with a (totally superawesome) friend today about having a mission style of sorts while I travel. I realized with some consternation that no, indeed I have no mission whatsoever. Just a floaty sort of drifty amblance across the globe. No intention of meeting anyone in particular, while engaging the desire to meet anyone who’s peculiar. And since the seed was planted, and the thought was there*crikey! I think a something just ran under the couch! Not sure enough to check, but sure enough that I’m now crosslegged on the sofa*that was a completely different thought, but very pertinent to the moment.

Since the thought was planted, I’ve been musing over it all day long. And thinking, of course, there will be times when I take advantage of to help me find couches to surf in cities I don’t know, thereby hooking up with friendly like minded peeps who love to entertain travelers and/or are travelers themselves. Yes, this is one way…

There are firespinners everywhere. I have a fire hula, as well as poi. (And I’m learning contact juggling!! I figured it’s a good one for long bus trips, which is the only way I’ll be able to afford to hit as many countries as Europe can throw at me) And while white gas/petrol disaromatise/kero/firewater might be different from country to country, some things (weaves, butterflies, one handed cartwheels into the splits with one handed butterfly maneuver) are fairly constant. And so here is another way I shall connect with whole communities, rich in travel, play and experience.

But then there is tango. And it is also everywhere. Even Iceland. I’ve already checked. And since my sister, sweet and lovin as she is, has fixed my shoes and sent them to me here in Paris, I can and will, tango everywhere I go. And so here is yet another community, rich in international culture and flavor.

And if I start now, here in Paris, can you imagine how fabulous I’ll be by the time I reach Argentina by my birthday next year? I won’t even need lessons, I can just jump straight into a maddeningly passionate affair with some gorgeous and smouldery eyed argentinian tango dancer. And you know, exactly that (a maddeningly passionate affair with some gorgeous and smouldery eyed argentinian tango dancer) is totally on my list. mm, perhaps the next post should be my list. I wrote it on new years the last time I was in Paris, 2005/2006. It’ll be interesting to see what I’ve accomplished so far…

And now I shall be a champion at sleeping.

bise bise.

By the by I’m hating it that a very smirky picture of me is the at the top of the flickr link. I tried every way I could think to move it, but no go. I could delete it, but I figure since I’m not actually in any of the pics taken around Paris, there should be some proof that I’m here and not in some studio that fabricates moon landings when they’re not helping strange women fool the world into thinking she’s in France.

And I love my new bike! Her name is Josephine, not because she’s black, but because she’s got style and class and sass and she’s black. Ha! I should hang bananas around the seat! Oh clever me. And glue pictures of international children on the frame. And tape spy messages under the pedals!!! In case you wonder, I speak of one of the two women I idolize beyond a doubt, Miss Josephine Baker.

Bon nuit.