I often think how wonderful it is to be at the start of your tango journey with so many amazing times waiting for you.

For many people, the first few years of studying tango is a little like falling in love. You wake up in the morning and you immediately start planning how youʼre going to dance that day. You never leave the house without your dance shoes “just in case”. And your non-tango friends start to get a glazed expression whenever the subject turns to tango … again!

“Buenos Dias” I call out as I climb into the back of the black and yellow taxi cab, escaping the merciless Buenos Aires sun.

I tell the driver my destination and wait for the inevitable “De donde sos?” – ‘Where are you from?”. I have been speaking Spanish every day for the last 12 years but Iʼve never been able to hide my accent. Disappointingly, Iʼm usually caught out with just two words!

A few months back, we were teaching at a Tango Festival outside of London, where tango aficionados travel long distances to take part in workshops and dance the night away in the festivalʼs “milongas” (tango nights).

The atmosphere was electric and the dancers warm and effusive. One guy, however, stood apart.

I recognised him from our previous years at the festival. This year, as in the past, his expression throughout our classes was stormy. It seemed that however much he tried and despite our guidance, his movements were awkward and robotic. I admired his persistence but felt his frustration.