The Tango Festival A few days of living a fantasy tango life, for me it was a (short) milonga life. Eat, dance, sleep, dance. Repeat. Dancing with friends, old and new. Dancing with strangers. Unfamiliar music, and old favorites. The fiercest, raciest Pugliese tanda I've ever danced - was that really me? Hair in my face, breathless, heart racing - flying over, and yet still sinking into, the dance floor . . . yeah, that was me. A Hugo Diaz song that seared my heart and made me feel like I was dancing several inches into the ground. (That feeling of rough, wet soil under your feet, sinking a little, surrounding your toes, holding you to the earth . . . that's what Hugo Diaz feels like for me . . . ) Heart-melting vals sets, Joyful milonga tandas that pushed away every care and worry. The freedom to dance and dance and dance until I could hardly stand up. But the world, my non-tango life, marched on. It knew I would have to come out some time. Thank you to Dearest, Darlingest Hu...