A handful of couples stood chatting on the cold stone floor, waiting for the music to start again. An occasional glance from the people clustered at the tables on both sides of the room or lined against the walls would travel over them with disinterest. Dim blue and pinkish lights made it difficult to see who was looking where, but I could see my friends sitting under the air conditioner, twitching as the occasional droplet fell on their skin.
"What a beautiful dancer!", my partner exclaimed, leaning in towards me as he craned his neck. I stood, awkwardly waiting for the music to start blaring notes laden with the slightly echoey quality that plagues it in this milonga.
"Thank you, you too," I answered in my slightly broken Spanish, preparing myself for last song of the tanda.
"How well you dance...", he said again during the dance. "What a woman!"
Not knowing what to answer (which part of my dancing is particularly feminine?), I beat a hasty retreat to my seat as soon as the tanda was over.
"How was it?" My friends questioned after I had sat down.
You should know girls talk about their dances - a lot. I am completely unrepentant as I believe men are guilty of this as well. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong.
I proceeded to tell my friends that while he was a good dancer, I was not sure I would feel up to the unsettling compliments anytime soon. "You too?" My friends asked, starting to laugh.
Yep, he had said the same thing almost word for word to all of us. It may seem funny, but it was not enjoyable. How could we believe he was genuine after delivering the same lines to all of us? And I'm not mentioning how uncomfortable he made all three of us feel, as we all know we are not exactly competition for the excellent followers living in Buenos Aires (as of yet, we are working on it).
I felt like telling him, what about something more poetic and unique such as: "Should I compare thee to a summer day? Thou art more lovely and more temperate".
Of course, I understand why one would try to flirt in tango, and I don't blame them - it's normal to try your luck with someone you find attractive. But would a little bit of delicacy be too much to ask for? And if people could learn to read body language, that would be great.
Tip #1: If I'm trying to edge away, it's generally a bad sign.
Thank you.
- Vida
Monday, 10 February 2014
Sunday, 9 February 2014
Foregoing the Milonga in favor of tango classes
Being in Buenos Aires is the best occasion to take cheap tango classes with a variety of the best teachers in the world, some of whom do not travel to Europe. For me, this means two or three private classes a week, and I would take more if I could afford it despite knowing it's a lot of information to incorporate. This has led me to wonder about the efficiency of packing one's schedule with too many classes. There are three particular events that I've been mulling over.
The first was a few weeks ago. I had taken classes with a female partner during a tango festival. When we arrived, the first thing the teacher did was walk over to us, wearing a huge smile, to greet us and ask our names. The theme was on different types of walking to the beat. Even if I had wanted to, I couldn't have gotten frustrated because of how the teachers patiently walked us through the steps and enthusiastically explained the concepts of the exercises.
At the end of the class, enthused by their teaching method and all I had learned about how to walk, how to step and put down my feet, how to accelerate and step on the beat, I turned to a friend who was also there, an intermediate male leader.
"That was great!" I told him happily. He looked at me a little bit sideways.
"Actually I found it boring," he admitted.
Of course I know not everyone enjoys the same things in a class. But this was really the sort of fundamental technique he has yet to master, and I had been hoping he would profit from it and incorporate it in his dance. As I stared at him in dismay, my partner from the class intervened.
"How can you say you were bored," she said (rather bluntly), "When you can't do these things?"
This is what bothered me: of course I was disappointed he did not enjoy the lesson, but the problem was that he was not ready to do this "boring" stuff like learning to accelerate and play with the beat. I was particularly disappointed because I used to enjoy dancing with him but now find it very flat - an opinion shared by the friends I have asked.
Moral of the story: you might find things boring, but do them or be ready to stagnate. Which is acceptable if you're happy with your current level. Oh, and also: different people, different tastes.
The second event was a discussion with a friend recently arrived from Europe determined to work on a specific style of dancing, very different from what he had been learning up until now.
"I take private classes every day," he told me proudly, then turned a bewildered expression towards me. "I don't understand why you don't take more classes while you're here".
I refrained from pointing out the setback of my limited budget, and wondered why I had not noticed any improvement in his dance as of late.
"I just don't know why you go out dancing all the time instead of resting more to be in shape for classes," he finished, tossing his hair back to get it out of his face in a typical gesture of his.
Looking at him in puzzlement, I pondered this opinion. Why should I forego social dancing in favour of taking classes? For me a milonga is the occasion to incorporate what I have learned into the way I move with a variety of partners, to commit information from intellectual understanding to muscle memory. Some nights feel like I have vastly improved and the next my legs seem glued to the floor by some strange magnetic field, but I insist and little by little the way I move, stand and react changes.
Going to the milonga is an important motivator for improving. When I watch dancers who have invested a lot of effort and time into their dancing, who are often professionals or semi-professionals, I want to dance with them and more importantly I want them to enjoy dancing with me - I would rather sit all evening than dance with people who don't enjoy it.
When I watch the explosive, high-energy dancers at El Yeite, the boisterous and lively crowd at Viva la Pepa, or the (mostly) advanced dancers of El Motivo, I want to have this much fun, and be part of the people who make these places feel alive and fun. It's simple: the more I improve, the more I enjoy those very good dances when I get them.
I try not to make the mistake of thinking technical skill is the only thing that motivates people to dance with each other. I enjoy the feeling of communication, of freedom, that comes with improvement itself and I can only find this by going out to dance - in a milonga.
Yes, the classes here are really worth it. The teachers are amazing and much more affordable than in Europe - most of these people deserve every last peso they charge. But the milongas in Buenos Aires are an experience I wouldn't miss for the world. There are some of the best dancers from all over the world here. La crème de la crème. Some of my tandas left me with an ear splitting smile for days afterward. Some moments of sitting with friends - people I had not seen for months - and simply talking or holding each other still make me feel warm and fuzzy.
So I'm sorry, but I can not forsake the milonga in the name of classes.
The setback in taking too many classes, I believe, is that information needs time to be incorporated and understood. This is of course different in the case of a series of classes with the same teacher... But good teachers can give enough feedback in one hour to keep their students busy for days on end. So then, I would like to ask my friend, what is the point of adding additional information on top of things you have yet to master?
This leads me to the third event I've been thinking about. A woman I know came back from a class almost in tears and told me:
"I couldn't do anything today. None of the exercises - my body just won't do it. My teacher was showing me the exercises and I just couldn't do it."
She's a good dancer and takes her dancing seriously - she's not one of those people who never push themselves and still expect to get all the dances. She has never taken many classes in Europe (for financial reasons), and here she has been taking all those she could: privates, group classes before the milongas and women's technique classes, as well as practicing with friends. She's enough to make me feel lazy. And yet, she felt so frustrated she was practically crying.
This has happened to me too of course. Any person afflicted by chronic perfectionism can identify.
In this moment I truly realised the perverse effect that pushing yourself too hard can have. No matter how many times you fail an exercise, you must remember not to take it personally. Wait, then try again - give it time.
Remember, the body will not progress with the same speed as the mind. It's no use stuffing your brain until you can't tell your right foot from your left foot, and spend the dance trying to go up while going down, without forgetting to relax your shoulders.
I love tango when it sounds like a strange child of zen philosophy. Go up but down. Present but relaxed. Expand your chest but close your muscles. Walk normally but spend hours practising how to walk.
And remember to do yoga.
Vida
The first was a few weeks ago. I had taken classes with a female partner during a tango festival. When we arrived, the first thing the teacher did was walk over to us, wearing a huge smile, to greet us and ask our names. The theme was on different types of walking to the beat. Even if I had wanted to, I couldn't have gotten frustrated because of how the teachers patiently walked us through the steps and enthusiastically explained the concepts of the exercises.
At the end of the class, enthused by their teaching method and all I had learned about how to walk, how to step and put down my feet, how to accelerate and step on the beat, I turned to a friend who was also there, an intermediate male leader.
"That was great!" I told him happily. He looked at me a little bit sideways.
"Actually I found it boring," he admitted.
Of course I know not everyone enjoys the same things in a class. But this was really the sort of fundamental technique he has yet to master, and I had been hoping he would profit from it and incorporate it in his dance. As I stared at him in dismay, my partner from the class intervened.
"How can you say you were bored," she said (rather bluntly), "When you can't do these things?"
This is what bothered me: of course I was disappointed he did not enjoy the lesson, but the problem was that he was not ready to do this "boring" stuff like learning to accelerate and play with the beat. I was particularly disappointed because I used to enjoy dancing with him but now find it very flat - an opinion shared by the friends I have asked.
Moral of the story: you might find things boring, but do them or be ready to stagnate. Which is acceptable if you're happy with your current level. Oh, and also: different people, different tastes.
The second event was a discussion with a friend recently arrived from Europe determined to work on a specific style of dancing, very different from what he had been learning up until now.
"I take private classes every day," he told me proudly, then turned a bewildered expression towards me. "I don't understand why you don't take more classes while you're here".
I refrained from pointing out the setback of my limited budget, and wondered why I had not noticed any improvement in his dance as of late.
"I just don't know why you go out dancing all the time instead of resting more to be in shape for classes," he finished, tossing his hair back to get it out of his face in a typical gesture of his.
Looking at him in puzzlement, I pondered this opinion. Why should I forego social dancing in favour of taking classes? For me a milonga is the occasion to incorporate what I have learned into the way I move with a variety of partners, to commit information from intellectual understanding to muscle memory. Some nights feel like I have vastly improved and the next my legs seem glued to the floor by some strange magnetic field, but I insist and little by little the way I move, stand and react changes.
Going to the milonga is an important motivator for improving. When I watch dancers who have invested a lot of effort and time into their dancing, who are often professionals or semi-professionals, I want to dance with them and more importantly I want them to enjoy dancing with me - I would rather sit all evening than dance with people who don't enjoy it.
When I watch the explosive, high-energy dancers at El Yeite, the boisterous and lively crowd at Viva la Pepa, or the (mostly) advanced dancers of El Motivo, I want to have this much fun, and be part of the people who make these places feel alive and fun. It's simple: the more I improve, the more I enjoy those very good dances when I get them.
I try not to make the mistake of thinking technical skill is the only thing that motivates people to dance with each other. I enjoy the feeling of communication, of freedom, that comes with improvement itself and I can only find this by going out to dance - in a milonga.
Yes, the classes here are really worth it. The teachers are amazing and much more affordable than in Europe - most of these people deserve every last peso they charge. But the milongas in Buenos Aires are an experience I wouldn't miss for the world. There are some of the best dancers from all over the world here. La crème de la crème. Some of my tandas left me with an ear splitting smile for days afterward. Some moments of sitting with friends - people I had not seen for months - and simply talking or holding each other still make me feel warm and fuzzy.
So I'm sorry, but I can not forsake the milonga in the name of classes.
The setback in taking too many classes, I believe, is that information needs time to be incorporated and understood. This is of course different in the case of a series of classes with the same teacher... But good teachers can give enough feedback in one hour to keep their students busy for days on end. So then, I would like to ask my friend, what is the point of adding additional information on top of things you have yet to master?
This leads me to the third event I've been thinking about. A woman I know came back from a class almost in tears and told me:
"I couldn't do anything today. None of the exercises - my body just won't do it. My teacher was showing me the exercises and I just couldn't do it."
She's a good dancer and takes her dancing seriously - she's not one of those people who never push themselves and still expect to get all the dances. She has never taken many classes in Europe (for financial reasons), and here she has been taking all those she could: privates, group classes before the milongas and women's technique classes, as well as practicing with friends. She's enough to make me feel lazy. And yet, she felt so frustrated she was practically crying.
This has happened to me too of course. Any person afflicted by chronic perfectionism can identify.
In this moment I truly realised the perverse effect that pushing yourself too hard can have. No matter how many times you fail an exercise, you must remember not to take it personally. Wait, then try again - give it time.
Remember, the body will not progress with the same speed as the mind. It's no use stuffing your brain until you can't tell your right foot from your left foot, and spend the dance trying to go up while going down, without forgetting to relax your shoulders.
I love tango when it sounds like a strange child of zen philosophy. Go up but down. Present but relaxed. Expand your chest but close your muscles. Walk normally but spend hours practising how to walk.
And remember to do yoga.
Vida
Buenos Aires: Stray Experiences in and out of Milongas
Today I had my Second Nasty Buenos Aires experience. We can call SNBA for short. Walking home from La Viruta in Palermo, which I have always felt safe doing before - never alone of course, we were two when it happened - somebody grabbed onto me from behind. My first thought was that I was going to get stabbed or something. With no knife incoming, my second thought was that someone I knew was playing a very, very bad joke and that I might have to murder him for having the worst sense of humour in the universe. Then he started groping me. I struggled and kicked and he let go and ran away - all of this so rapidly my friend didn't have the time to react.
I am thinking of ensuring travel in larger packs from now on. I did ask a few guys I know to come with us , but they were going in other directions. Normally I wouldn't really care, considering nothing happened, but I do feel the need to warn people to be careful - even in 'safe' neighbourhoods like Palermo. It does, whoever, unfortunately reinforce the little part of me that can't help but ask what the hell - and I'm being very polite compared to what I'm thinking - is wrong with men.
Perhaps I should speak of something more entertaining, like... Food!
It is possible to eat 'healthy' in Buenos Aires. There are numerous fruit and vegetable vendors on the street, though the quality and variety of their goods often leaves much to be desired - not unlike in the supermarket. However, for whole-grain or quinoa, etc. products it is necessary to go to a 'Dietética.' These shops are luckily very numerous - personally, I already picked a favourite, not due to the variety of the goods, but due to the vendor. The shops are maybe a block and a half apart. In the first one, the shopkeeper is pleasant, smiles, is genuinely helpful, explains to you the terms in the ingredient list you don't understand, and seems altogether like a pleasant person to be around. In the second one, the shopkeeper glared at us as we checked the ingredient list on a bag of biscuits.
"You can't touch the products," she snapped.
We tried to explain in our admittedly poor Spanish that we just wanted to see what types of flour they contained, but she just jabbed impatiently at the sign next to her till. Needless to say, we didn't insist and left. And that's how I learned what 'No tocar la mercadería' means.
Sometimes I wish I could pound 'no tocar' in the head of those men that walk up to you in a milonga from your blind angle, prod your arm and ask 'bailas' as if the element of surprise would make you accept - don't. Just don't. But that, is another story.
The first time buying empanadas is one every newcomer will probably experience. Here are a few need-to-know things. The first one is that they sell empanadas literally everywhere. However, it is better to buy them in a shop specialising in empanadas and tortas, where they cost 5 or 5.50 pesos, or in a bakery, where they cost between 8 or 10 pesos. Heard from a friend: don't buy them in the supermarket. Also, if you want verdura, or vegetable, you should know here it just means spinach. other vegetables, well, apparently aren't vegetables. Then they have empanadas de carne. Here, carne means beef. You don't have any other acceptable type of meat, except pollo - which, apparently isn't meat.
Onward to a different register: reserved seating. In Europe, it so possible to settle down wherever there is free place, move around during a milonga, and people share chairs. This is due to fact there are generally more chairs than people, and the good cabeceo spots are very coveted.
As much as I enjoy reserved seating at times, I have had the interesting surprise here in Buenos Aires of calling a certain milonga and asking if it would be possible to book a table, in my best Spanish.
I was incredibly surprised when the man who answered announced quite decisively that no, it would not be possible, as it was not part of their policy. So we decided to simply arrive early and get a good seat. Upon our arrival we settled down and promptly got told that that table was reserved... For the artists. 'Perfectly understandable' I thought, observing the long, twenty person table.
"And which part of it is booked?"
"All of it. You can't sit here."
Beginning to feel sceptical - only two artists were performing, and even counting their friends, family, and neighbours, that seemed like a lot of place.
"What about this one?" I continued, indicating the other, identical table, situated to it right. "Or this one?"
Their triplet to the left seemed just as large and just as empty.
"Booked," the man told me, looking at me as if I was being very obtuse. "All of them booked."
To this day, I still have not understood that particular no booking policy - which by the way, can be compared to this gem.
Having successfully booked a table in another milonga, another day, we proceeded to arrive at eleven thirty-five. Entirely our fault, I plead guilty, we knew bookings closed at eleven thirty. We underestimated the amount of time we needed to prepare. Anyway, the lady at the entrance announces reservations are cancelled. Disappointed but understanding it was entirely our fault we spotted a free table and settled down. At which point the lady hurried over.
"No no this is reserved," she explained.
Needless to say, we raised an eyebrow at this announcement.
"For the performers," she finished.
Ah... We got up and moved to another table.
"No no, this is reserved," she proceeded to recriminate.
"How can it be reserved?" I questioned, beginning to be a little bit annoyed, I'll admit.
"It's always reserved," she explained as if this should have been obvious. "For the regulars."
It seems it really pays off not to be a tourist in Buenos Aires. Sometimes I feel as if I am expected to apologise profusely for being from abroad.
I'll admit, I'm a recent dancer - and this is my first time coming over. I don't know everything; the tango world is both extremely simple and extremely codified. There are a lot of unspoken rules - even about who should dance with who, I've been told, but I have yet to observe such behaviour. Of course the better dancers are picky - but let's be honest, you would be too, if you had spent years working on your dance, making it into an art form, working on mastering your own body for hours on end. There is a gap between professionals, - and I'm talking about the real ones, not the 'tango teachers' some of us have been unfortunate enough to cross paths with - there is a gap between professionals and social dancers. Some people walk the borders of both worlds, but they are rare and far between. Those people can be the friendliest, in my experience, or the most arrogant. Most of them seem to warm up to you when they understand you are serious about learning to dance tango.
Now, about this last point. I occasionally dance with some of the better dancers out there. I don't know if this is due to how I dance, my looks, my personality (people who know me are probably laughing hysterically by now) or any other number of points - either way there is probably never a single cause.
I have often had the experience of having other followers ask me with a surprised, slightly envious tone how I did it. Or, alternatively, sigh enviously:
"It must be so nice to be young/beautiful/have a nice body/be a new face."
This sort of comment always gives a small internal shudder. Of course, intellectually, I'm afraid it's true. There are much better followers than me running around, especially here in Buenos Aires. Nevertheless, it hurts. I work very hard on my dancing. I listen to tango music in my free time; on the street, I try to walk to the beat, despite the somewhat strange glances this attracts. I'm too afraid to do this in Buenos Aires, of course. I also do solo exercises almost every day. I take group classes occasionally, and two privates a week - sometimes three. I do yoga, stretching, and generally invest a lot of time and effort in improving. Telling me the equivalent of 'anyway, they dance with you just because you're young and pretty, so there' can be felt rather like a punch to the gut.
- Mia
I am thinking of ensuring travel in larger packs from now on. I did ask a few guys I know to come with us , but they were going in other directions. Normally I wouldn't really care, considering nothing happened, but I do feel the need to warn people to be careful - even in 'safe' neighbourhoods like Palermo. It does, whoever, unfortunately reinforce the little part of me that can't help but ask what the hell - and I'm being very polite compared to what I'm thinking - is wrong with men.
Perhaps I should speak of something more entertaining, like... Food!
It is possible to eat 'healthy' in Buenos Aires. There are numerous fruit and vegetable vendors on the street, though the quality and variety of their goods often leaves much to be desired - not unlike in the supermarket. However, for whole-grain or quinoa, etc. products it is necessary to go to a 'Dietética.' These shops are luckily very numerous - personally, I already picked a favourite, not due to the variety of the goods, but due to the vendor. The shops are maybe a block and a half apart. In the first one, the shopkeeper is pleasant, smiles, is genuinely helpful, explains to you the terms in the ingredient list you don't understand, and seems altogether like a pleasant person to be around. In the second one, the shopkeeper glared at us as we checked the ingredient list on a bag of biscuits.
"You can't touch the products," she snapped.
We tried to explain in our admittedly poor Spanish that we just wanted to see what types of flour they contained, but she just jabbed impatiently at the sign next to her till. Needless to say, we didn't insist and left. And that's how I learned what 'No tocar la mercadería' means.
Sometimes I wish I could pound 'no tocar' in the head of those men that walk up to you in a milonga from your blind angle, prod your arm and ask 'bailas' as if the element of surprise would make you accept - don't. Just don't. But that, is another story.
The first time buying empanadas is one every newcomer will probably experience. Here are a few need-to-know things. The first one is that they sell empanadas literally everywhere. However, it is better to buy them in a shop specialising in empanadas and tortas, where they cost 5 or 5.50 pesos, or in a bakery, where they cost between 8 or 10 pesos. Heard from a friend: don't buy them in the supermarket. Also, if you want verdura, or vegetable, you should know here it just means spinach. other vegetables, well, apparently aren't vegetables. Then they have empanadas de carne. Here, carne means beef. You don't have any other acceptable type of meat, except pollo - which, apparently isn't meat.
Onward to a different register: reserved seating. In Europe, it so possible to settle down wherever there is free place, move around during a milonga, and people share chairs. This is due to fact there are generally more chairs than people, and the good cabeceo spots are very coveted.
As much as I enjoy reserved seating at times, I have had the interesting surprise here in Buenos Aires of calling a certain milonga and asking if it would be possible to book a table, in my best Spanish.
I was incredibly surprised when the man who answered announced quite decisively that no, it would not be possible, as it was not part of their policy. So we decided to simply arrive early and get a good seat. Upon our arrival we settled down and promptly got told that that table was reserved... For the artists. 'Perfectly understandable' I thought, observing the long, twenty person table.
"And which part of it is booked?"
"All of it. You can't sit here."
Beginning to feel sceptical - only two artists were performing, and even counting their friends, family, and neighbours, that seemed like a lot of place.
"What about this one?" I continued, indicating the other, identical table, situated to it right. "Or this one?"
Their triplet to the left seemed just as large and just as empty.
"Booked," the man told me, looking at me as if I was being very obtuse. "All of them booked."
To this day, I still have not understood that particular no booking policy - which by the way, can be compared to this gem.
Having successfully booked a table in another milonga, another day, we proceeded to arrive at eleven thirty-five. Entirely our fault, I plead guilty, we knew bookings closed at eleven thirty. We underestimated the amount of time we needed to prepare. Anyway, the lady at the entrance announces reservations are cancelled. Disappointed but understanding it was entirely our fault we spotted a free table and settled down. At which point the lady hurried over.
"No no this is reserved," she explained.
Needless to say, we raised an eyebrow at this announcement.
"For the performers," she finished.
Ah... We got up and moved to another table.
"No no, this is reserved," she proceeded to recriminate.
"How can it be reserved?" I questioned, beginning to be a little bit annoyed, I'll admit.
"It's always reserved," she explained as if this should have been obvious. "For the regulars."
It seems it really pays off not to be a tourist in Buenos Aires. Sometimes I feel as if I am expected to apologise profusely for being from abroad.
I'll admit, I'm a recent dancer - and this is my first time coming over. I don't know everything; the tango world is both extremely simple and extremely codified. There are a lot of unspoken rules - even about who should dance with who, I've been told, but I have yet to observe such behaviour. Of course the better dancers are picky - but let's be honest, you would be too, if you had spent years working on your dance, making it into an art form, working on mastering your own body for hours on end. There is a gap between professionals, - and I'm talking about the real ones, not the 'tango teachers' some of us have been unfortunate enough to cross paths with - there is a gap between professionals and social dancers. Some people walk the borders of both worlds, but they are rare and far between. Those people can be the friendliest, in my experience, or the most arrogant. Most of them seem to warm up to you when they understand you are serious about learning to dance tango.
Now, about this last point. I occasionally dance with some of the better dancers out there. I don't know if this is due to how I dance, my looks, my personality (people who know me are probably laughing hysterically by now) or any other number of points - either way there is probably never a single cause.
I have often had the experience of having other followers ask me with a surprised, slightly envious tone how I did it. Or, alternatively, sigh enviously:
"It must be so nice to be young/beautiful/have a nice body/be a new face."
This sort of comment always gives a small internal shudder. Of course, intellectually, I'm afraid it's true. There are much better followers than me running around, especially here in Buenos Aires. Nevertheless, it hurts. I work very hard on my dancing. I listen to tango music in my free time; on the street, I try to walk to the beat, despite the somewhat strange glances this attracts. I'm too afraid to do this in Buenos Aires, of course. I also do solo exercises almost every day. I take group classes occasionally, and two privates a week - sometimes three. I do yoga, stretching, and generally invest a lot of time and effort in improving. Telling me the equivalent of 'anyway, they dance with you just because you're young and pretty, so there' can be felt rather like a punch to the gut.
- Mia
Taxi dialogues and a brief tango overview
Buenos Aires continues to thrum with activity. We are currently experiencing a cool spell accompanied by torrential rain. Seriously, it feels rather as though someone placed the Iguasul falls over the town. When the downpour gets heavier, water runs in thick rivers down the streets, gushing in - and more problematically out - of the drainage system. But enough talking about the weather.
Time for the taxi anecdote. The other day I climbed into a taxi - normally I take the 'Colectivo' (bus) as it costs around 2.70 pesos where a taxi would be 30 or 40, but I was late - and after a while the taxi driver asks me where I'm from. 'Greece,' I answer, because I do get rather tired of saying Switzerland, and I am as much Greek as I am Swiss, after all. So we talk about the economical situation of both countries, of course. Then he asks me why I'm here. 'Tango.' 'Ahhhh, tango!' It turns out my seventy-so taxi driver grew up with tango - not dancing, but listening - and had a great fondness for d'Arienzo and Pugliese. I swear he almost kidnapped me just to keep talking about tango. 'Young people these days,' he told me, 'don't know tango.' He pointed people out in the street. 'She doesn't know tango. Those two don't know tango. This one? No... It's the people like you who make tango live. Who come from abroad, for tango. When I was young, tango was everywhere. People danced in the cafés, in the streets - they didn't get drunk or take drugs, they didn't go in nightclubs, they danced tango.' I smiled and nodded, despite not agreeing entirely. How much of his speech was nostalgia for better times? How much was true? I do wonder.
Milongas seem somewhat less full than they were last month. A great number of tango tourists have had to return to their homes and obligations. Another wave seems to be trickling in - the occasional face of wide-eyed discovery gives away most new arrivals. And when it doesn't, you can generally identify the newcomer as the more-or-less advanced dancer who makes perfect straight lines but for 'some reason' is having a lot of trouble with the Ronda. There are, of course, exceptions to this rule, especially in the people who have been here more than once or for prolonged periods of time.
My favourite milonga is still El Yeite. The room often feels a little bit refrigerated, especially if you happen not to be dancing. Regretfully, I do not dance every tanda. This is due to two reasons:
1) El Yeite is like a professional playground. You see Chicho, Noelia, (often dancing together, those two) Pancho, Damian Garcia, Balmaceda, Lorena Ermocida, Fernando Sanchez and Adriadna Naveira, Pablo Veron, Celeste Medina, Mariela Sametband, Natalia Fures, Octavio Fernandez, Andres Molina, and the list goes on and on, happily social dancing with each other. It is, quite understandingly considering my current level, practically impossible to dance with that particular category - and entirely impossible to dance in that particular category.
2) I am picky about my dancers. I know some people who tell me I should just dance with everybody, and that I can enjoy it even if they aren't that good. Sorry, but no. Yes, I have enjoyed tandas with less experienced dancers - but some of them out there look so tense, my shoulders scream just from looking at them. Then there are the suitcase dancers. They tuck you under their arm and then proceed to drag you around the floor with no regard whatsoever for your musicality, expressivity, or even comfort. Considering I am working very hard through classes and solo exercises every day to develop these point I am finding suitcase dancers increasingly intolerable. Let's not get into the subject of do-you-know-deodorant dancers. They are much rarer here than in Europe, anyway.
Another milonga I much enjoy is Viva la Pepa. It's relaxed, fun, but can get very full. Pepa seems to infuse the place with her friendly, enthusiastic personality. Generally, the milonga is preceded - like most milongas - by a beginner class given by a local dancer, an intermediate class given by promising young dancers, and finally an advanced class given by well-known dancers; in January Moira Castellano and Gaston Torelli. The whole package costs around 50 pesos - practices and milongas are generally between 20 and 50 pesos, unless there is a special event. Demonstrations by well-known performers are not considered a special event, as there is one in almost every milonga.
Practicas.
One of the main difference between Buenos Aires and Europe is the one-tanda rule. This is an excellent thing in my opinion because it ensures a better mixity. It ensures that a lot of dancers invite new people, and there is always someone around to TRY and cabeceo. On the other hand, most good dancers know enough women that is they don't want to dance with someone new they certainly don't have to. Besides, sometimes, you just really, really, really want to keep going for much longer than those pitiful twelve minutes. Well that's what practicas are for;
La Viruta is an unavoidable stop for any tango dancer in Buenos Aires. Personally, I find Wednesday and Sunday are the best days - the level is high, and the room is not too full. Then again, I have discovered I much prefer the adequately populated milongas. Overcrowding tends to make me feel stifled and claustrophobic. The medialunas are commendable :-)
El Motivo is another very nice practica - high level, good music, all positive. It is, like Viva la Pepa, in Villa Malcolm; a lot of events take place there, but the different organisers ensure very different atmospheres. I can't say I like them all. El Motivo, thought, is very hard to get dances in, especially in the beginning. You need, as in many things in life, determination, grit, and the capacity to improve regularly.
Las Malevas is also excellent - but often completely packed! Often practicas contain beginner and intermediate dancers serious about improving their dance, young professionals intent about practicing with each other, and just friends coming to hang out and occasionally dance. This creates a very nice atmosphere completely different from Europe - where we take our tango less seriously and ourselves more seriously, no offence intended.
First impressions
I have been in Buenos Aires more than a month. I did not expect it to pass by so fast - and at the same time it feels as if I have been here for much longer. I feel at home, despite intellectually knowing it must be quite different to actually live here, as opposed to travelling here for tango.
Buenos Aires is often loud and dirty, but the regular rainstorms that have been sweeping through the city every ten days or so wash most of the filth away. People have generally been nice and helpful, despite a few less pleasant experience - like the taxi driver who 'forgot' the adress. Thankfully we knew exactly where we were when he took a 'wrong turn,' so we said stop, thank you, and walked the rest of the way.
Oh, and there was that guy who tried to rob us with a screwdriver. He wasn't terribly frightening, to be honest - we probably could have hurt him much worse than he could have hurt us, as there were three of us and one of him, but it really wasn't worth it as he ended up taking off with a grand total of 0.75 pesos... While he was counting the coins, we left and flagged a taxi a street further.
Tango here is awesome - there are evenings where it feels all your dreams are coming true, you are on a cloud and literally everything is possible. Others, magic just isn't meant to be. Mostly though, it's a nice mix of patience, smiles, lingering glances, and invitations - nothing is quite like cabeceo to sift through your dancers - especially if you haven't seen them dancing yet. Just because you are in Buenos Aires doesn't make all the locals tango gods.
Clothes and tango shoes are... less than half, sometimes three quarters less expensive than in Europe. With the dollar at 11 or 12 pesos as it is lately, Comme il Faut are worth around 90 euros - 1060 pesos - and some other brands are around 800 pesos. The difference is simply ridiculous.
A lot of people in the milongas here are brilliant. Mostly, Argentinians will dance with you, sure, but they socialise with other Argentinians, probably because they see so many tourists come and go every year. The international crowd is more friendly in that regard - and most of them are definitely worth those 12 minutes of investment.
Buenos Aires is so large and diverse I could go on for pages.
- Mia
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