1st Entry:  Sunday 4-19-09 Traveling to Buenos Aires

Apart from a rather strange altercation in the Atlanta airport, travel to Buenos Aires went very smoothly. As I was walking along concourse C in Atlanta, I came across a loud interaction between an airport Policeman and a youngish black guy. The cop had the black guy by the shirt and was brandishing a baton. Conversation as follows: cop: ‘Get on the floor!’ black guy: ‘Sir, what did I do?’ cop: ‘get on the floor! I dont want to hit you!’ black guy: Sir,what did I do? cop: Get on the floor (whack with baton) black guy: Sir what did I do? cop: Sir what did I do? cop: Get on the floor! (whack) This went on for about 3 minutes until another cop, this one black, rushed in and got the guy to the floor, handcuffed him and the two cops dragged him off. Quite unusual for me to witness this type of thing, and I was a bit discomfited. Anyway, the rest of MY trip went well…

I arrived without incident in BsAs - all flights on time and luggage included.  Amazing! The English and Spanish translations of public address on the plane was amusing. Ladies and Gentlemen…. Spanish: Damas y Cavalleros…  Cavallo is horse, Cavallero is horseman, so currently, all men in Argentina seemed to be called cowboys…

My seatmates on both flights were amusing. Portland to Atlanta, I was seated next to a young philosophy student from Bates heading back to New Mexico for the vacation week.We had a great time Bush-bashing and hoping for the best with the next administration. From Atlanto to BsAs, I was seated next to a young middle-school teacher from Boston who was going to Argentina to get married (again). He and his wife had already done the city hall thing so she could be with him with a fiancee visa, but they were going to do it again in S. America so her family could celebrate. The only thing odd about this whole thing for me was that they had been physically together for a total of 8 days before deciding to get married. One day - when they met - about a year of email correspondence, then a week together to decide if they really wanted to be together - which obviously went well - and now they have been married a year and will be celebrating a second time. My seat mate told me that it really took all the worry out of the relationship… should we move in together…. yada yada… and they just did it. Carpe Diem, I guess. Yow.

Alberto (a good friend of my father) picked me up from the airport and by 9 am Saunday I was at their lovely home in Recoleta. Their son Juan-Ignacio spent the day with  me and we took a bus and a train to the river and then a ferry and went for a walk on one of the islands. The bus (colectivo) is what transports the majority of the public around. The train seems to be a wilder card. The train we took is the only one J-I trusts and runs on time. The other lines apparently are in grave disrepair and unfortunately seem to be a large source of suicides (people throwing themselves under the wheels) in response to the terrible ecomony (much worse than in US). Needless to say, this puts a dent in the train schedules, so folks dont use them as much. Also, J-I has seen a huge decrease in tourism and traffic (the traffic part I was not so unhappy about, because it is usally LOCO to try and cross the road here) all of which has created a big decrease in the overall well-being of the average Porteño. J-I is also of the opinion that is due to the Peronist-style government (very Communist-based) which provides low incentives for people to actually work.  A lack of interest in work decreases any sense of civid pride or the ability to get anything official done. 20 governmental employees are hired to do the job of 2, its very hard for employers to fire anyone (massive documentation required) so its hard to hold folks to standards, and its very easy to get unemployment $ from the goverment, so folks are not that interested in finding work. (opines J-I). There seems to be a second layer where things actually get done which excludes the official (and very bogged down) channels. J-I and I went to his bank (Banco Nacional de Argentina) for him to cash a check, but for some reason they couldn´t change my $US. Then we went to the office of his friend Stanislau (Ti-ti for short)- 2 young guys in nice suits and ties in a 4th floor cramped office (financial consultants J-I told me ) and changed my $ there. No fuss no muss, and I didnt have to walk around with my passport (a big relief). Thats the way BsAs is.

That being said, Porteños are very happy to tell you exactly what to do and where to go and how to do things even though they really haven`t the foggiest notion. After 2 wild goose chases this morning, I gave up asking and just muddled along with my map, remembering how turned around I get in this city. A very helpful cavallero named Boris tried to help me find his apartment, but gave up when he realized I preferred to be alone. No es borrido? (isnt that boring?) Not if you’re me, I replied, and walked purposefully off in entirely the wrong direction.

Anyway, I`m going dancing now at Confiteria Ideal. Look for more noticias soon!

Besos y Abrazos

Emma /DJ Adira

2nd entry: Tango Diary Monday/Tuesday/Wednesday 4/20 - 22/09
I am sitting on the terrace with my jerba mate in the sun. Utter contentment. I’m glad folks are reading the tango diaries. My Spanish teacher has weighed in on the erroneous spelling of the word caballo (con b largo) not cavallo (con v corto). Say the two words out loud: like this: ca-vi-yo… ca—bi-yo. The small difference between the pronunciation of the v and the b messes me up greatly when writing Spanish. Latinos (depending on where they are from) pronounce that sound closer to a b or closer to a v and its very hard for northerners to distinguish.. well, me anyway, so apologies to Gustavo if I goof on  spelling things, as right now with minimal Spanish classes, I spell things phonetically,..

Last year, Laura and I discovered the national shortage of change/coins – moneras. I asked a taxi driver why when I couldn’t give him coins and he couldn’t make change back, so he lost out in the exchange. He told me that metal is very valuable and coins are actually removed from circulation, melted down and used to make other things. The government does not replace the coins (at least not in J-I’s memory and he is now 27), so there is a national shortage. This might explain the nightly garbage rendering activities experienced throughout the city when the sun goes down. Garbage bags appear on the sidewalks and a whole sub-culture of people (mostly indigenous) appear and pull the garbage bags apart. They are searching for something, but I don’t know what. Metal to sell for recycling perhaps?  Anyway, it makes a huge mess all over the sidewalk and walking around is hairy until later at night the clean up crews show up and sweep it all away.  Crazy, but it’s a haphazard system that has arisen to provide resources for  these no-income folks, and work for the clean up crews. Instead of fixing the problem, (addressing this under-culture of jobless indigenous people) a bandaid is applied (ignoring them by sweeping it away. I wonder if anyone can identify the original wound, or if it so engrained in the cultural fabric of Argentina that they don’t see a problem with it.

I went out for a “drink” Monday night with J-I and two of his buddies: Federico and “Nacho”, who I met last year). Monday night and most everything was dark. After trying 5 bar locations unsuccessfully, we ended up at a Confiteria (ubiquitous and always open til the wee hours). Nothing on the menu tempted me and I complained about not being able to find good dark chocolate in BsAs. (FYI: I like 85%)  Nacho threw on his jacket and told me to follow him (jacket shmacket, it is NOT cold here…) and we ended up a few store fronts down at a Volta. If you have read any of the tango diaries before, then you know about the national Argentine preoccupation with artisanal ice cream (helado). It is serious. They make Serious helado here. Buono como orgasmo dice Juan-Ignacio). I’m not sure what kind of relationships he is having, but I agree with him that its definitely up there in the realm of excellent physical pleasures.
So I got my dark chocolate fix (along with some dulce de leche) and my low-dairy consumption resolution during my trip went out the window. I bade it farewell quite happily behind my copa de helado.
(a little later…) Yay, Laura is here, and we are ensconced in our new apartment. We are sharing a gorgeous and homey top floor with another tanguera from England (haven’t met her quite yet) we are going out to explore the barrio “Once” to the great dismay of my Porteño family. Apparently Once is not the nicest of barrios, but it seems tranquil and close to the Subte line A (with the beautiful wooden interiors). Plus we need to do some food shopping. Pictures to follow, as Laura has brought the camera cable for uploads.

3rd entry Tango Diary Thursday 4/23/09 Wednesday night and Thursday

We woke up at 8:30 this morning disappointed we were not able to sleep until our usual waking time of noon. Remedy: stay out later, coming home at 2:45am is too early! Especially after consuming empanadas and café con leche at midnight. oops. Buzz buzz buzz, although considering it was Laura’s first night on the town, we actually did rather well.

The night before started with a plan to go to a practica, followed by a gay milonga, followed by el Beso. but as usual, a few curve balls were thrown our way. Guided by the “milongas buenos aires” internet site, we set out valiantly on foot towards our destination. However, 30 minutes later we arrived at a rather posh milonga at Niño Bien (where we both had been last year on opening night). Luckily we had packed both casual and dressy clothes. A brief transformation later, we were ready to hit the piste de baile in style. Last year, Niño Bien was so packed that one could barely move 5 feet on the dance floor in one dance. This night the milonga was more sparsely attended, with an older crowd (more on this in a sec). We were seated close to the front, but on a corner, and not in direct line of site of the milongueros. Even so, this did not too adversely affect our invitations, although Laura had to get her Mirada/Cabaceco back on. Took her all of 3 minutes. Neither of us sat down for more than 5 minutes all night.
Interestingly, the average age of the Porteño Milonguero is about 70, and they all dance wonderfully. One gets a range of good, great and superlative dances here. No bad ones, as older Porteño milongueros are musically driven and not given to fancy shmancy stuff, although they do leave plenty of room for adornment on the followers part. Laura and I decided that they all kind of look the same. Grey/whitish hair, ample pot belly, Dark pants and button down collar short (short or long sleeved), or in a suit, same hair do. Good sense of humor. First question is always “de donde ’sos?) Where are you from. I am getting this less, either because I am starting to dance more like a Porteña, or my Spanish is getting better.

Afterwards we went to El Beso and finished the night there. The room was jam packed and very international. We danced with Italians, Polish and Australian dancers as well as Porteños. I had a fabulous dance (Bueno como orgasmo) close to the end with Scott (an Australian) and then was quite happy to sit and watch. My feet were done at that point anyway after 3 hours in 4 inchers and 1.5 hours in 3 inchers. Tevas felt really good after that. Once you’ve had the best dance of the night, one may as well go home. (I like to end on a high note).
Thursday  daytime….
After breakfast, Went to GretaTango for shoe research, but found them closed. Even after waiting around for 45 minutes at a confiteria (and talking about Proust – felt very intellectual) there was still no answer at the GretaTango buzzer. To assuage our disappointment, we went to NeoTango and had good luck there with shoes. One pair down, how many to go? On our way back we became aware of loud banging noises and chanting. We had come across a protest of the Panadera’s (Bakers) blocking one of the major roads and causing a lot of ruckus. A Porteño came towards us shaking his head indicating that it was too loud. We asked him what was going on pointing to a pamphlet I had picked up off the ground..” Sergio” as he introduced himself, grabbed me by the hand and we plunged into the drumming chanting fray, Laura followed close behind with her camera, although he indicated that she might not want to take pictures. (She has been a shutter bug all day, so we’ll upload some pictures on facebook soon!) Sergio asked a drummer what exactly what was going on and what the 7 letter acronym at the bottom of the pamphlet was. Some sort of United  and Quite Pissed Off Bakery Workers of Argentina type of thing – I didn’t get all of it.  “No to rich owners and Yes to the workers revolutionspeak. He grabbed my by the hand again and we fought our way out of the fray. At this point it was becoming apparent that holding my hand was more for his benefit than mine, and so I extricated myself and thanked him for his help. The demonstration was being held in front of the National Syndicate Building, and was causing serious traffic snarls, massive honking and all around Latino Americano angst.  Big surprise.

Speaking of Latino Anerican angst we became aware recently of the unfortunate death of all 21Venezualan polo team horses in Miami. Apparently there is no ban on doping or administrating hormones or supplements to the horses of any kind in this industry. At $100000 per horse, this must represent a massive loss both financially and emotionally to the Venezuelan owner, team and country. Not to mention just a very sad thing all round.
Later on, after some food and a power nap we started the evening of dance at El Arranque, albeit a bit late. A good warm up though, amusingly ended at about 10 pm with a group of Italians with 2 days of lessons in them (except the one who danced with Laura). Beware of well-lubricated Italians who think they can dance tango and believe that it involves lots of long holds and squeezes and thrusting their thigh between the followers legs. I almost ruptured something trying to hold my laughter in for the tanda. Then to El Beso for another fairly international night. There is always a tando of west coast swing – Argentinos love to dance this form - as well plus a Chacarera (a beautiful swooping folkloric dance).  We ran into Ofer – a tanguero from NYC who owns a wine business and I had met him previously at Tango de los Muertos. He is taking a work sabbatical and is spending time (2 months now) down here.  Sounds good to  me. He is pretty linked in, so we are joining him tonight at a celebration at Confiteria Ideal and then a private opening party/milonga on the 21st floor of a building on Corrientes. Yeehah. Will report later.
After El Beso, we ended up at Niño Bien again, but on the way in the taxi on calle San Jose we drove past the most spectacular prostitute I have ever seen (well, I haven’t seen many, but woah.) Anyway she was wearing bright red boy shorts and NOTHING else. Definitely surgically improved breasts, and fantastic legs (could have been a transsexual, but did not note package) The taxi slowed down as we approached and we all took an astounded appreciative look. The taxi driver whistled and we continued on our way to El Beso. We had another interesting night at El Beso, where the dancing was good, but there was a predator on the floor. A man in white pants and a maroon shirt was inviting women to dance and then making them very uncomfortable. Most women were leaving either at the end of one song, or in the middle of the first song. He would then invite another to dance. Many women compolained to the management, but they couldn’t quite catch him in the act of abusing someone. One American lady there said he actually bit her neck and then put his hands on her rear and and tried to put her hand on his genitals. Laura left him after one dance and then warned me about him. He did try to invite me, but I avoided his eye. I think I probably would have kneed him in the balls if had tried anything with me (at least I hope I would have, I might have been too shocked). It saddens me that no one did anything directly about this person, and that the word of 5-6 women at the milonga was not enough to have him expelled from the venue. On this strange note, we left the milonga and headed home. In bed by 3 am.

4th entry: Tango Diary Friday/Saturday 4/25,26

Hey folks, two glorious dancing days later, and the tango adventure continues. We are finally on BsAs Tango Time, as the nights are extending into the hours of 5 and 6 am. Our feet seem to have acclimatized to 5-6 hours of dance in 3-4 inch heels every day. I’m so glad I brought my tennis balls and foot roller!
So on Friday we walked down Rivadavia searching for a hair place so Laura could get her bangs fixed. This required a lot of information. Firstly, the Spanish word for bangs (flequillas). Also what is the right amount to tip a hairdresser in BsAS? Laura asked this question of our hostess Magdalena, or at least tried. What came out was an amusing Spanish version that sounded like: “If I go to a cinema to get my bangs cut, how much should I tip?”  After watching Magdalena’s perplexed reaction we discovered the difference between the words pelicula (film) and peluqueria (hair salon). We have had some very amusing moments with language. Anyway, we did drop in to a little hole-in-the-wall peluqueria on the way downtown (Laura is very courageous, I must say) and had her bangs done to her satisfaction. Downtown we visited 2 shoe shops, and Laura bought the Mod-est pair of shoes ever (wait ‘til you see!). The other store had the foot-fetish salesman from last year, and I have a picture to upload of him almost licking her leg. He probably sells a lot of shoes this way.

The next tango destination was an afternoon milonga (got there about 4:30 after an empnada break) at Confiteria Ideal. Mucha gente! It was an homage to Orchesta Tanturi and in the middle of the dancing some sort of presentation was made to a group of people. We all just wanted to get back on the dance floor. But it dragged on a bit. Pomp and ceremony and such. At CI, Laura and I developed the tango-cock-block to avoid being asked to dance by sleazy men. It involved yelping the code word “taxi!” and then  feigning some sort of shoe emergency that requires both of our undivided attention until sleazy guy moves on. Works really well, although we are both suppressing so much laughter that  it hurts. We left CI at 730 ish and went home to take a power nap, then went back downtown to a new milonga at 327 Corrientes on the 21st floor of a very high building. The view of the city was spectacular even if the live music was not, and we met Leo( very interested in Laura, and probably wishes I would go away). Leo has a Camioneta (van that seats about 10) with 3 levels of security. Apparently car theft is a huge problem in BSAs, so the only way to avoid it is to make your car more awkward than the next to steal. Leo achieves this with 1) a steering wheel lock, 2) a foot pedal lock which holds the emergency brake down, as well as the door locks – and vast numbers of keys. It takes about 5 minutes for him to enter and exit his vehicle, even more so while we our laughing our heads off while he is going through his machinations. Anyway, we all headed out of  to Salon Canning and walked in right at their half-time show (2:30 am) of a belly dance performance! 2 excellent dancers, one male and one female were performing in the middle of the Canning dance floor. I was more impressed with the male bellydancer than the female on. His movements were much more interesting and isolations crisp and perfect. She was a Barbie doll with obviously fake breasts (no one that tiny has boobage that big, I’m sorry)  but a great  show by both. Later as they left, I thanked them for the show and told them how wonderful they were. I couldn’t quite get out that I also dance, they looked a little confused, but my appreciation was not lost on them.
Canning has not repaired their floor – it is still as rutted and picked as last last year. This does ot bother the leaders with flat heels, but its really annoying with stilettos, (the shoes) as they seem to find every crack and crevice in the floor. Once one’s heel catches, its an effort not to stumble, and puts me off my flow. Arg. Some nice dances, although I had an annoying experience with a dancer who I had danced with at least 3 times this vacation. For some reason he thought it was ok to mention that my dance was “linda’ but that I needed to lift up  in my  torso more. This really bothered me. It’s a milonga. One should NEVER teach at a milonga. 1) I didnt ask for his opinion 2) It stops the flow of the dance. 3) Is unsolicited criticism ever a good idea? Anyway, I mentioned this later  to one of our roommates later who is a tango teacher and told her how I felt, and she said next time: tell him exactly that. Men (and this happens in N America too) who offer instruction or advice during a milonga need to be informed that this is a social dance, not a lesson. If I want lessons, I’ll take them, and if he doesn’t like my dance style, then dont invite me. Woe betide the next guy who tries this. I have the Spanish phrasing memorized, and feel totally empowered to leaving him gawking and embarrassed on the dance floor. If women would stand up to critical partners perhaps the men would feel too embarrassed to do it again. That being said, I will work on being more lifted in my torso, but I’ll never dance with that guy again. Men, take note. If you offer feedback to a partner during a milonga, you risk offense, even if you mean it in the best possible way. DON’T DO IT. Make your partner feel as if she is the most amazing partner in the world. Bring your lead to your partners level so she is comfortable. Her dance development is her business not yours. Then if it was really bad for you, at least you were kind, and you don’t have to invite her again. Soap box over.
Anyway, total tango hours  (TH) logged Friday night: 7.

On Saturday, we woke at 1:30 pm (oh bliss) and walked around the Once district doing some chores. Another power nap and off to the races again at 11:00 pm. This time Maipu 444 at the suggestion of Scott a while ago.  This is a very traditional milonga controlled by a stern man who posts rules (no Nuevo, keep heels down Etc etc.).  The seating was very segregated with the women on one side, single men along a wall, and couples in another area. Unlucky younger single men were seated behind the women, so it made it hard for them to make eye contact. There were many good local dancers, but the older milongueros at this dance did not invite younger women wearing un-traditional clothing (us). Oh well. They were fun to watch. I could see all the leaders watching the footwork of the older gentlemen with great alacrity. We stayed there for 4 hours, and I had some of the best dances so far.  Quite a blissful evening for me. Laura got off to a lsower start. But in the end was not unhappy. Some characters: Desperately Seeking Something woman (in her 60s) – permanently stuck in the eighties with weird tattered lace and extremely bad hair (looked like she was wearing a hair-dye cap with tufts pulled out of it. ACK! Although not a bad dancer, just made us cringe to look at her. (FYI weird hair color of choice this year in BSAS: red-pink. Blah. And lots of eyebrow piercing among the younger set.) Another character: Butter Boy (real name Henrique) but so called by Laura due to his very smooth leading. I danced with him a lot, as it was very fun, and I could tell he was holding his Nuevo side down. I also danced with Scott (more bliss) and a French leader Jean who I remember from last year.
After a Café con leche and Empanada break at 4 am (at our favorite Café de la Ciudad – the air smelled smoky, as if the fires from the Pampas were infiltrating the city again, if you remember the tango diaries from last year, for 3 days the city smelled like it was on fire. For those tango diaries, go to http://www.wmpg.org/?programming and click on Shaken and Stirred and then click on the link to the tango diaries), we hopped into a taxi and headed to la Viruta at 4:30. (ridiculous) and met up with many of those who had been at Maipu. La Viruta is the catch–all milonga that is open until 6 am. Folks head there after leaving the other milongas. It is a strange mix of young and old, disco and tango, usually crowded with flashing colored lights. Its in the basement of the Armenian Culture center in Palermo. Ordering more coffee and medialunas for some blood sugar, we danced until 6 am. I found Butter boy again, (yay- experimental tango for the last 20 minutes in ballet flats) and Laura found Leo. We closed the place down. Leo was nice enough to drive us home in the high-level-security autobus. I checked the time just before hopping into bed. 7 am Sunday. TH=6 or more.

Just woke up, wrote this, and will now head down to the Malva museum of Art in Palermo. Then on to La Glorieta (a beautiful open- air gazebo milonga in the late afternoon).

5th entry: Tango diary Sunday/Monday/Tuesday 4/27,28,29

Sunday 4/26/09

Awoke rather late (1 pm-ish again), and had breakfast. This is becoming the norm. We decided to vist the Museo de las Bellas Arts on Avenida Libertador. I walked down and met Laura at the museum. On the way, I walked through Recoleta where there was a big artisanal fair with stalls as far as the eye could see. Selling handmade everything: art, mate gourds, necklaces. Hand puppets, more mate gourds, leather sandals, threads of glass drops (for what?) rastas giving folks dreadlocks,  jugglers, poi artists, musicians, yet more mate gourds,  paintings (good, bad and really ugly) sculptures, toasted sugar-covered peanuts, surprise- more mate gourds, woolen hats, scarves, socks, leather wallets, everything else made of leather, hand printed t shirts, photographs, and finally - you guessed it- mate gourds.  Quite a seething mass of humanity all located on top of and around the Recoleta Arts building and its very torn up grounds. It looks completely bulldozed on one side. This deconstruction seems to happen all over BsAs. The sidewalks are a mess everywhere. Some sort of work is required, workers tear huge holes in the sidewalks, and then pile bits of debris back in the hole, cover it with a few boards, and consider the repair done. It is like this in all neighborhoods- ritzy Recoleta and grittier Once. Although not so much in Palermo. We saw workers attacking a poor defenseless and perfectly fine piece of sidewalk in the Centro for no apparent reason except for the fact that was not broken. Makes for hellish situations with strollers. I helped a mother extricate herself from a huge sidewalk pothole, and I have only seen one wheelchair so far in the city. I’m not sure what wheelchair-bound folks do here. It’s well-nigh impossible to get around the rushing crush of people and the rutted sidewalks. Laura met a French sociologist at one of the milongas who is examining the handicapped population in Latin and North America and Europe. In North America disabled folks have a strong voice and empowerment – think of current building codes and event access requirements. Here, folks may be disabled from malnutrition or genetics and seem to accept their lot more philosophically and do not necessarily seek more representation or power. Good? Bad? I’m apt to say bad, but I live in a more entitled society.
Anyway, Laura and I met at the museum and enjoyed the contemporary art exhibit there. We hopped onto a colectivo and headed to La Glorieta (with a yummy little empanada break in between). La Glorieta is held in a beautiful gazebo. Its an outdoor milonga with about 200+ people milling about on a gorgeous marble floor. Looking up you will see a pretty wooden canopy. Had some lovely dances, and had to do a bit of avoidance of big-bad-bald-Salon Canning-guy (see last years Tango-Diaries) along with a few ancient and rather wobbly characters. Met up with Butter Boy  (aka Enrique) and had some lovely dances there. He invited us to an Asado (grill) at his house later on in the week, and we will actually be going tonight (Tuesday). We took a taxi back home, power napped until 12:30 am and had some food to wake ourselves up. We got to Porteño y Bailarin (PyB) at about 1:00 am where we bumped into Scott and his partner Niky, Shaun V (from Portland Oregon - I call him shorty. He’s about 6’6”) as well as a crowd of locals we are getting to know quite well. Shaun danced with one of the local women Laura and I call big-gazonga lady. When ha came back and sat down, I said “Shaun, I have to ask- what’s it like dancing with someone with such obviously fake breasts?” He replied “Its like dancing with two beach balls between us. But she’s a fantastic dancer- very smooth” After the milonga ended, Laura and I were invited for a coffee by Pablo and Carlos. Slipping out of the little midget door in the metal sheet that comes down over the store-front area, we headed to a local confiteria. Carlos is the organizer of Sunday/Thursdays at PyB.  Pablo is a dancer who seems to be rather enamoured of my shoulders. I guess Argentine women don’t work out much. Pablo gave us a cd of beautiful old tangos which is now on both our computers with the understanding that we would meet him the following night at Niño Bien to return it. Sneaky Pablo. The conversation turned to bellydance, Carlos when he learned that I also dance Arabic style dance immediately asked if I would perform at PyB when I returned. I said I would be happy to and told him what I charged. He kinda turned purple and blew coffee out his nose. I guess most performers get paid less in BsAs. The couple (absolutely beautiful) that had performed that night at PyB had been paid 200 pesos. I told him I’d be happy to do it for that amount. (whoo hoo! Can you imagine?! Me being the featured artist at Porteño y Bailarin?!) Hilarious! Definitely going to follow up on that next year.

Monday 4/27/09

Monday, we awoke at 1:30 pm (again) and went shoe shopping. We had the greatest intentions of going to the Malva, but pooped out after walking to Neo Tango and Comme il Faut ( I think I’m going back to get some awesome red stilettos). I name all my bellydance costumes, and all my pairs of tango shoes. These will definitely be called the “Red-Hots”. So instead of visiting the museum, we headed home to sleep a bit more so we could dance later.

Later…the first stop was Niño Bien – I had ok dances, although the last one was a bit paradoxical. This guy (Jorges old guy, single earring in  ear, buzz cut white hair) was seemingly innocuous, although rather rigid and stiff in his embrace. When I missed a particular cue for an unfamiliar move, he started barking orders in abrupt Spanish in my ear. I let it go once, and when he led the move again, I was able to follow it, so I felt like I had gained experience. When it happened again, I stopped the dance mid-flow and told him “this is a milonga, not a lesson” and walked off the dance floor. He immediately made a courtly gesture and followed me off the floor, saying something like “you need to learn, or its how you learn”. I didn’t get it and I didn’t care. If I want a lesson, I’ll take a lesson. When relating this later to both Laura and Scott, they applauded the action. Even though it was a weird ending to the dancing at Niño Bien that night, it was strangely empowering.
Also, the young barman called me over, told me I was beautiful and asked if I would meet him at el Beso Thursday night. (I am having a really good ego-stroking vacation!!) I told him maybe, no promises. At this point, I don’t even know when my next meal will be (though it will probably involve empanadas), much less where I’ll be dancing two days from now.
From there we went to an alternative milonga space at 572 Independencia. See Laura’s photos for visuals. It is held in a beautiful hidden space. A door next to a skanky garage in San Telmo: a rickety staircase, a huge mirror and spooky doors opening to big room with local crazy art on walls. Que WOW. (my newest expression). This venue is a great metaphor for taking risks and trying out strange places, because of the hidden beauty one can possibly find. Both in people and places. We were at a Despedido for Scott  and Niky, our Australian friends. This is the lovely Latino term for going-away party. Niky and Scott have been in BsAs for 11 months - I cannot imagine the re-entry. I’m going to have a hard enough time after 2 weeks. I am already planning my return for next year (for 5 weeks next time if I can swing it!) We drank red wine, talked and danced a little. At the end of the night, I ended up speaking with a young and playful dancer called Maximiliano. He apparently dances at shows in the area. While Laura got to know the DJ (she has started doing research into old-style milongas), I had a great conversation with Maximiliano. the topic was how tango is a conversation – question and answer (pregunta y respuesta) as opposed to the man telling the woman what to do (older traditional style). I liken it to talking with someone. When one has a conversation, it is two sided with ideas flowing in both directions, if not, then it’s a lecture and can get quite boring (remember how lectures in university could put one to sleep. Even if the material is fascinating, a unidirectional flow of information will tire the attention of the listener if no participation is required) Needless to say, I had great dance with him, as this is exactly how I feel about the dance, it being a co-creation, with input and sensitivity from both sides. In fact we danced the place closed at end of the night until Laura was falling asleep in her chair. He was quite disappointed that we were leaving at the end of the week (ACK, tell me about it…) as he was interested in dancing creatively with dancers from other countries, since he feels they are less limited that many Porteñas. Oh well, next year Max…

Tuesday
I feel that for the first time in all my trips to BA, I am finally penetrating the real city. Last night we were invited by a dancer called Enrique (butter boy) to an Asado at his house. Interestingly, he lives only 3 blocks away from our beautiful space. An Asado would be insufficiently translated as a cook-out, or a grill, but for Argentinos, it is a serious thing. A traditional way of preparing and sharing meat more like a ceremony, or an event. A mere weenie-toast on a quickie gas grill it is not. Almost every place with an outdoor space has a grill or Parilla: a sturdy structure made of brick or stone with space for wood and a large grill surface. Terrasses, roofs and balconies are pressed into service. The asador takes his job very seriously, and it’s quite a level of distinction to host an asado. And a mark of manliness too. Meat in Argentina is cooked slowly and because all the animals are mostly grass grazed and not given hormones or antibiotics, the flavor is intense. I don’t eat a lot of meat in the US, as I find the quality poor, and the flavor inadequate. The price for quality local meat of known origin prohibits frequent consumption. Therefore, when I come to Argentina, I eat meat and truly enjoy it. Argentinos eat every part of the cow, and last night I found myself faced with blood sausage (this was a first for me), chorizo (awesome!) then there was another cut (don’t remember name) and ribs. Laura and I had brought a bottle of wine and a salad, so the sausage got wrapped in a lot of lettuce. But it would have been impolite to refuse my host (or question his manliness in meat preparation, I didn’t want to hurt his feelings. Men are SO sensitive…right, guys?)
This experience was another foray into the real BsAs, one that most tourists who come, dance at milongas, buy shoes, and visit touriosites don’t get to see. Enrique’s space included a dance studio with beautifully dilapidated balconies, hallways open to the outside connecting the cramped little rooms, a diminutive kitchen, (el que cocina, no lava!) 2 tiny European style bathrooms with shower on the walls, and tangled steep metal stairs to the roof top where the Asado was held. Laura struck up a conversation with Marco, a Serbian Gardel-worshipping cantador who speaks 4 languages, and reads Rabelais for fun just like Laura. We ate more meat in one sitting  than I eat probably in a year. Then Enrique followed this up with a beautiful dessert (postre) of grilled bananas in their skins, slit open with fresh lemon juice and sugar applied. YUM x 1000. gotta try this at home. Perfectly simple elegant and delicious end to a very filling meal. Laura headed off to PyB and I then spent another 3 hours dancing with Enrique in his studio dancing and talking Nuevo tango theory, organic food in Argentina and the US, the farm I am so proud to be part of, his experience an a farm with horses. He walked me home at about 4 am, and Laura had just got back herself. Fabulous crazy day. I am falling deeper under the spell of Buenos Aires and its people.

Ultimo Tango diary Thursday 4/30 and Friday May 1st

Wednesday night started at Milonga Maldita on the advice of Scott and Laura’s friend Eric. The Orchesta Tipica de L’Afronte was great – very dramatic, 4 bandoneons, cello, upright bass, 3 violins  and an amazing cantador. (To listen to some of their music, google El Afronte) There was a lovely demonstration by a gentleman and a portly woman who’s skirt caught on on her heel. ACK! She very calmly and coolly during a pause reached back and unhitched the problem, then continued dancing. Note to self, too long stretchy skirts might costume issues. Cuidado!
I connected with director Gabriel Atúm of El Afronte. Became fan on facebook and sent a personal email. I hope he responds, as he wants to bring the group to the US, and I might be able to facilitate part of a US tour, hopefully we can bring them to Maine  if they include Boston and environs in their plans.
Unfortunately, the level of dancing at La Maldita was quite low. Got caught by a couple of trawlers and then decided not to trust anyone I hadn’t seen dance already. Trawlers are my name for solo men circling the dance seating looking for partners. Not usually of very good quality. Men who circle the milongas seeking partners like this are usually to be avoided. Not always, but 85% of time. I have learned now after 4 years that I have enough experience to say no and wait for a more quality partner .The higher quality dancers were not inviting extrañeras  and the floor was quite empty, so Laura and I decided to have a dance together. We did a waltz tanda - dancing with Laura is such a dream no wonder she is so sought after at the milongas. We evidently had a lot of fun, and A German gentleman then asked me to dance a milonga – yay -  while Laura danced with Eric. I have noticed that German tango dancers are very friendly and happy people. We blew out of Maldita in favor of El Beso and had some great dances. Laura and I have noticed that some dancers are interested in dancing with only one of us, and will not invite the other chica to dance. We complain about it to each other. For example, at El Beso (translated as The Kiss, by the way) a guy by the name of Daniel asked me to dance, and we ended up dancing four times during the night, but he never asked Laura, although she mirada’d him a lot. Similarly, a great dancer from Texas (Russel) was not interested in me at all, but was all over Laura. Annoying, but we both got lots and lots of dances the whole time we were down, so neither of us have anything to complain about, really. Ended the night at about 3:30 (rather early, we thought).
Thursday 4/30 was the day before Labor Day (May 1st).  In most Latin American countries and also many European ones, workers are celebrated. Not in the US/Canada, although the Latino Community is bringing this holiday quite deservedly to North American attention. Avenida Nueve de Julio (the 16 lane monstrosity in the middle of the MicroCentro) was closed Thursday night and our taxi had to take a detour around the huge installations of banks of seating. Already, the trees and structures in the area were festooned with banners and protest signs for the president to see as she spoke. We made mental notes not to go anywhere near the Centro on Friday. We met Laura’s colleagues Eduardo and Hiroya (sp?) for dinner at Chiquilines, a rather sniffy restaurant in the Congreso area. Laura and I now prefer the grittier and smaller venues, and we are learning where they are from friends and contacts who live in BsAs. Anyway, we had a lovely time with Eduardo (who teaches at the University) and Hiroya (a composer doing a stay in BsAs) at Chiquilines. Strangely, it had TV screens in it and periodically every Porteño’s eyes were riveted as a soccer game between La Boca and River was on. Geez. The table next to us was a family group of guys and I was astounded by how much meat was loaded on to their table. Platters of steaks and ribs with nothing else except a basket of rolls. They also ordered large plates of fries, and finished it off by each ordering huge desserts. How Argentinos are not scurvy-ridden and obese I’ll never understand. Laura and I shared panqueques con dulce de leche, and Eduardo had a bread pudding which came with about 1/2 cup of ddl on the side. Yow. We all gave him a hand with that. Later we ended up at Niño Bien for my last night of dancing. It was jammed. Enrique had said earlier that he would join us, but was feeling a lot of pain due to a dental incident and could not dance. Que lastima! I certainly wouldn’t be able to concentrate on dancing if my tooth hurt either. This brings up a point on the overall dental health of South America vs North America. The fluoridation of water (for good or ill, depending on your view) certainly creates a disparity in dental strength between the hemispheres. I asked Enrique about this, and he mentioned that compared to other countries in S America, Argentina was quite good. A combination of discoloration due to lots of jerba mate and tooth damage due to either no fluoridation or different dental hygiene habits however, makes the average Argentinian smile less white and flashy that what we are used to in North America. ‘Nuff said.
Anyway, we got to Niño Bien (translates to “spoiled boy-child, or son of an affluent family) at about 1 am and were seated “al fin del mundo” near the stage, quite out of sight. Luckily a few decent dancers were seated near us, so it wasn’t terrible and we inched our way forward as tables were vacated. Laura’s friend Jeff found us and invited us to join his table next to the dance floor, and things improved dramatically. No longer at the mercy of the trawlers, we had some lovely dances, though we had to do some more avoidance of various characters. Thanks goodness for the convention of the cabaceo, If one just steadfastly avoids looking at certain people, they cannot ask you to dance. We ended the night at about 4 am and headed home.
Friday, May 2st- el dia del Trabador or Labor day, so everything was closed - take note for next year! Supermarkets, banks - nothing is open on May 1st, except for a few fruit and veg places, and some bakeries. A bummer, as I wanted to get some hand-sanitizer for the plane. No such luck. I packed, went and had a goodbye dance with Enrique and hung out on his fabulous sunny rooftop terrasse. We had a farewell empanada and ddl helado,and Luis picked me up to go to the airport at 5:30. The weather has been incredible these past 2 weeks. Sunny and in the 70s the whole time we have been in Buenos Aires – unseasonably warm. It has spoiled me for warm weather, so I hope to come back to some nice sunshine in Maine too.

Laura is leaving BsAs tomorrow. When I spoke with her last, she was pondering the problem of too many men asking to hang out with her on her last night. I told her to fly solo. I can’t wait to hear about how she resolved it all.

I am already planning my return trip for next year. I can’t wait to revisit my new friends, dance 5-7 hours a day and find more treasures buried in this beautiful melancholy dilapidated yet modern and completely loco city. Maybe next time I’ll even make it outside Buenos Aires.

Make sure you listen to DJ Adira and DJ Laura on the post- BsAs trip on Shaken and Stirred, Friday 10:30 – noon US Atlantic coast time 90.9 or 104.1 FM in Portland ME) http://wmpg.org and click on the shoutcast button on the right. I hope my new friends in S America will join the listenership.

Besitos y Abrazos, y hasta pronto!

Emma
xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxxoxoxo