Buenos Aires milonga codigos

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The essence of tango?

December 11, 2010 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires | 28 comments

Reading Bora’s Tango Journey from Buenos Aires, and in particular Day 8 and the comments on it, sends me reeling back through the years to 2007 and the post I wrote in December of that year called More tango lessons, the tale of a painful episode that I will never ever forget. I know the theme isn’t quite the subject of Bora’s Day 8 post, but the sum of her Buenos Aires writings (up to Day 12 so far) moves me and causes me to remember some of the pivotal steps on my own tango journey. She and the people who have commented on her post have prompted me to consider the ‘real’ tango in this city, and what it means to me, right now, in 2010. Why am I still dancing tango in Buenos Aires, three years on?

The other day I had cause to tell the following little story to a dear long-time-tango-dancing friend. She laughed and exclaimed something along the lines of, Sallycat, you have just described the essence of tango! Here’s what I told her. See what you think.

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I’m sitting in a milonga where it’s pretty quiet and it’s easy to see everyone in the room, the dancers on the dance floor and the folk sitting the tanda out. It’s the afternoon and there are people present who never frequent the late-night milongas.

I see quite a few men I wouldn’t really care to dance with. Maybe I’ve danced with them before and don’t want to repeat the experience. Maybe I haven’t danced with them, but they dance in a way that does not encourage me to want to leave my seat. Or, maybe I am repelled by the ugly and all-too-visible shapes of their egos or the fact that they are obviously only interested in dancing with the outer beauty of youth or the prospect of a quick lay, one of which I do not have at age forty-seven and the other I will never be. I will decline to embrace these guys. I let them go in my mind. These men are not for me.

I begin to look for the men who I might want to embrace. I keep my eye on one man I’ve never seen before. I do not see him dance. He sits quietly, on his own, sips from a small coffee cup.

I do leave my seat, for Fresedo, Donato, D’Angelis, Caló and the valses. The rest I sit out. It’s hot. There’s no aircon. The wall fans can’t cope. I save myself for music I love. At the start of each tanda I glance at the man again. He’s pretty old, I’m guessing eighty. He looks frail, but his fresh white cotton shirt has perfect creases ironed into the sleeves. Maybe he just dressed up to come and listen to the music and soak up the tango memories seeping from the walls of the place.

Or maybe not, because with the first few notes of the new tanda in the space between us, he is looking back at me, inclining his head and mouthing the word, Bailamos?

I decide to take a risk — well, in truth, I’d decided it an hour or so before, and he probably knows it. I dip my head in a small movement, mirroring his. He stands for the first time since he arrived in the salón.

When he embraces me I know for sure he has lived a lot of years. He holds me with a telltale combination of security and uncertainty in his physical contact. It isn’t his energy that gives him away. I feel his presence strong and proud, but there is a slight shake in his arms, a momentary tremor, the voice of his body telling its long story to mine, from the first touch.

My body reacts to reassure his. No backing off on my part, or transmitting hints of social conditioning about age or tango ability or tango technique. He may shake slightly, but I have chosen him and I will focus entirely on him and give him my all. I hold him as close as I can and breathe with him. I sense every point of connection with his body. I breathe with him again. With him again.

He breathes with me.

His first steps are relatively simple, and I know he guides me deliberately in to a place that feels good, for me, and for him. He wants us to find the common ground, somewhere where he knows I’m hearing the same music he does and can respond to it without holding back.

Once he has me there, safely on the launch pad, he begins to flex his dancing wings. I become certain that he has waited in his seat all afternoon for this particular orchestra, and now he wants to bring the music that he loves to life, through me.

And the development of his dance across our four tangos? It’s as if he begins with a pencil sketch on a single sheet of paper and ends with a power-packed painting that could fill an entire wall of the Tate. I feel every mark through his chest, and I add my own choices to his as my confidences builds. I hear the music he has selected for me. I respond to it and to him. My energy is not passive, but present and alive in his arms. He paints musical masterpieces on the floor. I feel every knot of tension leave us and I dissolve in the warm melting pot of the security of our hug, the strokes brushed into intricate spontaneous patterns by our feet, the notes written long ago and now rushing through our ears to our legs, and our clasped hands that tense and relax in a way that makes me notice how my skin is hot to his cool. We are a match. We are one.

By the final tango in the tanda, every hint of his physical tremor is completely gone. I am dancing with the spirit of a young man and with a soul that has danced for over fifty years. I become certain that we are dancing in the 1930s, that we have chosen each other in a packed tango hall where a live orchestra is playing, that I am the only woman in his world and that he is the only man in mine.

When he finally pulls away from me I see it in his eyes. I’ve surprised him, as he has surprised me.

Or maybe I haven’t surprised him at all. Maybe his eyes simply speak of triumph that he has so effortlessly extracted my ‘gift‘ and left me wanting more.

Afterwards he escorts me back to my seat and I need him to. I ask him how old he is. Only slightly breathless, he says,

Eighty-two.

I say,

Yes, but you dance like you are twenty-two.

He chuckles.

And you are twenty-two, he whispers in my ear.

I giggle. He kisses my hand.

I can’t dance the next tanda. I need to allow my heart beat to slow. I go to the bathroom to wipe a damp paper towel over my forehead, tidy my hair. When I come back the waiter is clearing the coffee cup from the man’s table. My ‘frail’ eighty-two year old has gone.

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So, what do you think?

And, what do I think?

I think that what we each consider to be the ‘essence of tango’ (or the ‘real’ tango, or whatever you want to call it) and the freedom we give to others to discover and speak of and celebrate their own version of it, probably says more about us than it does about what the essence of tango truly is… will it ever look or feel exactly the same to any two of us? I don’t know, but I think not.

I do know, in my own case, that I’ll always remind myself to remain open to finding the essence of tango in Buenos Aires in the lower-key places, in the humble people, in the quiet of the afternoon, in the last hour of the late-night local milonga, in the second or third rows back in the tango salóns, in the hearts of men who dance for joy to the tango music they truly truly love. And every time I discover what I seek in the arms of those men, I will thank my own tango angel Carlos (seen in my friend Shaun’s beautiful photo at the top of this post, and described in my 2007 post mentioned earlier) for helping me along my path to discovering the intense and very precious essence of tango that I will dance in my heart till the day I die.

Sometimes I will find the bliss I seek. And sometimes I won’t. But, I believe that somewhere in this city (aka world, aka life), what my soul needs in its quest for joy of all kinds, including in tango, is probably always there, right there under my nose. Whether I find it or not is probably pretty much down to me.

That said, I’m off to Los Consagrados.

And wherever you’re dancing tonight, I wish with all my heart that you find what your tango soul is looking for.

Happy National Day of Tango to every one of you!

Buy Happy Tango: Sallycat’s Guide to Dancing in Buenos Aires, and start flying towards your own tango adventure in Buenos Aires, today!

Join the book’s Facebook page for all the Happy Tango updates from Buenos Aires; click here and then click ‘Like’.

If you’ve enjoyed reading Happy Tango, please recommend it to someone else who would enjoy it too. Thank you!

Click a link to buy Happy Tango from:
amazon.co.uk
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BookDepository.com (the Book Depository offers free shipping to many countries). If you prefer to buy from your bookstore, then you should be able to get them to order you a copy, wherever you are in the world. Ask for:

ISBN: 9780956530608
Author: Sally Blake
Published by: Pirotta Press Ltd
Publication date: 30 June 2010

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Movement

October 4, 2009 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 27 comments

Four weeks after my trip to the UK I find myself wanting to push my boundaries. Wake myself up. Be the adventurer that I know I am born to be. Sometimes I can only do it in tiny ways (ways that don’t involve spending hundreds of pounds on flights around the globe), but I can still do it. I decide on a Buenos Aires milonga I’ve been meaning to try for at least a year. I take the 60 colectivo across the city and arrive in Congreso about six, early evening: pay my $15pesos; get three raffle tickets for two different draws; exchange my coat for a number; change my shoes in the Damas; receive warm welcomes all round. A lady in the loos even gives me a yummy chocolate eclair type toffee. The hostess shows me to a single empty seat in the second row (of two), behind a full to bursting front line. I beam a smile to both sides as I squeeze through crossed legs and stilettos. Alas (and I confess, because I have a soft heart, that it places a tiny dent in my joy) my fellow tangueras look straight through me. Once I might have shrunk in confidence. Not anymore. Truth is I believe in myself these days. There’s that, and the fact that I’ve already spotted three men I know.

By the time the next tanda begins I’m ready. A foreigner male pal of mine is on the table dead opposite me, in the second row (so let’s call him SecondRow), back against the wall. We make eye contact, and he grins. There are already dancers on the floor and it’s a stretch to keep him in my sights. I lose his eyes. Find them. He nods. Lose him. Find him. I nod. All going swimmingly. Then the Argentine bloke sitting in front of my friend gets up.

It all happens muy rapido and I don’t quite know how I do it, but I clock almost instantly that this man (let’s call him FrontRow) thinks I have nodded or smiled or something, at him. I also realise that I know him, dance with him every week somewhere else, kissed him hello in the hall ten minutes earlier as I was paying the entrada. I would have given him my best mirada later of course, but haven’t actually done so yet.

For a milli-second I am stuck in a freeze frame of uncertainty. I consider abandoning SecondRow just because I can’t bear the idea of anyone being stranded on the dancefloor without a partner, and SecondRow is not actually on his feet yet. Then my thoughts tumble, No! I won’t do it. I can’t. My contract is with SecondRow. He knows it. I know it. I wanted him. He wanted me. We’ve done the nods…

More bodies are on the floor. Maintaining eye contact with SecondRow around the dancers makes me wish I had the neck of a giraffe, but I manage to reassure him with my gaze and he gets up. FrontRow must see me staring at SecondRow because he sits down and apparently, I learn later from SecondRow mutters, Mujeres.

FrontRow then ignores me for the entire session. I even look at him for vals, but he refuses to bite. I know he knows I try, but he avoids. Punishing me? I reckon so, and I doubly reckon so when my girlfriend arrives a couple of hours later and he almost immediately dances with her. Will he still be punishing me next week? It won’t break my heart if he does, but it will make me sad. Everyone can make a mistake, and in this case I have to say that I don’t really think that the mistake was mine. I know who I looked at. And I had my glasses on.

I do enjoy the evening. Gorgeous traditional venue. Music that pulls me from my chair again and again. Gentlemen who I feel would forgive me anything on the basis of the shine in their eyes as they pull away from our tandas. Yet, I can’t help allowing FrontRow into my thoughts on the bus home. How he could barely bring himself to nod goodbye to me… so serious, so wounded, so out of proportion. Or so it seems to me. Couldn’t we have smiled, laughed, passed off the cock-up as just one of those things?

Months ago in another milonga, I managed to arrive on the dance floor to discover two men waiting for me, and not just any two men. Two men from the same prime front row table. Two men I’d been trying to land for weeks. Mortified, I explained to the one that I hadn’t looked at him… He cabeceo-ed me the very next tanda. Now that is what I call a gentle man.

Maybe my reaction is out of proportion to the unimportance of the events, but the episode with FrontRow puts me off the tango scene for a day or two. This weekend I abandon the dance that brought me to Argentina, and escape on the Semi-Rapido 60 bus to Escobar for the annual National Fiesta de la Flor (that’s the equivalent of the Chelsea Flower Show to us Brits). And bloody marvellous it is too. In amongst the orange Gerberas and the wafting smells of parilla-grilled beef, I find a knitwear designer who was possibly born to knit me the wedding coat of my dreams. I also spot a Barbie-inspired over the top cream floral sphere that brings the glitterballs of the Buenos Aires milongas to my mind and has me conjuring images of a massive globe of blooms hanging from the roof of La Glorieta on our special day… and now I am dreaming I know, but a dear friend has put the idea in my mind and I can’t help it. Where better for Me and C. to do the public bit of our knot-tying than in the bandstand in the park where we met? Course I need to work out how to get permission from El Gobierno de la Ciudad, or at least from the Belgrano City Council, but hey… if we actually manage to get our papers in order to wed in the first place, I’m sure that part would be a breeze. Wouldn’t it?

Ah well, maybe now I am digressing into fairytales. Nice one though no? And blessedly I’m now far, far, far from the little wolfcub in sheep’s clothing that was the genteel Buenos Aires milonga where this wee tale began. Sometimes you just gotta get away from all those cabeceos and codigos. Or at least balance them with something mucho removed. Yesterday it was the Flower Show in Escobar, and you can see the full picture story of our rather fabulous day out (including the ones of me posing in my new bruja-black designer knit) right here on Flickr. Next week it could be Temaiken. Or Lujan. Perhaps I’m entering a new phase of living in Argentina (at two years six months) involving exchanging the colectivos for the semi-rapidos and venturing beyond the city walls. And a good thing too I reckon. Flowers. Flight. Fresh air. Freedom.

In a strange twist of synchronicity today, a gorgeous girl I know in Buenos Aires sent me a Martha Graham quote. I’ve already got one on my wall. This one I’ve never seen. Here it is.

Movement never lies. It is a barometer telling the state of the soul’s weather to all who can read it.

I like it. Once in a previous life, I was stuck. I never want to be stuck again. And right now movement in my mind, seems to require movement in my physical world. So I’ll do it. Maybe in small ways. But I’ll do it. And thus, I will ensure that my soul will never again lose its glorious multi-coloured wings.

Where are you flying today? Do tell. I’d love to hear.


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When tango cultures work it out

April 29, 2009 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires | 18 comments

Me and C. This is the post I once longed to write, and it is the story of how Me and C. got from A to B.

In January 2008, A stood for Arguments concerning tango. I didn’t go into the times we yelled at each other about it, but I did raise the subject of our differing tango cultures right here, where I would like to draw your attention to point 5, which on Friday night at La Milonguita in Colegiales, accompanied by lots of smiles, winks and joy, finally became our position B:

…go to the Milonga together but ask to be seated separately, then both the woman and man are free to practice the ‘cabeceo’ as if solo, and will be able to dance with many partners as well as with each other during the evening…

Actually we went one better than that: C. arrived two hours before me, sat with the tangueros; I turned up when I was ready, fanned myself with the tangueras; we cabeceo-ed each other for our favourite music; we cabeceo-ed others; we shared a special bond of knowing that we were together, and yet free to dance with whom ever we pleased; we walked home down Avenida Cabildo, hand in hand and giggling like teenagers.

I suspect some of you will be wondering what the hell I am banging on about. When I lived in the UK and danced tango in the UK, I could never have imagined being a part of this little tale. I am sure that C. would not have imagined being a part of this little tale either. Neither of us could have envisaged we would ever even arrive arguing at starting point A, two tango souls from two tango cultures a chasm apart. Over a year ago, as it sunk in that there even was a position A, I was still getting my head around the possibilities offered up by position B, which seemed strange beyond belief.

In that same post back in January 2008 I also wrote:

…I can’t honestly imagine going as far as sitting separately…

and I couldn’t. My open minded British tango heart wanted to dance with C. and with strangers all in the same night. His Argentine tango heart was not keen. Plus the whole sitting separately thing just seemed odd to my British brain. I felt confused and couldn’t ever imagine us at position B. I decided to stop arguing and surrender to time, and the fact that with that time we would understand each others cultures a little better and find our own solution… Perhaps, I accepted, we will never arrive at B, and if we don’t it’s OK. I danced alone in the afternoons and that satisfied my need for tango with strangers, but at night, he came with me and my friends, or we did the couple thing. That was position A minus the Arguments.

  1. Between position A minus the Arguments and B a few things happened: In March 2008, I took C. to some Milongas in the UK and he saw that in Hampshire at least, we all sit together (well, actually on chairs around the walls, but that’s another story) and dance with each other: married or not, engaged or not, boyfriends or not, girlfriends or not… and hell, he adored the fact that he had ‘his chicas’ (as he still calls you wonderful girls to this day) asking him to dance! He also saw that we all go home with our own partners or to our own partners (on the whole, anyway).
  2. In November 2008, a fabulous visiting tanguera who sells Greta Flora tango shoes in Canada started taking me out at night when she was in town. We left C. at home, and to my surprise, instead of raising his eyebrows, he showed signs of being grateful (I am sure that as the months pass it must get rather boring being dragged out with every one of your girlfriend’s English speaking friends, especially when you have to get up early the next day and go install a gas system). When the tanguera left Buenos Aires, I started joining my other mates out on the town too. Not every night – no, no, no. Just now and again. I confess that at first it was a pretty weird feeling, sliding into bed at 5am and curling myself around a sleeping C. and in truth there was a slight feeling of morning after treading on eggshells, but before long we were in the groove of it. Nothing bad happened. We both saw that nothing bad happened. We relaxed.
  3. One night we did sit separately, at my suggestion, at Cachirulo. It was a disaster. We were so far apart in the crowd that we could barely cabeceo each other without standing up and signalling like crazed traffic policemen. That was the night I managed two tandas in five hours for a whole host of reasons. I know the photo in that post proves I was smiling as I danced merengue with C., but I’m not sure he was, and I honestly thought that it was probably the nail in the coffin in terms of us ever reaching position B.
  4. C. went off tango a bit. Work stuff, life stuff, years of tango… desire ebbs and flows. His ebbed for a while. I became more accustomed to girls nights out. Me off with friends suited us both, though I missed dancing with ‘mi amor’ mucho. Occasionally he joined us and he danced with my friends, but I saw his heart was not in tango as it once had been. Patience, I thought, Let the universe decide.

    Months passed.

    Out of the blue, a week ago, C. announced to me that he wanted to start dancing again and that he was thinking that he needed to dance with a variety of women: This summer I want to dance with ‘mis chicas’ in Inglaterra and I don’t want to be out of practice, he said.

    Honestly, you girls from Southampton and its surrounds who are reading this in England, he said that!

    If I had been sitting on one, I probably would have fallen off my chair. Bloody hell! wonders never cease! I thought, but I said calmly, Great, mi amor, that’s great. Where will you go?

    He chose La Milonguita: local, friendly, familiar. I suggested turning up later. Let’s experiment, I said to him in a Barbie moment of enthusiasm, Maybe it’ll be fun. He was in such an upbeat mood, longing to dance, his passion for tango back. Yes, he said, Let’s do it!

    And so, last Friday, we arrived, unexpectedly, gently and easily at position B.

    …sitting separately at the Milonga…

    OK, there were some odd aspects to B: we couldn’t share a meal at the same table; we could only chat between tangos in a tanda (possibly for the first time I was truly grateful for those pauses in dancing); we had to make sure we cabeceo-ed each other fast and/or avoid everyone else for our favourite music; I had a Bugger, why isn’t he looking at me for the vals? moment.

    There were some wonderful aspects to B too: as I watched him, smart and proud, hair slicked back, sipping his cortado in his front row seat, I loved him more than ever; as the milonga thinned out, we danced more tandas together – we’d had our taste of strangers and it was reassuring to slip into each other’s arms; as I danced the last tanda with him, I was overwhelmed by the thought that gifting another person freedom, encourages love.

    So here we are in April 2009, at B. And basically we got there by taking the Argument out of A and letting time do the rest. Rather exciting isn’t it, when you stop trying to force something and hand it over… hey, the universe can even manage to work a few miracles with tango, two diverse tango cultures, a Porteño and an Inglesa!

    Of course I am well aware that position B is really only the beginning.

    And I can’t help wondering what the next installment in this little tale will be. Mmmmmmmm… think I’ll leave that to the universe too.

    Meanwhile I’m off to Maldita Milonga with a friend ;)

    Sallycat

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    When tango cultures cross

    January 6, 2008 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 19 comments

    DSCF2803One of the first in depth conversations I had in 2008 was about tango. Actually it was more than that. It was a discussion, an exploration of ideas, a negotiation. And it was with my Argentine.

    I would say that from the day we became ‘more than friends’, our hottest topic, of conversation, and I mean in the sense of the most contentious, has been tango. When I was single in Buenos Aires, tango was relatively straightforward. I went out to dance alone, danced with many different men, came home alone. There were some downsides. Some men clearly wanted something more than dancing and I had to develop my ‘fria’ side in order to deal with them. But I mastered the ‘cabeceo’ and so was able to avoid most of the guys that I didn’t enjoy for whatever reason. I also faced the nights when I was not a popular choice of dance partner, and the worst of those were when I was seated with women far younger and far more attractive than me: ego killing nights. But on the whole there were few complications. I knew where I was. I went out whenever I wanted. I danced with whomever I wanted. I experienced the full range of tango connections, and I fell in love with one of them…

    And there the negotiation began. I learned fast that the meeting of two separate tango journeys and ‘el amor’ can complicate matters considerably. Now I suspect that this is true whatever corner of the world you live in, but possibly the complications are greater when you live in Argentina and two different tango cultures meet. I only have experience of England. There I did date someone in tango for a while, but we just carried on as we had when we were single: we went to the Milonga together but once there we both danced with whoever we wanted to. Indeed the tradition where I lived in the south of England was that if someone asked you to dance, you tried to avoid saying no. There was no ‘cabeceo’, and it was generally accepted that if you were there, whoever you with there with, you were an available dance partner. The fact that there are no tables in my local English Milongas assists this situation. When you are all just sitting round the walls on chairs it’s not always obvious who is with who. I rarely saw a tango couple who danced exclusively with each other.

    So what traditions does Milonga culture offer the ‘love-tango’ partnership in Buenos Aires? Here’s my experience:

    1. At most Milongas there are tables. A couple may be seated together at the same table or may choose to be seated separately. At more traditional Milongas there are separate areas for men, women and groups or couples.
    2. If you go to a Milonga as a couple, sit together, and the man does not get up to dance with other women, other men will stay away. The etiquette is that you have gone to the Milonga together and you are therefore not seen as an available dance partner.
    3. If you do exactly as above, it is possible that a known male friend or dance acquaintance may approach the table to greet you both, and may request the permission of the man to dance with the woman.
    4. If you do exactly as above but the man gets up and dances with other women, and the woman then actively practices the ‘cabeceo’, then some other men may dance with her.
    5. If you go to the Milonga together but ask to be seated separately then both the woman and man are free to practice the ‘cabeceo’ as if solo, and will be able to dance with many partners as well as with each other during the evening. In this case the ‘tango-lovers’ will be able to dance together but not easily share a seated conversation, a drink or food.

    A clue to why perhaps tango becomes difficult for those from England in ‘el amor’ with an Argentino, lies in the third point above: ‘and may request the permission of the man to dance with the woman’. I think that when you are with someone in Buenos Aires, you are with them, and you are seen as being theirs. In life, this is pretty much the same as in England in terms of monogamous relationships, but in terms of tango there is perhaps more of a difference. I guess that if the couple are both at a stage in their tango journey where they want to dance with many other partners, then a plan to do so may be fairly easily agreed. But if one partner is at a stage where they are happy to dance exclusively with their partner, and the other is not… well then the situation becomes more complex. The fact that, in my limited experience, Argentine culture seems to support the belief that if you, as a woman, go out to dance alone then you might also be available, or that men may think that you are available complicates things further.

    So far my solution to this challenge has been to dance with my partner at night, and to go out alone, or with girlfriends in the afternoon. But surprises crop up from time to time even when I follow this rule:

    • Out with him and a stranger approaches the table and asks me to dance. (To be honest only a foreigner would do this, who doesn’t know any better. But it has happened to me.)
    • Out with him and someone I know or who knows us both, approaches as a tanda is starting and asks me to dance. If they ask him first, I am grateful for their courtesy. If they don’t ask him first, then I wish they had and I feel uncomfortable. I feel more uncomfortable if the tanda is favourite music of ours.
    • Out with him, he leaves the table for example, to go to the bar. Someone approaches the table and asks me to dance.

    Situations like this, handled badly, can put a big fly in the ointment of a calm night out with an Argentine ‘tango-love’.

    So far we haven’t tried the ‘go to the Milonga together but dance with others’ scenarios as described in 4. and 5. above. In our latest conversation we talked about trying number 4. I can’t honestly imagine going as far as sitting separately. Number 4. probably will work best if we go with a group of friends and so it will be less obvious who is with who. I think we both feel a bit nervous about the whole thing. However at the moment, my sentiment is that I went through quite a lot to get here in the first place and the reason I came was to dance tango. My English culture tells me that it fine to dance with many partners, that it is normal to go out dancing with girlfriends. I don’t want to lose this perhaps ‘innocent’ view of tango. At the same time I have to try to understand my partner’s culturally different viewpoint and somehow together we have to try and find a meeting point, which is acceptable to us both.

    Our discussion did at least make us laugh. We tackled it with such seriousness and respect one for the other, but at one point we both commented that anyone would think we were talking about joining a ’swingers club’ or ‘wife swapping.’ We were only actually talking about tango. But what I realise is that here in Buenos Aires there is so much more to tango, than just tango as I used to think of it. For an Argentine there is history, tradition, culture, Milonga etiquettes, past personal experiences, the numerous past experiences of friends. For me, originally there was experience of a few months of the English Milonga scene, but now for me too, all the other things have come into play. Finally we agreed that we are entering a phase of experimentation, that we are in it together, and that we have to accept that it may in the end be for the better or for the worse.

    This is a complicated matter to write about. I don’t want to reveal all aspects of our wide ranging debate, but I want to convey some of the reality of ‘el amor y el tango’ in Buenos Aires. I have realised that I may have come here with various ideas of how my tango journey would pan out, but I never contemplated the consequences for my tango or indeed for any prospective relationship, of falling in love with a tango dancer who also happens to be Argentine. One thing is clear. When tango cultures cross, negotiation has to follow.

    And so begins 2008!

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    ‘El Puchu’ – el milonguero 2007

    June 12, 2007 in Buenos Aires Information, Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires | 5 comments

    Picture of El Puchu with Gabriella y yo On Wednesday night I was ‘la periodista’ (journalist), with my beautiful assistant and translator Gabriella, accompanying the contemporary milonguero, Puchu, on his ‘ruta’. What a rare treat the night was. Puchu gave his time freely, introduced us to many people and answered all my questions with frank honesty. The delightful bonus was that he danced with Gabriella and I all night! Wicked.

    Puchu works the Milongas seven days a week. He visits three or four in one night to dance, relax, and to network with friends and other tango professionals. We met at 11pm at Dandi in San Telmo. I had not been there before. It is a small, traditional Milonga in a beautiful venue, frequented by milongueros.

    After Dandi, Puchu normally heads to La Ideal, but as it was closed for an unknown reason we drove to the barrio Once to visit a barrio Milonga, arriving at about 1am. This was an incredible experience because this type of Milonga is not listed anywhere. It is a community Milonga  enjoyed by locals and professional dancers. To dance here was very special. Finally we drove to Club Armenia, La Viruta where we stayed until the close, 4.ooam on Wednesdays. Puchu visits different Milongas depending on the night of the week so our experience with him was a snapshot, a slice of his week’s work. He told us that the Milongas have been especially quiet because it is the end of the month. Less portenos are out because money is tighter at this time, and of course there are fewer tourists because the season is over.

    See pictures of Dandi, San Telmo on a Wednesday night

    Puchu has only danced tango for two and a half years, but he turned professional after eight months.  His background lies in the folkloric dances of Argentina. He was born in Canuelas which is a city 62km from Buenos Aires and his mother sent him to classes in folkloric dance from an early age. He hated the classes, but twenty six years later he is known for his amazing ability to perform and teach dances such as the chacerera and the beautiful and sensual zamba.  He teaches in the provinces around Buenos Aires as well as in the city itself. One fateful day, soon after the break up of a long term relationship, Puchu was driving in his car when he heard tango music and realised that he wanted to learn the tango. He was hooked from this moment, began attending the Milongas and apart from a series of classes with a milonguera, he taught himself tango by watching the milongueros dance. 

    To dance with Puchu is an incredible experience. His energy is strong and his lead is clear and direct, giving his partner the ability to dance even the hardest moves with ease. When I dance with him I know that my mistakes will be few, even though he may lead specific ganchos, volcadas and colgadas that are new to me, and rarely led in the Milongas. His negotiation of even the most packed dance floor is an art form perfected. Today he performs in the Milongas with his dance partner who is also his wife, teaches and works to practice and perfect his dancing. He has travelled to Spain to teach, and will be returning there later this year. In the future perhaps he will travel more. He also has a day job to supplement his tango income. How he gets up at 9.30am to work after going to bed at 5.30am every night is beyond my imagination. He told me that he regards the Milongas as rest time. Incredible.

    Puchu believes that great tango comes from passion in the soul, not from the technique. The technique can be learned, but the passion is the key. When he dances with new partners he seeks this passion, and especially a passion that connects with his. He told us that he knows of people who have experienced orgasm when dancing tango. My head spins…

    I wondered how he selects who to invite to dance. Either he has watched them, or sometimes he notices that someone is not dancing and he wants them to dance. This answer made me laugh. After all he asked me a few weeks back in La Viruta. I obviously looked like a wall flower! I comfort myself in the fact that he has danced with me many times since…  he tells me he feels my passion. Certainly it is there and he is not the first person to have commented on it. Phew!

    I asked Puchu what he thinks of the foreigners who come to Buenos Aires for tango. In his opinion we are essential for the continuation of tango, we bring the money that keeps the tango scene alive here. Commercially, foreigners are vital. The downsides can be that foreigners do not always understand the etiquettes of the Milongas, for example how to negotiate the dance floor. This is an etiquette that the milongueros prize. On a busy ‘pista’ it is essential that every leader maintains the flow of the ‘camino’ (path) around the floor. Sometimes foreigners who are relatively new to tango can cause blockages and disrupt the flow of other dancers. We talked about the ritual behind the ‘cabeceo’, the invitation/contract to dance. He told of how a milonguero, if refused by a woman, may even go as far as to change his shoes and leave the Milonga. The woman will have a black mark. She may never be asked again by the same man, and certainly not for years. I make a note of this.

    Puchu dresses smartly for the Milongas. It is part of the tango experience for him to look elegant, sharp. However hot he gets he never takes his jacket off. His hair is always slicked back. He looks the part. It works. This was one reason I noticed him originally, on my first night in BA. I guess you could call it marketing. He is noticeable, for his looks, his elegance but most of all for his dancing. He regards himself as a milonguero of today, and of the future. He respects the older milongueros who have taught him, and one day he will be one of them, teaching and inspiring the next generation of milongueros. What am I saying? Of course, he already is.

    I would like to thank El Puchu for his time and kindness in showing me a slice of tango life here that I would not have otherwise seen. He asked me to end my post with a quote and so I do and hope that one day we may see him dance in England:

    En la milonga se puede tener mujer y amante. Como mujer tengo La Ideal y como amante, Club Gricel.       

    El Puchu 2007.

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