friends in Buenos Aires

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Playtime

November 8, 2009 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires | 19 comments

serious tango unoHe came into my life like so many people do these days – with a comment.

It wasn’t on this blog. Rather, it was on my Nextstop.com Buenos Aires Guide. And it announced itself as being from Sun Valley, Idaho. You can probably imagine the sort of thing, Coming to Buenos Aires… need advice about tango lessons for beginners… got your name from blah, blah, blah. Nothing new there. But, in a master stroke (which surely indicated to me that he knew something of the workings and fragility of an artist’s ego), he added, You have an outrageous web site–really great!

Now, it was in a week when I was pretty tied up (or should I say drowning) in the first round of my post-edit book revisions, and I had almost zero enthusiasm for emailing with faceless folks in another hemisphere. But, since flattery definitely gets you further than no flattery, he stuck in my mind, and I ended up sending a brief email and suggesting he might try my good friend TangoCherie and her partner Ruben.

A few emails ping-ponged between the Americas after that because, in the game of responding to enquiries from people planning trips to Buenos Aires, one Which? What? or Why? inevitably leads to another. And in this particular case, by the second round of them, there were a few slightly unusual (between total strangers asking and answering travel-agent style queries), personal-ish questions from him, like, What are you reading at the moment?

In my slightly stressed stay-away-from-me mood of the hour, I confess that I wanted to retort, Why the hell are you asking me that? Bugger off! Questions about what I like to read, always did have the potential to panic me, even in person – I was more Enid Blyton and Agatha Christie than Charles Dickens or the Brontes, you see. When, weeks later, he asked if he could bring me anything from the USA, I suggested a Julia Cameron volume I hadn’t yet read. He didn’t email me back, and I thought I’d never hear from him again. A couple of Saturdays down the line,  in Los Consagrados, at the table of Cherie y Ruben, I found myself being introduced to a man called Neil, and his beautiful daughter. I’ve got a book for you, he said, as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and out of his rucksack he pulled, The Vein of Gold.

I don’t know if you can imagine what it’s like when a complete stranger unexpectedly brings, all the way from their far-away land, a longed-for gift that you never thought you’d own. But, to give you an idea… I’ve just been waiting over two weeks for a parcel from my mum that contains my Spiced Chocolate L’Oreal Excell 10 Minute Hair Colour, and my new Moo cards: it cost £18 to send, it’s now well past its scheduled arrival date and I’ll probably never see it, ever, ever, ever… Aaaaargh-entina. Never mind The Vein of Gold, he was actually delivering gold – not only in the form of a new book to help me keep believing in and following The Artist’s Way, but also in his generosity, and in my surprise and delight to be on the receiving end of it.

By the time the night was out we were giggling a lot and spilling some honest beans: he’d advised me to keep the ’sexiest skirt in the milonga’, but lose the clashing top (he has a background in fashion, apparently); I’d told him that his questions (which, by then, I’d realised, revealed nothing more than the curiosity of a playful soul) about the contents of my bookshelf had almost had me legging it to Antartica.

We’ve met a few times since then. This Saturday gone, we ended up posing for the camera - Oh please do the tango leg thing for me, I want to show my mates back home! Naturally, I did protest a bit with some, Oh I can’t, we’re in a traditional milonga, what will the world think? type stuff. Oh, live a little, Sallycat! he replied. When I saw the picture, I laughed (and so did Carlos, who met (and did not punch) Neil at the far more informal Milonga Loca last night). In the photo: almost the whole of Los Consagrados dancing the Chacarera; and me and the guy from Idaho, who, it turned out, is full of sunshine energy as well as personal questions, having a ‘larf’. Anyone watching me? Not a damn soul. All far too busy having their own parties.

Want to see the whole picture?

Well, before I show you. let me give you an update on the progress of Happy Tango. I’m over half way through the post-edit revisions. I’ve got a talented tanguero from Oz checking the male perspective, and a tanguera sub-editor making sure that my punctuation is as perfecto as possible. There’s seemingly endless printouts of pages covered in red pen, mid-afternoon and late-night research reccies to milongas, and mucho work still to be done. At times it feels exhausting and never-ending, but the fact is that I have never loved crafting anything this much in my entire life. And en camino I’m learning to balance the work with play.

So, in the interests of spreading a few playtime smiles around the globe this Monday morning, I’ll share the full body shot now – Mr Sun Valley and Barbie, in a serious tango pose. And just for the record, here in Buenos Aires in November 2009, it’s a damn fine life.


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The journey

November 1, 2009 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams, The tale of my book - Happy Tango | 4 comments

8.45am on a Sunday. La Glorieta. Me. Carlos. Julie-Anne Cosgrove (fellow Brit, friend and photographer fabulosa) behind the camera. Despite the heat, I’m in several layers of clothes that will allow me to strip off into different outfits without revealing my knickers to the whole of Belgrano. I’m also in two minds about whether I am made of sufficient ‘model material’ to enable me even to contemplate appearing on the cover of my own book. Carlos is wearing a black DJ bought in a UK charity shop and has the awkward gait of a man who is wondering why I’ve dragged him out of bed at such an ungodly hour on his only day off.

Thankfully there are just the three of us in the bandstand. The Sunday I did the reccy it was a morning after heavy rain, I arrived to find a man sleeping on a cardboard sheet directly beneath the centre peak of the roof, and he did not stir until the 10am Tai Chi class turned up.

We all breathe sighs of relief that for at least an hour La Glorieta is ours and ours alone, and we set to work. None of us have a clue what we’re doing with respect to to what makes a good book cover shot, or how we are ever going to portray what I actually mean by Happy Tango. So we say, Let’s just start somewhere, anywhere, and see what happens. We make Carlos dance to the music in his head, with his knees bent so that the camera can see my whole face. Because I am convinced that my arms are my worst feature, I decide to keep my cardi on, and eventually we check the images and find we’ve caught the lovely romantic shot from which I cropped the above. I am delighted because I’ve always rather fancied owning a pic like that (like the ones you always see of strangers on other people’s websites) of me dancing, but as far as the book cover goes it doesn’t shout my rather joyous meaning of Happy Tango (on the outside anyway) to any of us.

We decide to try a slightly more open embrace, but Carlos just can’t seem to grasp the need to be dancing with what feels like oceans of space between his heart and mine, while turning me into the camera’s gaze, while dancing on the tiles marked by the gorgeous shadows from the railings, while laughing (or at least smiling). Take five? suggests the calm Julie-Anne and Carlos spontaneously launches into singing and dancing the Chacarera.


I strip off a layer of clothes and go from black to red. We sit on the steps ourselves and start to play. We talk about how I want to make a little video: a clip to go on YouTube, or even an audio podcast of the story of how the book came to be, a little interview with myself – just for fun, for creativity’s sake, for the laugh we’d have doing it. I take my tango shoes off, hold them in my hand. Carlos starts acting: chatting me up after the milonga, inviting me for ‘coffee’ – in Spanish, in broken English, in jest. Julie-Anne snaps away. We sit him on the railings and he does it all over again, and again.

It’s almost ten by now and the Tai Chi-ers start to arrive with their bright yellow banners and so do two mates of mine who’ve been up all night dancing, but who’d promised to come and help us if they could. They are young, happy, and add a freshness to our mix. I start directing: you up on the railings, this hand here, that leg there, you two a bit farther apart, 1-2-3-laugh… er Carlos, I said laugh... God knows what the pictures are going to be like but I find myself loving every minute. Perhaps I should start directing photo shoots when I’m not writing, indulge my ‘little Miss Bossy’ side.

Afterwards the five of us walk up Echeverria towards coffee and medialunas, and I say,

Guys. Stop a minute… I’ve just got to tell you. I am sooo happy. I need to pinch myself that this is my life… When I think back to the day I arrived here… knew no-one… could barely dance a step. Now I’ve nearly written a tango guide book for God’s sake. And I’m here with you all, photo shooting in La Glorieta for the cover. Bloody hell!

I shout the Bloody hell! bit, like I always do when I’m excited, and I know that my friends understand me. We hug right there on the pavement. We celebrate. We have to. We know that the streets of Buenos Aires aren’t paved with gold, and some days it’s impossible even to find a few monedas never mind a bucketful of self belief. We are the friends who see each others tears too.

Later in the week I see the photos. I love them all (thank you, thank you Julie-Anne). A few tell us that we’ve hit on ideas that could work. One of them I can even see on the book. But we think we need to tweak, explore, try again when the sun is not quite so bright. So the journey continues, one day at a time.

And I say thanks to my morning in La G. It’s confirmed what I already know but what I also sometimes need to be taught all over again. For sure I won’t stop imagining Happy Tango in your tango shoe bags or ploughing through the redraft that will get it there, but I might be knocked over by a Buenos Aires bus before the book is ever printed. Joy en camino is my mission.

If you’d like to see a few of my own snaps of La Glorieta on reccy day and on photo-shoot day, check out my flickr PhotoSet called La G.


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Friends

July 21, 2009 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 16 comments

IMGP5917 I won’t dance milonga with anyone else while you are away.  I promise. I will wait for you to come back!

That had me laughing as I made my reluctant loop around the tables to say farewell to my wonderful and treasured Monday afternoon partners. Every one of them hugged me as if I was their daughter (Anton, I ain’t including you in that matey ‘coz you’re only 21 I know) and made me promise to come back. They sent love to my parents. They spoke my name. Their eyes told me they’d miss me. Mine said, Me too.

My ‘Lunes boys’ only know me as Sali or Sale or something vaguely in the same ballpark as my name: they know that I love vals above all else; they know that on Monday afternoons I am theirs; they know that for eight weeks I will be gone. Today they asked me to return. When it was time for a final kiss blown back towards the marble columns and the smooth stone floor and the notes of D’Arienzo, I had to kick myself out into Suipacha…

It was mid evening dark in the street and the red neon Ideal TANGO light was lit. I crossed the road and looked up at it. Sal, I said,  Smile you idiot. How would you be feeling if you were leaving for good, for a year, for months and months? I thought for a second of all the girlfriends who have had to say that goodbye to Buenos Aires. I felt fortunate. Hey, I’ll be back in eight weeks my old friend, I said into the night, to the light.

After that I wandered into Diagonal Norte and zigzagged around crossing wide Avenidas a few times to avoid entering the Subte: didn’t want to say Chau to the beautiful Obelisco either. Sal, it’ll still be here. You’ll be walking towards it all the time… you could keep on going round the world right? Straight on, don’t stop, Obelisk always waiting. I chuckled at myself. I got on the subway.

An hour later I pushed open the door of  El Empujòn del Diablo (super place for a spot of locro and folk music), summoned my mental magnifying glass to try and recognise strangers I’ve only seen on their teeny Twitter photos… and within minutes I’d added fresh and fascinating faces to my Monday and to the future. I never get tired of the kind of meet ups or should I say in this case ‘tweet-ups’ that start with words like, Are you thefutureisred? to a sparkly-eyed woman with an angelic child on her knee and a gorgeous husband at her side.

By the time I left them and GoingLocalTravel, CasaSaltshaker and SilverStarCar at midnight, I was walking on cloud nine rather than Avenida Santa Fè. We’d talked over the surely Barbie-inspired generous and trusting world of CouchSurfing: how folk offer their couches to others on the move… think you can’t afford to travel? Think again. Lately I’ve been hearing the words Couch and Surfing in the same breath too many times to ignore them, and I’m starting to wish I actually had a couch that didn’t turn into my own bed every night… Welcoming strangers into your home? Strangers becoming friends? Friends returning the favour? It’s happening all over the planet apparently, and especially in Buenos Aires. Check it out.

Lying next to a warm C. later, as the storm (which is still raging this morning) broke over my home, I thought of the stranger I danced with in Ideal yesterday. How he sat alone at a table in an immaculate beige suit. How he danced only two or three tandas all afternoon. How he cabeceo-ed me for the vals. How he spun me in the magic that only the most Gandalf-like tango wizards can deliver. How I pulled away at the end unable to do anything but laugh with joy and ask, Please tell me how long you have been dancing? His eyes shone. He held up fingers – seven, then two. En serio? Seventy two? Then more fingers – eight, nine. Wow! The oldest person I have ever tango-embraced. And, in the strangest twist, his dance included an exquisite little step that only Carlos ever leads… no-one else ever, ever, ever: just mi gran amor, and now, my eighty-nine year old magician. The universe telling me that everything is exactly as it is meant to be.

I couldn’t sleep last night. Lightening. Thunder. Memories of Monday. Excitement about Viernes. Hugging my dream dancer of Hampshire at Terminal 5. Dancing at Negracha in London this Friday night. Seeing beloved tangueros and tangueras who have indeed each left Buenos Aires behind in their turn. Now it’s my turn to visit them. But when they are ready to come back, I’ll be here waiting. Just like Buenos Aires and my Monday milongueros will be here for me. Old friends. New friends. Always friends.

Yesterday was the ‘Dia del Amigo’ in Argentina, the ‘Day of the Friend’. It sure as hell turned out to be a day when I ended up thinking about mine. Yes, they may shift in and out of my sight, but my soul never, ever forgets. It’s always ready to reconnect.

So, my dear friends in the UK – those I’ve met and those I’ve not yet met, it seems that Me, and Barbie and VOD and C. and the beautiful touch of Buenos Aires in us all, are on our way…  and we are smiling about it, mucho. Inglaterra, you gorgeous green garden splashed with endless life giving rain, here we come!

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My kind of tango

January 25, 2009 in Buenos Aires Information, Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires | 10 comments

Ruben y Cherie perform at La Milonguita Live in Buenos Aires, dance tango all night right? Mmmmmm…

I’m sure friends passing through think me a total flake, but what you do when you have a couple of weeks, a month, six months or even a year changes big time when you know you’re in it for the long haul. But, does the fun have to end when you need to get up before eight in the mornings, conserve your pesos in the face of a British pound scraping the floor with the dollar, finally wake up to the fact that sleep during the hours of darkness matters? I think not. Here’s why.

I meet my talented Brit film making friend at six on the corner of Corrientes and Rodriguez Peña and we nip on the bus to Humberto Primo 1462. It’s Saturday evening and the milonga is Los Consagrados. It’s my first visit, not to the venue of course, but to this particular milonga. My dear blogging pal TangoCherie will be there with the charming Ruben, and has been kind enough to offer us a seat at her table. I’ve been promising to pop along for almost, I’m embarrassed to say, two years… ah well the best things are worth a wait I reckon.

My mate looks cool as a delicious banana licuado in her white summer dress and I’m begging fashion advice from her as we walk the last couple of blocks to the entrance. I’ve seen myself in a few shop windows en route and I’ve decided that I’ve really got to invest in some clothes that actually fit me. I seem to shrink in forty degree heat.

“I cut my own fringe today,” I say, “Does it look straight? And you’ve gotta tell me if my trousers look baggy at the back. Should I do the belt up a notch or will that give me the disappearing up the arse look?”

“Your fringe looks great and yeah, hitch them up. You’ll fit right in!”  she laughs.

I know what she means. I do it. After my unexpected success with flashing the two inches of taut tummy some weeks ago, I am pretty confident that promoting my backside just a millimetre or three won’t do my dancing chances any harm. But I pull my top down. I’m a shy girl at heart and I’m spoken for. Happily.

We pay our $15 pesos (a good price these days so I’m smiling) and head straight for the ladies to slip into our tango shoes and for me to check the trousers one last time. God it’s hot. The attendant is fanning herself madly and complaining with good humour about the heat – or at least I think she is: she talks very fast. I am grateful that I don’t have to spend my entire evening in there and resolve to give her a big tip later. I’m sweating by the time we emerge, but the huge elegant salon (of Niño Bien fame) has whirring fans and I am excited because I bought my own cheap gypsy style one on the street this week. It’ll be my first milonga with an instant breeze in my hand. Cool.

The guy on the door is charm itself (and cute) and eventually after a pleasant enough half an hour seated on one side of the room, we spot my friends across the ‘pista’, and join them. Oh what a joy it is to share a milonga table with lovely people who know and understand Buenos Aires tango. When the milonga is their ‘tango home’ it’s extra special. I sit there and think how bloody lucky I am. To be able to chat in Spanish with Ruben and in English with Cherie, share potato crisps, catch up on all the news. To my delight Ruben dances a tanda with me, and later one with my mate. Thank you for sharing him Cherie: what a fabulous dancer he is. And thank you Ruben: 1. because you made me feel like a queen, and 2. because I am not kidding when I say that after that tanda I almost have to fight off a queue of charming Argentine gentlemen milongueros, and every single one of them makes me feel like a queen too. Truly this is a lesson in why, if you want to dance with the best of Buenos Aires in places where you aren’t known, you have to get out on that floor with someone who makes you look beautiful. Ruben does. I know, not only because I felt it myself but because some of those guys tell me so,

“I saw you dancing with Ruben. I had my eye on you. Really you are a lovely dancer.”

And honestly, this isn’t just the ’slime talk’ I used to fall for in the early days either. I know what’s genuine by now. I feel when it’s good, for them as well as me.

Now I will say that this is a friendly place. It’s traditional but it has an informal early evening vibe and there are plenty of ’single’ dancers who want to dance. The atmosphere is inclusive relative to so many places that I’ve been, and both my mate and I were ‘cabeceo-ed’ even before we joined my friends. Proof therefore that some of the men in Los Consagrados will invite strangers to dance. All that aside, to get onto the floor with a wonderful and preferably ‘known amongst the milonguero boys’ dancer is the absolute key to a fab night of tango in this city. Men here want to know that you are worth the risk, or at least the ones who are after your dancing as opposed to your body do. And they are the guys for me.

So both my friend and I dance ‘muchisimo’ and we stay right to the last tanda. I can’t remember the last time I made it right through to La Cumparsita without yawning. We get chatted up by the desirable doorman on the way out. Me chatted up? Bloody hell. We’re giggling as we head down for the bus. I discover that the 60 actually goes straight past on Humberto Primo. Perfect, and at this hour – 10.30pm, it’s safe to be waiting there, well with a friend anyway. The kiosko’s open and the family in the doorway helpfully direct us to the exact location of the bus stop, as it isn’t marked. As we wait, three vans and cars carrying guys we’ve danced with slow down, and friendly shouts of ‘Chau chicas!’ make us chuckle again. One of the vans is white with the word, Pugliese beautifully sign painted in large blue letters down the side. Gorgeous.

I am so happy on the ‘colectivo’ home. It’s 11pm. I’m awake. For three hours I’ve danced my kind of tango: the kind that feels great. I’ve shared with good mates. I’ve been welcomed by a friendly crowd into a milonga that really feels like ‘home’ on first visit. And I’ve still got the energy to join Carlos after work to eat, talk and whatever else the night may bring. Honestly, for this Buenos Aires tango loving soul trying to forge a balanced but adventurous life, this is the way to do it.

And you know what? You guys can try my favourite kind of tango evening too. Cherie and Ruben are lovely genuine people and they offer all kinds of tango services including Milonga Accompaniment. I’m one of those folks who doesn’t like to recommend a thing until I’ve touched it, felt it, believed in it. And although they’ve been my friends for a while, two years it’s taken me to get to Los Consagrados, share their table, dance with Ruben. It goes without saying that Cherie is a lovely dancer too. Last night before we said our ‘hasta luegos’ I remarked to her,

“You know what? I’ve been to this venue so many times for different milongas but this has been the business! I will be back!”

I meant it. Honestly, if you’re new in town and need a relaxed night out with a friendly couple you can trust, well I reckon that Cherie and Ruben and Los Consagrados are a damn good place to start. And hey who knows, maybe I’ll see you there.

Want more details about Los Consagrados? Read what Cherie wrote in 2007 here. Maybe a few details have changed, but you’ll get the idea.

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Connections

September 19, 2008 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 9 comments

talented and beautiful On Monday night I sat in a Buenos Aires taxi as it picked up speed in Scalabrini Ortiz, leaving the doors of Salon Canning in its tail lights. It was 3.30am and I had just hugged a friend goodbye. In the quiet time on that back seat I felt the shadow that touches me every time someone I love leaves Buenos Aires. I thought about the person I had just left: beautiful, talented, intriguing, comical, witty, intelligent. I remembered how we had ‘met’ originally in cyberspace because of this blog, and how we had eventually come to share this particular night of tango. I silently celebrated the brief yet animated chatter of two souls from different lands. I held close the warmth of our hug goodbye. I allowed the sad moment to come and sit with me on the ride home.

On Tuesday morning at 11am my doorbell rang. Carlos went down and I took another slice of quiet to be with some quite different feelings, this time involving the sense of excited butterflies zooming around my heart. Five minutes later another precious girl walked out of the elevator and into my hug. I had thought I might never see her again. My eyes filled up. We couldn’t let each other go. Carlos put his arms around us both. More than a year after we said our farewells, my original ‘partner in crime’ , Gabriella was back, and set to share my world for a while. Bloody hell!  Three days later it is as if we have never been apart.

When I arrived in Buenos Aires I knew no-one in this country and although that was scary, for many reasons I was glad to be completely alone: the relief of not having to answer to anyone, the freedom from responsibility, the delight in making choices for myself and for absolutely nobody else at any given moment of the day or night. Lonely? Definitely. Selfish? Maybe. But at the time it was necessary. It was as if I started with a clean page in which to decide how much of connecting with others would be good for me. And I liked the idea because I felt that it put me in the driving seat of my new life.

But of course, the universe had its own plans and those ‘others’ have chosen along the way too, to connect, or not, with me. I am never alone in this world: someone is always thinking of me, or walking towards me, even when I think that I have no-one. Originally, Gabriella was here a few days before I was, hoping for another tango dancer to arrive. It just happened to be me. Then I had the choice, of whether to join in the fun. I could have stood back and isolated myself further but I chose to jump in and enjoy the prospect of a new friendship. She played her part, and I mine, but I think the universe or if you like, ’serendipity’  had a hand in the whole thing: it knew what I needed regardless of what I thought I wanted and it placed her in my path.

It sent Carlos to me too: stood him next to me in La Glorieta, offered me the chance to find out if I could love. And after a bit of ‘commitment phobic behaviour’, I chose to take it.

Several times a new friend has arrived in town, the day after a loved one has left: with absolutely no intervention from me. This has happened when I have needed it most, like magic.

The universe has continued, occasionally with this baffling degree of perfect timing, to put people in my way: those who comment on this blog and then turn up in Buenos Aires, folks who I vaguely knew in England who write to me and then come here to dance, friends of friends who I have already met. Not everyone becomes a ’soul to soul connection’: my friendships vary in variety and strength for a whole host of reasons, but every person has something to teach me or I to teach them. No connection is ever wasted even if it is brief or relatively shallow.

I learn that there is so much I cannot control: who enters my life, and who leaves is often in the hands of the universe. There will always be birth and death of friendships, or at the very least postponement or change when someone has to leave here and go back to their own home. My part is to decide how much of any given connection I want, how much effort to put in, how much may be good for me. For their part the other person decides too. Maybe it matches with what I want and maybe it doesn’t. As long as I stay relaxed, in the end, it usually works itself out.

In very loose general terms, I have found that people who travel the world, or move to another country and choose to  live their life the way I do are a bit similar to me. We all tend to value our freedom and so we are relaxed about our connections. We don’t put pressure on each other. If we change our mind about a meeting we do not fret, we just send a text and catch up another time. On the other hand I find that when I do meet people on a similar path to mine, we cut through to the ’soul level’ fast. There is far less superficial chat, and ’superficial’ has never really been my cup of tea.

Once, many years ago, an old boyfriend said to me that I was a typical Aquarian: if I lost my address book then I would just go out and get new friends. I hated myself for a long time for this trait because I thought it made me a ‘bad’ friend. There was a lot of guilt. But the truth is that for the time I connect with someone I am totally present at a very deep level and a very ‘good’ friend, and yet I have come to believe that people are lent to each other for the time that they need, for the time that they have something to share. Sometimes it is for a lifetime but sometimes it is just for one meeting. And anyway silence does not necessarily mean the end of a friendship, just perhaps a relaxing of the bond for a while. Yes, maybe I am not emailing past friends every five minutes or even every five months BUT if an old friend needed me, I would be there for them, and I think my friends know that.

So in the life I have chosen in Argentina, there is an ease of coming and going that does suit me, and maybe suits the ‘travelling type’. Yet deep connections can be made fast, and once a strong bond forms in the setting of this ‘coming and going’, and lack of pressure, it seems to last despite distance, silence, or time. And now that I have been here for eighteen months, those who have left me here once, are beginning to come back.

So my goodbyes need never be too sad. There is always the chance that the person will return. Or if they don’t someone new will arrive in their place and connect with me instead. Importantly I have learned to value both the ‘together times’ and the quieter times: sometimes I need space and I am grateful that I can take it without offending anyone. I like the mix offered by the nature of the connections I make: hectic weeks packed with activity, dancing, tango shoe stores, soul to soul conversation; spacious days when I can write more, sleep more, think more, recover from the crush and the rush of action. At first this ’seesawing’ unsettled me: the goodbyes hit me hard, life felt empty after someone left.

Now when friends leave I love them just as much, but I do not cry for as long. I have come to trust that I will always make or renew connections. And in the ‘in between times’ I celebrate my more spacious world: I do not feel loneliness as I once did, ultimately perhaps because I am no longer afraid to connect with myself.

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Alive!

June 22, 2008 in Buenos Aires Information, Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 22 comments

collage Last night I needed to remind myself why I came to Buenos Aires. I had to get out and dance!

We decided to go to Maipú 444. It’s a great Saturday night venue: perhaps it is THE Saturday night venue for single dancers in Buenos Aires. Last night it certainly was. El Beso is closed at the moment… something to do with regulations and so the El Beso crowd joined the Maipú regulars and when me and Carlos arrived at maybe 12.30am, it was packed. Luckily I saw my mates: Yasmin, Anne and Donna had seats at the front (we hadn’t reserved) and miraculously, by the time we had gone back to leave our winter coats with the cloakroom and change our shoes, two seats came free. Me and Carlos sat next to the dance floor: perfect. Even more perfect was that Tina was sitting yards from us in her very own seat against the ‘women’s wall’ and so there I was, soaking up the glorious tango music surrounded by the love of my life and four of my beloved Buenos Aires tangueras.

Maipú 444 Saturday IS Buenos Aires tango to me: the downtown street entrance with its slightly seedy feel, always crowded because there is a bus stop right outside; the mountain of carpeted stairs that are the ‘time tunnel’ between my daily life and the tango that injects vibrancy into my soul; the loud music which floods my spirit; the yummy empanadas that seem ‘home made’; the dancers who are as fun to watch as to dance with; the traditions that mean I can sit back in the security of the tango codes I love: no unwelcome ignoramus  is likely to stand over my table demanding that I dance… Here, if I don’t catch anyone’s eye I will be left alone to enjoy my lover and my friends.

The dance floor was packed for a while, indeed there was even an announcement about keeping to small steps and following the line of dance, but as always there was more space when the milonga tanda came on, and we enjoyed that gift. Perhaps my happiest moment was dancing the Chacarera with Carlos, I felt my energy start to soar and our smiles grew with every step. Tina was dancing in the line next to me and that felt great: tango blogging friends from different lands, enjoying the folk dance of our adopted country, together. By the time the Los Reyes del Tango tracks came on to end the night, the floor had emptied a bit and I was able to enjoy every beat. I said to Carlos, ‘I feel like I have woken up from a long sleep.’ It was nearly 4am.

Our noisy little party was last to leave the venue but eventually we ambled out onto Corrientes, stared at the Obelisco lit in the night. The girls around me were chatting about their tango, giggling at the slick chat up lines offered by some of men along with the unwanted invitations to Niño Bien, comparing the success of their newly purchased tango shoes, reliving the highest and lowest moments of the night’s roller coaster ride. I was suddenly overwhelmed by gratitude for the life I can have every day if I want it. I yelled, ‘Hey chicas, we are in BUENOS AIRES, it’s 4 in the morning. Bloody hell we’re ALIVE!’

We stumbled in to a café on the corner with 9 de Julio, ordered Submarinos (hot milk with a bar of chocolate to plunge into the froth), café con leches, and a Cachamai tea for Yasmin, our beloved ‘yogi’. We talked about ages, star signs, birthdays, discussed focusing on the positive, taking responsibility for our own happiness, celebrating life. Carlos kept us laughing with his newly learned parts of  English phrases: ‘If I…’, ‘I mean I…’, and his unashamed direct question to Tina, ‘How many old?’

We realised that it was June 21st, the summer solstice in England and so the winter solstice here as we fell out in a noisy circle of friendship into the freezing street. We wrapped ourselves in farewell hugs. Everyone said they were happy I had made it out at last (I have been very busy lately) and I laughed, saying that I do in fact exist. Sallycat is not made up, she does actually live in Buenos Aires and she does still dance tango. I felt loved and welcomed back into my dreams by my friends. Of course the taxi driver had the air conditioner blasting all the way across the city. By the time I got home I was frozen solid but the warm glow of this precious night did not leave me.

This morning, Carlos has popped out to get me a special surprise: bacon and eggs for breakfast… truly the A1 end to a night from tango heaven. And so he has granted me perfect start to a new day: the present, today, a gift from God. Last night we girls talked of how important it is to focus on the here and now: no comparisons, no looking back to how good it was two years ago, last year, last week. We make our present every minute that we breathe. I am glad that I have been reminded of that. Today is gonna be a fantastic day. The simple fact is that I live in Argentina by choice, I am alive and I have the power to create the life I want, every single day. And, I will. Believe me, I will.

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Money or paper?

November 21, 2007 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 14 comments

Paper flower Carlos sat in a Milonga with us on Friday night making a flower for my English friend. It is a beautiful process to watch. First he selects the perfect paper from the multi-coloured Milonga ‘flyers’ strewn on the table: the right size; the right weight; a pretty colour. Then he starts to flex the paper in his fingers, to fold it, to tear it and eventually to mould it and join it again into what turns out to be a delicately-petalled bloom on a slim but strong stem. As he worked I noticed a famous and much loved milonguera watching from the next table. She was fascinated and smiling. Her warm hearted partner was as usual greeting and laughing with everyone who passed by, but her eyes were fixed on the emerging flower. I couldn’t help myself and I said to her in Spanish, ‘He is making it for you.’ Her smile widened, and as he completed the tiny masterpiece and handed it to her, she beamed with delight. She came over to us and hugged him, hugged me, hugged my friends. She placed the flower in her dress, and then spent the evening proudly showing it off, even taking troubles to protect it from her partner’s tango embrace as they danced. Her partner joked and laughed with us, over the flower. We all smiled at their obvious delight in it, and were filled with joy ourselves. I joked that when they got home, he would be dissecting it to work out how it was made: it was clearly a tiny creation that could win hearts and spread delight. And it cost nothing.

I have found that as my friends have visited from England, I have been confronted by the differential between my old lifestyle and my new one: the money side of life that is. It’s been an interesting experience for me. These days because I am calm, because my life is simple, I find that I notice everything that has an impact on my thinking. There is no background noise to cover up changes to my peace of mind. When something affects me I notice it straight away, I can usually work out what it is pretty fast and I can therefore try to change my thinking to adjust, or learn something about myself. So my latest little mental struggle has been over the subject of money.

Now, I am going to say right away that my friends have been incredibly sensitive to my financial situation and also are wonderfully generous people. They have made sure that I have not had to spend more money because of their presence. They have treated me more times than I care to mention: they have taken care that I have not had to feel uncomfortable. But what I have noticed is, that unexpectedly for both Carlos and me, ‘money thinking’ has popped up. For me, just seeing the lovely clothes and accessories that my friends have bought, has reminded me that such things exist. For example, my ‘dream dancer of Hampshire’ bought a gorgeous leather satchel in a Galeria in Florida street. It was a perfect choice for him and I was delighted that he had found exactly what he was looking for. But afterwards I found myself thinking how lovely it would be to buy one for Carlos. Later I found myself telling him how much I would love to buy such a thing for him ‘one day’. The next day I didn’t go with my friends on their shopping trip, because I didn’t like what seeing things that I had forgotten about, was doing to my head. Carlos noticed that I didn’t go. Last night he was telling me how he wished he could buy me beautiful things, that he felt low because he couldn’t. For months we had not thought like this: we have been content to make and receive paper flowers.

When I think back over my life, I have had substantial periods of time when I have not had to worry about money. I have never been rich, but I have had enough not to have had to think too hard about high street shopping: new shoes, a new bag, a new coat. When I have been on holiday I too have taken advantage of the cheap prices, gone home with a few bargains… it’s totally normal behaviour for an English person in employment who is on vacation. But now I am not employed and not on vacation, and I live differently. And it is ok. In the past months I have learned that when my life was not happy, no amount of money, no quantity of new items made it so.  The money I spent, and the things I collected perhaps made my head feel temporarily better, but they never could scratch the surface of healing my sad heart. I do know of course that I would not be here if I hadn’t had the money to travel to Argentina. A certain amount of money has been essential in getting me to this place at this point in time, and I am so grateful that I had enough for that. But now that I am here, I have to live a simpler life if I want to stay long term.

Last night Carlos and me lay side by side, holding hands, having our conversation about money. On our wrists were the bracelets we bought for each other at Feria de Mataderos on Sunday for $2 pesos each: thin leather bands with our names stamped on them: CARLOS on mine, SALLY on his… We reminded ourselves of how no amount of money can buy the things that we love the most: dancing the Chacarera together in the street, the tangos packed with emotion, the kisses on the bus, having each other at all. A few days ago Carlos could have died. Alone in a cafe, eating a lomo sandwich for his lunch, a piece of beef stuck in his throat and he could not dislodge it, nor could he breathe. He told me later that he actually thought it was the end. Fortunately a fellow diner observed his distress and came and hit him on the back. The meat was freed, he breathed once more, and he came home safely.

As we lay in the dark yesterday we talked through our thoughts. I told him that money had never managed to heal my heart. We reminded ourselves of what matters and of what does not.  We remembered that to hold each other at night, to see each other when we wake in the morning, to welcome each other at the end of the day are priceless gifts of love and life and we have them. Today when I woke, my eyes landed on my own paper flowers, each one holding a perfect memory in its petals, and I knew that I have what I have journeyed for all my life. My sad heart is healed, and the things that have helped to mend it, I could never have bought, even with all the money in the world.

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Not quite the average life

November 17, 2007 in Buenos Aires Information, Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 7 comments

DSCF1863 What do you do in an average week? Here in Buenos Aires, my average weeks are rather peaceful. I take three tango classes with Ariel (one hour each), maybe go out dancing with Carlos three or four nights, go to one afternoon Milonga ’sola’ and maybe have a long day out at the weekend, or a few walks in the park… Life is tranquil: plenty of time for ‘cafe con leche’ and medialunas on street corners, plenty of time for Carlos to cook me yummy dinners, plenty of time to watch rented movies on my laptop in the dark (the latest was Infame and I loved it). But the last two weeks have no way been average. No way.

I’ve been playing tour guide. I’m showing off my new home city to my visiting friends and although I am exhausted as a result, I’m discovering why I love this place so much, all over again. I feel like I can give my friends the perfect gift day after day, but it costs me nothing, other than time and energy. But that I do have. And so I give it. In return, not only to I get to enjoy their company, but I get a shot of love in my arm for my life… the perfect present for me too.

So what have we been up to? Maybe you’ll want to try these experiences when you get to Buenos Aires, if I whet your appetite a little. Here are five of the things we’ve done that you could try:

  • Betting with the locals at the Argentine equivalent of the UK Derby.  The ‘caballos’  (horses) were beautiful, the jockeys were tiny, and we lost every peso we staked. But the Hipodromo Palermo was a stunning place to spend an afternoon. The blue and white balloons and flowers reminded me that I live in Argentina, and to hear the Argentines softly singing their national anthem before the big race: a privilege.
  • Tapping our feet to Otros Aires electronic Milonga Sentimental as they made a little piece of their own history: the group played in an Argentine theatre for the first time, in honour of launching their latest disc and before commencing their latest European Tour. Before now, although they have played in theatres around the world, in Buenos Aires they have only ever performed in the Milongas. Their lead singer announced this fact proudly, thanked the audience for sharing the experience and took videos of us waving back at him.
  • Eating ‘choripan’ (Argentine sausage sandwiches), ‘locro’ (bean and pig stew… well there was a pig’s trotter in it) and ‘chico guaya’ (a delicious cake of maize, sweetcorn, onion and cheese) in the packed square of the Feria de Mataderos. That was before watching the gauchos ride their horses at high speed down the street in their attempts to capture on a small stick, the tiny silver ring hanging high above their heads. And it was after buying trousers perfect for tango and yoga: the stall holder proudly demonstrated how the wrap around design could be worn in five different ways, and at only $15 pesos a pair they were the best bargain I have found since I got here. Going back on Sunday to buy up the stall…
  • Sinking into the velvet sofas in Comme il Faut. My mission was to choose a pair of their divine tango shoes for a tanguera in England and to advise my visiting friends. For about 30 minutes I stayed focused and successfully chose  the perfect pair for my English tanguera. I gave my opinions to my friends. They deliberated over their choices. I had time on my hands. Fatal. My eyes started wandering, rifling through the open boxes surrounding other women’s feet. Doubly fatal. How did I manage to leave the shop with a pair of metallic pink and acid yellow tango shoes, ‘for summer’? All too easily, girls. All too easily.
  • Sharing coffee and cakes and all sorts of other wicked food delights, with some much loved fellow writers, in the majestic surroundings of Las Violetas. While we were there, there was a crazy woman in an orange sweater, who looked like she was bursting with happiness, posing for photos on the balcony. Unbelievably I think it was me.

And I have not mentioned any of the Milongas with their live orchestras, any of the walks, any of the tango classes, any of the meals out, any of the sightseeing bus rides… We have packed our hours with activity and dancing. I have done things I might have done alone but also some things that I wouldn’t have done without my friends here. And at last I have relaxed. I have found out that I can enjoy the experience of sharing. I wrote some time ago that I was anxious about the arrival of the English, and how it might affect the status quo of my new life. Now I am in a position to look back and reflect on this part of my journey. I would be lying if I said it had been plain sailing. No it has not. Rather, I have been through a process:

Fear: that the arrival of people from my previous life would have a negative impact on my new one, upset Carlos, upset me, encourage my old behaviours to return, unsettle me in my quest to follow my dreams.

Anger (I am ashamed to say): that I have had to share my new life at all. At times I have wanted to keep it for myself.

Effort: when I have not felt like sharing, I have shared anyway and I have tried to do it with good grace and a smile. I have kept some time for myself, and some other time for Carlos and me, but I have tried to give other times and my experience, freely and with an open heart.

Learning: that it is impossible to leave a past life behind because the world is small; that I need to find a way to be comfortable with myself wherever I am and whoever is with me; that sharing my life doesn’t have to take anything away from me and my dreams, because my dreams are strong enough to sparkle, no matter what; that I can draw on the delight of others who share in my new way of life and so increase my own gratitude for it, and my determination to continue it; that to give really can be to receive.

A few days ago, we sat in La Ideal, after dancing with the immaculately turned out gentlemen who are always so delightful to me on a Monday afternoon. My girlfriend from England turned to me and said with excitement, ‘Oh Sal, this is so beautiful. It is exactly like I thought it would be. I am so happy to be here.’ I felt delight and pride that at least in part I am the reason that she came here at all at this point in time. In being open hearted and welcoming, I helped create this happy situation. I was smiling. And in that moment I remembered -  it hit me again, how very lucky I am. She is returning to England on Tuesday with her memories of this city. Me on the other hand… well, this is my dream, my new life, and it goes on. By sharing I have lost nothing, but I appreciate what I have far, far more.

See pictures of a ‘not quite the average’ life

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Dream dancing?

November 4, 2007 in Buenos Aires Information, Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires | 10 comments

IMGP8082 Yesterday my ‘dream dancer of Hampshire’ arrived in Buenos Aires. Last night he danced his first tango on a Buenos Aires ‘pista’. And about eight tandas into his first visit to a Buenos Aires Milonga, Saturday night at Maipú 444, he danced his first tanda with me, in Argentina that is. It’s been a long time. Eight months to be exact. And I was nervous. This guy knows what my dancing used to be like. Back in England when I was a total beginner, he was one of the first members of ‘the advanced class’ to risk walking me around the floor. He tried to help me to get my tango foundations in shape before I left for this trip to Argentina. It was with him that I danced my last tanda before leaving my country behind. So I was nervous. Why? I was nervous because he is the one English person that I trust over and above anyone else to tell me how and if my dancing has changed. After my eight months of Buenos Aires tango, I wanted him to enjoy dancing with me. It mattered. I couldn’t help it. It mattered.

It’s the first time I’ve been to Maipú 444 on a Saturday night. I liked it. The Milonga, Cachirulo, runs from 6pm until 3am. We got there about 9.30. We had reserved, because there were five of us, and it was good thing. It is a relatively small space and there were no tables without ‘reserved’ signs when we arrived. By 11pm there was not a free seat to be seen. We sat at one end of the room with the groups of friends, and couples. Women sat in a single row  down the length of one wall (I counted thirty at one point), with the men opposite them. I got the impression that the standard of dancing here is high, and that the competition for dances is intense. The music was great with all my favourites getting me and Carlos up on to the floor: D’Arienzo, Los Reyes del Tango, Miguel Calo, a delicious selection of vals. Even Carlos, who is very picky about the music, was happy because the DJ played the tango that gives him goosebumps every time: Café Dominguez, D`Agostino. And the sound was perfect: loud. I like loud! There was a tanda of swing (which we didn’t dance) and a tanda of tropical. Carlos and me danced merengue, which I have to say I am getting rather good at. Carlos dances it like a demon… he’s brilliant! I always thought that tango was like having sex without taking your clothes off, but truly merengue is more so… it’s like frantic sex without taking your clothes off, and I love it! At about 2am those left (by now the crowd was thinning out), danced the Chacarera. Sadly by then, my left foot was giving me a lot of trouble and we were changing our shoes to head home.

I had a perfect night. I danced all my favourites with my Argentine and I danced several tandas with my ‘dream dancer of Hampshire’, including a tanda of milonga. So how was it? Well I’m going to be honest. The first tanda was not brilliant. We were both nervous, and the connection was elusive. I missed a few leads. A few times he stood on my toes: I wasn’t judging the length of his step well. I laughed a lot, said little, and thought ‘Shit.’ I wanted to dance perfectly you see, and I know I didn’t. But, by the time we danced the milongas, things were changing. The nerves had gone. I was tuning into his lead. I was relaxing. I was starting to use the music ( like I do all the time with Carlos). He was saying, ‘Yes!’. And I was thinking, ‘Wicked! The next three weeks are gonna be FUN!’

When we sat down after our last tanda of the night, Carlos had a little story to tell me. He had just cabaceo-ed and danced with one of the women sitting ’sola’ along the wall. She had been trying to catch his eye all night. He had noticed of course. Often he only dances with my friends when he is out with me, but he had observed that she had been sitting for hours and he had decided to return her stare. She had travelled 450km within Argentina to come to Buenos Aires to dance for the weekend. She explained to him that it is very difficult for someone new to get a dance with a milonguero at Maipú 444 on a Saturday night, but that the dancing is worth the travel and the wait. I was absolutely delighted and so was he, that after he danced with her she never sat down again! The milongueros were just waiting to see her on the dancefloor. After that they knew how tall she was, how she danced, who she was. This just illustrated for me the way it really is here. I know that she, like I used to (when I didn’t know any better), could probably have accepted dances from people she didn’t really want to dance with. But as an experienced tanguera, she had her eyes on her top choices, but they were looking elsewhere. She did not compromise. She held out all night for one of them, in this case Carlos. And one,  is clearly all you need…

So, we all went home happy. Carlos and me had had sex a few times (with our clothes on of course), he had made a stranger happy, and I had relaxed into the tango embrace of my ‘dream dancer of Hampshire’. Plus we’d enjoyed conversation and laughs around the table between un Argentino, tres Ingleses and our dear Canadian tanguera. You might wonder how we are managing the language: who is translating? Ah well here’s the thing. Carlos is speaking better English these days. Shaun, Melody and Caroline all speak a little Spanish. And unbelievably, I can translate just about anything that anyone wants to say. I remember when I first got here and Gabriella translated everything for me. Eight months later, and it’s me doing the translating. It’s amazing. Truly, to be sitting amidst my little ‘family’ of the moment, in Buenos Aires, helping them to understand each other is something that makes me feel extremely proud. I honestly don’t think I could have been happier last night. Welcome to Buenos Aires, my ’dream dancer of Hampshire’!

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Maipú 444 on a Saturday night, with its gorgeous wooden floor.

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Keeping the dream alive

October 26, 2007 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 4 comments

IMGP8008 This morning Ariel said to me, laughing, ‘We have been dancing together seven months and those two seconds, I feel you perfect. I don’t know what you did but I feel your body perfect!’ I laughed too, and said, ‘Well maybe that’s it. Those are the two seconds of perfection and we will never feel them again!’ This was a tiny moment, but a totally happy one. Later in the class there was another. This time while dancing my heel caught in my trousers and I fell sideways on to the floor. Again me and Ariel were laughing, like two kids, me rolling on the floor and him towering above me, offering his hand. Perhaps in some ways, not quite such a perfect moment, but actually for me, it was perfect. I love these small moments, and they are what make my experience of life here so very special.

As my visitors have started to arrive, and I have begun to show them a few places or recommend things to do, it’s got me thinking about what actually makes experiences special for different people. I have noticed that although I can be terribly enthusiastic and excited about something, it is impossible for me to transmit that enthusiasm and excitement into someone else’s experience. Just because I have fallen in love with this place, it doesn’t mean that everyone else will. They might never get why I love this or that tango salon, or this or that orchestra, or this or that type of coffee. I realise that I may be living my dream, but it won’t be everyone’s. And I have to be sure that I don’t let their reactions impact on my joy, my childish enthusiasm, my unending delight that I am living this new life. If I am not careful I can find myself worrying about whether they are having a good enough time, whether I should be showing them different things, even wondering why I liked this or that so much in the first place. I have to learn to ’show’ and then mentally ‘go’, and leave them to it. Yes I can show them what I love, but I must prepare to keep my favourite things safe in my heart and in my head, should their reaction be rather different to mine.  I am learning that I can share aspects of my dream, but also that I need to work  a bit internally to keep the dream safe so that it stays bright and shiny for me.

And so, as I am sharing my life with others, I am reflecting on what puts the ’zing’ into my own experience of  Buenos Aires. What are the things that add sparkle to my dream, and that have the power to revive my passion if it starts to flag a bit? Well truth is that they change every day, but here are five small things that have put the colour in my Friday, outside of my gorgeous tango lesson with Ariel:

  • That the stunning red of the strawberries in the ‘verduleria’ on the corner, stopped me in my tracks. I bought a kilo. Some days they don’t have strawberries, or they are not as red, or I don’t think they are as red.
  • That a ‘quinze’ (Number 15 bus) arrived as I walked towards the bus stop and it was empty with breeze blowing through the open windows and I could choose my favourite solo seat opposite the getting off doors. On another day I can wait at the stop for twenty minutes, the bus will be like a sardine can, it will be unbearably hot and I will have to stand the whole journey.
  • That I have come home with a purse full of ‘monedas’ (change). Some days I have to give away all my change in shops, to taxi drivers, as tips because noone ever has any change. ‘Tenes monedas?’ (Have you got change?) is perhaps one of the most often spoken phrases here. And my most often spoken phrase in reply is ‘No tengo’ and I say that even when I have got plenty.
  • That as I sit in my apartment I am listening to countless birds serenading me with their various tunes. Yesterday all I could hear was the wind and rain. And I had to keep the patio doors closed.
  • That I am looking forward to going to ‘La Baldosa’ tonight, dancing for hours with my Argentine and eating a yummy shared steak, chips and salad followed by ‘flan con dulce de leche’. I love it when I have that excited feeling about going to a favourite Milonga. Some days I don’t have it. But today I do. And I hope my Argentine wears his suit so I can stare at him all night (I love men in suits, and especially him).

Just writing down these five things has brought a huge smile to my face.

Now I know that I will never have any reason to let anything put a dent in my dream. If all I have to do is find five tiny things a day to revive me, it will be forever easy to keep my dream alive and kicking. Meanwhile I’m still smiling about my lesson with Ariel. The truth is that I know what I did in those two perfect seconds. If I did it once, then maybe, just maybe, I can do it again. Maybe if I work hard enough I can turn it into a habit. Maybe one day I will surprise myself and him and do it for a whole tango. Maybe.

Ah well, I can dream can’t I?

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