A new way to dance

by Laryssa Frezze e Silva (Brazil)

Making a local connection Argentina

The ‘Esmeralda Palace’, at the so-called ‘microcentro’, is in a bit of a decay: old things, not exactly clean, although maybe it had been a beautiful hotel once. Right now, however, I care very little about that; I’m at the center, near the marvelous Obelisk, which marks the 400th birthday of a cosmopolitan Buenos Aires. Quite below the hotel there’s a Chinese restaurant, cheap to the point one could even be suspicious. But the food is good, honest, my stomach didn’t complain. Right on the corner there’s this chic café, called “Valério” – it is from here that I write, while enjoying breakfast, filled with local goods, such as the famous medialunas and some tiny egg-cakes. I am a real enthusiast of food, but let’s be honest: I came here for the Tango. Every year, the Tango scene moves a lot of tourism-related activities around here. Actually, while writing this, there’s Tango playing from across the street, a music shop selling LPs for cheaper than usual. Listening to it is a good way of baking the desire for the evening, when I’m visiting the second milonga of this trip, called “La Glorieta”. A milonga is a Tango ball, in which people dance in pairs (normally a couple made of man and woman, but things are changing fast in the Tango scene, which is good). The music is also a remembrance of yesterday, New Years’ Eve and the first ball I went to. I got there because of a very ingenious app called “hoymilonga”, in which one can get all the information about balls: where they’re taking place, price and time. Now, yesterday was quite something: having made my mind for travelling alone to Argentina and learning tango in site, going out for the first time felt like a genuine adventure! I arrived on the subway and an angry-looking man, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth (like a cowboy, you know?) was sitting in a sad little gray room. He refused to sell me a ticket and pointed to the door, saying I should pass through it – maybe it was his way of rebellion. His grumpiness was also his charm. Okay. Well, I arrived: a beautiful salon organized in a circle and all I wanted was for someone to come and invite me at once! Kike did, and did I dance that night! I learned to touch a man’s forehead and to understand when he touches my feet and says I have to stop. My weight should be trusted to his chest. "El beso", that was the name of the place, a very traditional milonga, that was in function, with a different name, even during the time when Tango suffered the censorship. The hostess came to greet me, offering kisses and hugs, should I be a journalist, perhaps: notebook, pen on the table and a glass of red wine and a glass of white wine. And the champagne brought by the gentle old man, who didn’t want me to spend the Reveillon by myself. There was also a Dane who wanted to hear my texts and then showed me an ode he wrote on the dubious character of Tango. I left the place hours later, sending kisses to Kike and hugging people who I don't really know, but who also became really close, somehow. There was a saying, Kike told me: “Tango is a three-minute romance”. And then there was Daniel, the old man, who asked me whether I’d like to leave for another milonga. I promptly said, “for sure”. We were heading for the Viruta, a traditional ball as well, on the Armenian neighborhood - Argentina was also a place to which the Armenian refugees turned to when leaving. We drove through an empty city, late at night, while he corrected my Spanish - "Dearest, if I were 15 years younger, or you 20 years older ...", “but there are different kinds of encounters, you see”, I said. “It is also beautiful to simply talk”. And we did talk our hearts out about the facts of life one has no control of, patiently watching the dawn of day at Porto Madero and sitting on the stone benches of Rio da Prata’s shore.