Tango Research, Centro
Tango, it was missed last night. Instead, I experienced a typical Argentine evening (ate dinner at midnight, out for drinks till 4:30, and awoke a few hours later). So today's main focus is to find a show and go.
Joining my roomies, two lovely nurses from England, we head to Centro to visit Cafe Tortoni, one of the oldest cafes in Argentina (built in 1858) and known to host a Tango show in the evenings.
Included among the great personalities who have sat at these tables are Albert Einstein, Hillary Clinton, Carlos Gardel, and Tintin.
meanwhile, back at the hostel...
Afterwards, we visit the Pink House - the Buenos Aires version of the Washington DC White House.
meanwhile, I stop to say "Hola" to the pigeons. The Pink House (Presidential Palace) is in the background.
a peek inside La Catedral which was closed yesterday due to the demonstration..
Tango Tango, La Boca
At the cross section of Don Pedro de Mendoza and Magallanes lies brightly colored buildings, Fileteado signs, tables displaying mate and blue & yellow futbol shirts, and of course Tango. From an outdoor sidewalk cafe over glasses of Miranda, siete-up :), and Quilmes Cerveza, we watch Tango dancers move effortlessly on a stage. The intensity in the way they look at each other, it's hypnotizing.
tango at a sidewalk cafe
Colorful La Boca
on the way back from La Boca
Tango Class, Ostinatto
The room is small, the teacher tall in her sharp heeled shoes. A group of six barefooted and sandaled feet crowd around her. She explains the dance, the shifting of weight from each foot, the figure eight, torsos aligning, and men leading. As six female students, we take turns as men. Throughout the duration of the class, elbows bump boobs, feet step on feet, two leaders, two followers, one girl trips over a platform and falls on her bum. Tango - not quite.
Tango Show, Catedral (Milonga)
A cab ride to the Almagro vicinity, we find ourselves at Catedral, a dance hall mentioned in Lonely Planet Argentina. The interior looks like a large warehouse with art cluttered walls and twisted Christmas lights. A red-orange mangle of scrap hangs from the ceiling like an enormous chandelier. Vintage sofas, mismatched wooden tables and benches surround a large dance floor. It’s dark, it’s dingy, and under the dim mustard glow a few couples dance gracefully. Despite the funky décor, the ambience is very serious. Ten pesos entry fee to watch a Tango show at midnight, a savings compared to the tourist targeted shows that average some two-hundred pesos. The hour nears one. We’re seated in sofas to the side of the dance floor. There are fleas here. Jess catches one between her fingers. An itchy bump has formed on my shin. The place is sparsely packed. Miriam asks the fellow in the front if there is still a show. She also inquires if there are mosquitoes. He responds, yes and we used to have a problem. We continue to wait. There’s a sensation of critters crawling on the sheets that cover the sofas. This has become funny. We move to a table. Near two the show starts. A guitarist, an accordionist, and a violinist. The accordionist’s beard is wiry and wild. The music is lovely, the couple dancing is graceful, but at first available interlude, we must leave.
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