TangoSpam:La Vida Con Deby

The Marketing of Tango

What is going on with Tango here?  How did it change so much?  Those of us who have danced in other countries or are from other countries and now live here, maybe understand what has happened, then again, maybe not.

When I first came to Buenos Aires in 2000, the tango was very different.  Many of the milongueros were still alive.  This term now a days is used quite flippantly.  A milonguero was a man who lived only for his tango.  A milonguera - the woman, as well.  What did this mean?  It means they spent all of their time in the milonga listening to the music.  They only danced when there was a tanda they really loved AND there was someone to share this passion of the tanda.  The ability to transmit your passion and have the other person receive it and transmit it back was nothing words could describe.

There were more men in the milongas than women.  I remember being intimidated by the number of men.  It seemed that there were so few women.  The few milongueros that actually worked always went to the afternoon milongas and then on to the night milongas if they could.  A milonguero was rarely ever married, and if he was he never talked about his wife or even dared to bring her to a milonga. In the life of a milonguero, there was only one love - his tango.  Nothing else would come before his tango.  Maybe a lonely life, but the life they chose.

Today, many people think a milonguero can be anyone who dances tango and is crazy about it.  No.  That is a tanguero.  A milonguero is a special type of person.  How do I explain this? Just because you love computers and sit in front of one whenever you can, does not make you a hacker or a geek.  You are simply a person who loves computers.  Hackers (do not confuse with crackers please) and geeks are very special people.   

In 2000 when I came here and the following years, there were not 400 teachers.  There were not 200 stores to buy shoes at.  (OK I am exaggerating..a little.)  There were not extended weekend seminars with the "stars."  There were only 2 magazines - BA Tango and Tanguata.  Now there are many magazines.  There seems to be a new one every week.  BA Tango and Tanguata along with the newbie La Milonga are slick glossy rags full of advertising.

There are tango hotels where they bring in the teachers, calculate your every move, kind of like Club Med for Tango dancers.  There is yoga for tango dancers, pilates called Tangolates, and many other businesses now designed to get the money of those who dance tango. 

I can assure you these businesses along with the shoes, clothes, and CDs are not for the people who live here.  They can't really afford it.  Tango shoes are now 240 pesos or more for a pair of women's shoes. You can buy a pair of nice leather shoes for 130 pesos in most of the shoe stores.  Most of the Argentines do not go out and buy 6 pair of shoes to dance tango in.  Many of my friends have 1 pair of shoes, maybe two.  They fix them until they can no longer be fixed. One of my guests noted that many of the men who dance tango here do not even wear tango shoes.  They wear street shoes.  The same with many of the women, as noted above.

The biggest change is in the dancing itself.  There are fewer and fewer good dancers.  Why?  Because there are fewer and fewer good teachers.  Who wants to learn to walk when someone else can teach them to do something flashier?  Sadly just like in the U.S. and in Europe many teachers here are teaching patterns?  Why?  Hmmmm...greed.

I referred a friend to Mimi's class.  He agreed she was a good teacher, but boring.  "She only teaches how to walk and turn."  he said to me.  At the other classes he goes to he is learning all these "great steps."  Only he can't do them with anyone outside his class because he does not know how to lead them.

He tried to show me one of them.  I winced as I watched him move through the pattern, head down, arms closed to close, and knees bent.  "Isn't this cool?" he asked me.  I didn't comment. Then he took me to dance it with him.  Only I could not.  There was no lead.  None whatsoever.  His looking down was a pull on my balance.  "You need to come to this class with me."  He insisted.  "Then you could dance this step."  Ahhhh, so this is my fault.  I don't accept this.  "You need to learn to lead."  I tell him.  "I don't need a class to learn any steps, I only need someone to lead me."  This is not a concept he understands. An Argentine who lives here.

The government "discovered" tango in 2003.  It was a way to bring in the tourists.  They began a marketing campaign.  They backed dancers to put on seminars.  Tango Week used to be a small celebration.  Now it is a huge celebration spread out all over the city.  It brings in those foreign dollars that stay in hotels, eat in restaurants, buy tango shoes, CDs, clothes, leather and maybe travel to other parts of Argentina.

Now the government runs seminars for the tango business owners to teach them how to maximize their marketing.  Brainstorming sessions on how to make more money, how to capture more people.  Tango is big business boys and girls.  Everyone wants your money.

I remember Pocho telling me to feel the music, to let the music take me away.  To let how I feel control my feet, my body.  This is not to be confused to what people rag about as musicality.  Feeling the music is completely different.  Who talks about feeling, unless it is feeling down because you are out of money and can't buy more shoes or stay longer? 

People on Tango-L and other tango sites think they have the right to dance however they want and to call it Argentine tango.  Money talks.  Now, the tango once danced in Argentina is fading away.  Replaced by another tango.  No regard for a culture, the codigos, the music.  It has moved from a dance of the heart to a dance of the pocketbook.

The price of yogurt is in the sky

If one more American or European complains to me about the prices here I am going to go postal.  These are people who are coming here with money that is more than 3 or 4 to 1 peso.  These are not the people who are here the first time.  To these people Buenos Aires is cheap.  These are the tango dancers who have been here before.

We used to joke in California about how cheap tango dancers were.  They would try to sneak into milongas for free, show up to a group class half way done and expect a free entrance.  These were people who always made in excess of $100,000.  They live in expensive homes, drive nice cars.  They had the money, but they choose to live this way.

What is happening here in Buenos Aires to those of us who live here, is a nightmare.  Inflation is driving our prices, up, up, up.  Each trip to the supermarket is a new surprise.  Something else goes up in price. Not only the supermarket, but other services as well.  Last year a dozen empanadas at the place around the corner was 10 pesos.  Now it is 15.  The large mozarella pizza that was 12 pesos is now 17.  Shoes, clothing, and everything else.  Nothing is cheaper.  Everything costs more.

All of this is bad enough, but then I have to listen to people who spend at least $1100 to get here, $600-$800 to stay here, complain about the prices.  It is like how dare Argentina not be as cheap as last year!  There seems to be no concern for those of us that live here.  It is all about them.  Bad Argentina, Bad...how dare you not allow me to spend more on my vacation.

I laugh at people who insist on taking buses in neighborhoods that are not so great.  I warn them.  You stick out.  You look foreign.  Don't do it.  "Oh and you don't" they always counter to me.  No, I don't, not until I open my mouth.  My clothes are from here.  I know the neighborhood.  I know where I am going. I know how to act. 

It is beyond me why someone would rather risk their vacation than pay 2.5 euros or 3.5 dollars to get somewhere safe.  Yes, you can hop the colectivo for 80 centavos instead of 12 pesos.  To someone like me or someone who has even less money, that is a big difference.  To someone with dollars or euros, it is nothing.  You cannot convince me otherwise.

My friend Jose the remise driver is outside of Celia's on Saturday night when I was leaving.  I was thrilled to see him.  He takes Kenny and me back to Palermo.  It was raining.  Normally I would take the bus.  On the way home Jose tells me about Clara.  She is a French woman I know.  He saw her outside of El Beso last week.  He offered to take her home.  She said no, she would take the bus.

He told her at 3 in the morning he did not think it was such a good idea for her to wait on Callao.  I have done it many times.  In my old funky boots, jacket, and plastic purse.  In the summer I have an equal uniform.  There was Clare.  With her nice leather bag dressed in her foreign clothes.  She had her purse snatched by a moto-chorro.  (A thief on a motorcyle)  He got her nice bag, her money, a book, her shoes and many other things.  The 80 centavo bus cost her over $300. USD.  All because she did not want to pay 1.5 euros or 7 pesos for a taxi.

It is not dangerous here, not like the U.S.  We have petty crime here.  I am never afraid of someone dragging me into a dark alley.  I keep my eyes open to someone snatching my purse.  Mostly I am ignored other than the usual comments about my body parts.  Sometimes I get hit up for small change. If I have it in my pocket, at 3:00 am I hand it over.

What has happened with this inflation based economy is the thieves have realized why  go after someone who has no money.  The foreigners are a much better target.  There are the mustard people who squirt your back with this vile smelling mustard vinegar stuff to simulate bird doo doo.  While the nice "passerbys" are helping you wipe it off, their friend is cleaning out your pockets or your purse or backpack.

The moto-chorros usually work the zones where there are more tourists.  One is on the sidewalk checking out purses, backpacks, and jewelry.  When he or she spots someone, they contact them via cell.  Nextel has been a big plus in the moto-chorro industry.  The moto-chorros usually consist of the driver, and a person on the back who snatches the purse or whatever.  Before you can recover they are zooming down the street. 

I warned this one person to not wear his Rolex.  "Go buy a cheap watch." I advised him.  He laughed at me.  Being big, fat, and ugly, he figured no one would dare to cross him.  Except the day he was in the Recoleta waiting for the light to change. Zoom! Zoom!  Hasta la vista la Rolex.

They complain about the cost of taxis (one woman whined I used to be able to go anywhere for under 10 pesos, now it is over 15...she is from the U.S., it is costing her $1.50 more.) Another whines that this year she can only buy 3 pair of shoes instead of 4 or 5.  They whine how the milongas are now 2 pesos more. 

Funny how they whine about the cost of our living.  Yet when I tell them I cannot pay 45 pesos every night to go dance, they don't understand why.  One person tells me "That is only  $14.00. It is nothing." Well maybe to him.  I have to teach 2 classes to pay for that evening.  That 45 pesos is the taxi rides there and back, my entrance, and something to drink.  $14 in San Francisco?  What does that get you?  Into the milonga and nothing else.

Argentines worry about the inflation that happened here when it was 200% before the peso was pegged to the dollar.  The tourists threaten not to come back because it is "too expensive."  Like we raised the prices on them only.  Spare me. Argentines worry about how to pay their bills, feed their families, the tourists complain about the prices in the milongas.

Is it no wonder the Argentines complain when the foreigners accuse them of "ripping them off?"  You always have a choice in life.  You don't have to come here to dance.  But we still have to live here.

Another Dance

I have been so low energy lately about dancing.  At first I thought it was the July blues.  In July many people go on vacation, the weather is bad, so they don't go out.  Here we are in August.  The weather is still bad, cold, ugly. 

I thought maybe it was me.  I was not so into tango anymore.  It just seemed not worth it to go and dance. The price of everything is going up - taxis, milonga entrances, even the bottle of water.  I can't afford too many 40 peso evenings.  When I talk to my friends, it is the same.  Sandra used to go out with me a couple of times a week.  Yesterday she told me she can't.  Her other expenses are high so she just does not go to dance much anymore.

"Besides," she says.  "Donde estan los tipos que bailan?"  (Where are the men who dance?)  It seems like the milongas are full of women sitting with arms crossed and starring.  I have to agree with her.  I feel like there are so few men to dance with that I really enjoy.

Yesterday Madeleine met me at Consagrados.  It was packed like always.  We both looked around.  Our normal guys we like to dance with were not there.  I danced with my friend Michael from London.  He is such a nice guy.  Then I sit.  A couple of women sit down with us.  They look vaguely familiar.

They watch the dancers and wince.  They shake their heads.  One of them mutters "What is happening to our dance?"  A woman dances by.  She lifts her leg and kicks me.  Not on purpose.  She is not paying attention.  She should not be doing that anyway.  The two women and I laugh.  One leans over to talk to Madeleine.  I explain she speaks no Spanish.

One of them asks where I am from.  I tell her that I live in Buenos Aires but I am from California.  She sizes me up.  She decides to say nothing.  We turn to watch an exhibition on the floor.  It is a known dancer, older, with a young woman from Italy.  She is beautiful, even if her bra straps are hanging out of her slinky dress and you see her bra which is a different color.

They begin to dance.  Although he is a lower case, name brand, he cannot dance. I am always surprised that people actually pay him for lessons.  He is an old man, she is a young woman.  The woman has probably watched 300 videos of Geraldine.  She has copied every move and step.  She has copied her facial expressions.  This is pathetic. 

The women at the table are in pain.  When the girl dancing lifts her leg they mock her.  "Who taught her to dance?" says one.  I comment that she is pure Geraldine.  Then I add "Only Geraldine can do Geraldine."

The sadder thing is that no one is watching.  The organizers clap as do a few of the Italians who are there.  Maybe some of the foreigners as well.  Everyone else seems to be waiting for them to stop.  Finally they do and the music starts again.

One of the women Graciela asks me if I dance.  I tell her yes.  She comments that I am not dancing. I tell her that there is no one here I want to dance with.  She and her friend laugh.  I find out she was a winner in the 2006 Campeonato, before she adds they turned it into a "escenario".

We talk about the exhibition that we have just seen.  I tell them that so many people are copying others now.  Graciela says "That is because they do not understand.  They don't understand the codes.  They don't understand why we dance."  She looks both sad and angry. 

Janis dances by with Beto.  They stop to talk and to greet us.  Graciela and her friend are interested that Janis and I know each other.  Beto tells Janis he is going to leave.  Madeline says she too is on the way out and Janis can have her seat.

The four of us talk.  Graciela is shaking her head.  She asks Janis what she thought about the exhibition. This starts a lively conversation.  In the end Graciela says, "It is so sad.  The milongueros are dying and so is our dance."  With that, she and her friend prepare to leave.

Janis asks me what I am doing.  I tell her I was thinking of going to El Beso. She says she is going to Celia's.  It has been a couple of years since I have been there on a Saturday.  I decide to join her.  Before we go to have dinner.

The subject comes up again about the milongueros.  "These people don't get it." Janis rants.  She is angry.  People have taken videos of these old guys and posted them on YouTube.  The milongueros are not aware of it.  They problem for her is that these people want to "watch" these guys on a computer screen.  When they come here, they don't want to meet them, dance with them, take a lesson.  Most of these guys live hand to mouth.  In their 80s some are still working...because they have to.

"Tango as it is known here is dying."  Janis continues.  "We are watching the death."  Even Argentines who don't dance see it happening.  The campeonato went from being a local contest to a cross between a Las Vegas extravaganza and the Miss American pageant.

We walk to Celia's.  Mario greets me as I pay my entrance.  He is happy to see me.  I enter with Janis. I am surprised to see many single men.  Many familiar faces.  Saturday night is when you can see who is married and who is not.  Dario hugs me and gives me a big kiss when I enter.  He leads Janis and I to a table in front.

Dany is DJing tonight.  He is the best DJ in Buenos Aires.  I greet him as well as the wait staff Jonny and Rosaria.  This place has always felt like home to me.  For a moment I feel sad.  There are many faces that are not here.  They will never be here.  Milongueros who have passed away.

I dance with several men, all who are surprised to see me here on a Saturday night.  They are dressed in suits.  Just as they always are on a Saturday night.  The music is perfect although maybe a little too loud.

Horacio takes me to dance.  "You never come here on Saturday night."  he says to me.  I agree with him. It has been maybe 2 years since I have been here on a Saturday.  "The dancers used to be better before." he mentions to me. "In all the places."  I say to him.  "What is happening to our tango?"  I ask him. He thinks about this.  "The milongueros are dying or they are too old to come." he says to me. "You were very lucky.  You came while they were still dancing.  I remember, they taught you to dance." He is the third one to talk about this to me tonight. "Without the traditions," he continues, "there will be no tango.  It will be another dance."

La Esquina de Osvaldo Pugliese

Carina is going sing at La Esquina de Osvaldo Pugliese.  I have never been there.  Usually those places that start with "La Esquina de....." are big tourist joints.  Places to go pay $100 USD or more for dinner and for what passes as a tango show.  Some of them are more like a Las Vegas Spectacular than a tango show.

She is vague on when she will sing, she just tells us to come at 10:30.  I do not know what to expect so I take a taxi.  I do not want to be late.  The taxi driver is great.  He is very stoic when I get into the taxi. "Boedo y Carlos Calvo", I tell him.  He nods his head.  "Como vamos?"  (How are we going)  He gives me the streets we will take.  I approve.  No trip around the city.  A direct route.

I start to engage him in conversation.  Like others he is curious as to where I am from.  He tells me that I speak very well, like a Porteña, but he can tell I am not.  I tell him I am from California, another country inside the U.S.  He laughs. 

He asks me why I live here, and I tell him.  He warns me to stay away from the men.  "Argentine men are worthless."  he advises me.  I tell him not to get me started.  I want to have a nice evening.  We are on Boedo.  I don't pay attention when he stops the taxi.  I pay him and get out.

I walk to the corner and open the door.  I am greeted by two women.  I look inside.  This is another "esquina".  La Esquina de Homero Manzi.  I tell the hostesses I am mistaken.  I want the Esquina of Osvaldo Pugliese.  They tell me to go to the other corner.  I leave the bordello lush surroundings and walk to the other corner.

A complete contrast.  This is more like a cafe.  I enter and see Kenny siting at a table eating dinner.  He says Carina is not yet there.  I look around the place and see several men I know who sing tango.  There is a trio of older women sitting next to us.  They must be in their 70s.  One a bottle blond, one a bottle redhead, and the other a natural gray.  They are  taking notes and talking.  I try to listen to their conversation.  Two of them are singers as well.

I translate for Kenny.  I realize that this place is like an open mike or a piano bar.  Apparently they do these several times during the week.  I am wondering what the voices will be like.  Famous last words.  Soon Carina comes in.  We are sitting and talking.  She looks up and her voice teacher walks through the door.  Carina is elated.

An older woman heavily made up comes on stage.  She introduces herself.  The first act will be a flamenco guitar player. He plays well.  When he is finished, he smiles, bows, and walks off stage.  Our MC comes back.  She is a cross between Ethel Merman and Ed Sullivan.

Now the show will begin.  One of the women next to us gets up to sing.  I would love to tell you that she sang a beautiful melodic tango.  Instead she sang an off key rendition.  The guitar player to accompany the singers is about 100 years old.  He has this electronic device to distort and magnify his sound. 

For the next half hour we listen to singer after singer.  They sing two songs.  Some of them are painful to listen to.  Others are pretty good.  Some sing to a CD some to the distorted guitar player.  I have to go to the bathroom.  Carina goes with me.  When we are out of site we both look at each other and laugh and laugh.

It is rude of us to laugh.  I know that.  But this is like being in a live version of the Ted Mack Amateur Hour of Tango Singers, or the Gong Show.  Even though, they are very serious about their singing.  Just like tango dancers.  Many of who cannot dance well, and are full of themselves.

A woman gets up to sing.  She has so much botox in her face it is a wonder she can even open her mouth.  Her hair is that Barbie dyed blond.  I figure she is about 50.  She is still trying to look 25.  Even I can't do that.  She tells us she just got back from a tour of the U.S.  Hmmmm.... What she really did was go to visit friends in NY.  They took her to a Karaoke bar.  She tried to get them to just let her sing and they would not.  So she sang the only thing that was in Spanish in all the music - "Don't Cry For Me Argentina."  The movie version.  She brought her CD and recreated her NY debut for us in the La Esquina de Osvaldo Pugliese.  She was so dramatic.  I had to look away not to laugh.

It appears many of these people come every week to just sing their two songs.  They all know each other, but none of them talk to each other.  They just nod.  Like tango dancers.  There are also people who come to listen.  They know all the singers as well.

I keep asking Carina when she will sing.  She tells me they have told her she will be one of the last.  I wonder how much more time that will be.  The singers are starting to get better.  A woman who came from Tucuman gets up to sing.  She belts out her songs.  It is hard to believe that the voice is so powerful coming from this little thin woman.

Then it is time for Carina to sing.  There is no comparison.  She looks beautiful.  When she begins to sing, the entire place listens to the voice of an angel.  She has an incredible voice.

Until 2 years ago Carina concentrated on her dancing.  Then she found her voice.  I always am honored to have a friend with her talent.  Her voice is amazing.

When she sings everyone is in awe.  They cannot believe the power and the emotion she produces.  The place is silent listening to her.  When she finishes everyone jumps to their feet screaming bravo.  Carina has tears in her eyes.  Singing is very emotional for her.

The MCs rush to the stage with a small trophy.  Apparently she is the winner tonight.  Even she did not know this was to be a competition.  Her picture is taken by several people.  Her small group of friends are elated for her.

After Carina another woman does sing.  She is wearing crazy clothes.  Nothing matches.  But when she sings you forget all that.  Her voice is much different from Carina's.  I like it.  How come she could not sing earlier?

It is time to leave.  Now I know what this "Esquina" is all about.  I like it.  I think that it is a fun place to come if you have time.  Sometimes it is nice to do something other than dance.  I am happy for Carina. They loved her, like all her friends.

Grade B Movie: Night of the Juan Carlos'

We are off to Lo de Celia.  My house guest Chris wants to go there.  He has heard so much about the place and read about it on my blog.  We take the 12 bus.  I point out El Beso, Porteño on the way there.  I tell him that we will have to sit separate. Lo de Celia is a traditional milonga.

When we walk in, Dario grabs me and gives me a big hug.  I explain we are separate, Chris and I.  He takes Chris and seats him in the first row.  "Where are you going to seat me?"  I ask.  "Segunda fila.." he says. (second row) "Nooo, porque?"  He tells me I am late.  There are many open tables.  "Besides," he tells me. "You don't love me anymore.  You hardly come on Sundays."  What can I say?  He is correct.

He seats me in the second row, but in a good place, where the men can still see me.  I nod to the woman already seated at the table.  I get myself situated and look around to see who is here.  I catch Juan Carlos' eye.  He invites me to dance.

"Hello teacher" he says to me.  "How are you?"  This is the extent of his English. I laugh, "I am fine, how are you Mr. Real Estate Agent?"  I ask.  "Fine, fine, fine." He answers.  He always looks so dapper in his suit.  He acts like he doesn't do much in real estate.  This might be true, but the quality of his suits, belie this. 

"You're early."  He says to me.  I explain my houseguest.  His ears perk up.  I guess he didn't know about my business of renting rooms.  He loves it.  "That is so smart."  he tells me.  As we dance he tells me another teacher is here.  He asks if I want to meet her.  I figure why not.

When the music breaks, he introduces me to a woman who is wearing an incredibly tight dress with long blond hair.  I wonder how she dances in a dress so tight.  When she turns around, she is falling out of the dress.  Now I really wonder how she can dance in that dress.  Her face is so caked with makeup I wonder how she can talk.  I would be afraid of half my face falling off.  Kind of like the witch in the Wizard of Oz,  "my face is melting....."

Juan Carlos introduces me to her.  "Aca es una otra maestra - teacher" he says to her.  I smile and tell her in Spanish I am happy to meet her.  She gasps and looks at Juan Carlos, "She speaks Spanish."  Then she turns to the man she is dancing with.  She asks him if he knows me.  He nods.  She keeps going on about my speaking Spanish.  She looks at me and asks "Where are you from?"  Her English is so heavily accented I can only imagine how her students must speak.  I tell her California.  Again she turns away as the music starts and comments, "She speaks Spanish."

I finish the tanda with Juan Carlos.  I go to sit down.  They are playing a milonga.  Normally I do not dance milonga.  I look over to my right and Chachi is looking at me.  What a surprise.  It has been ages since he asked me to dance.  I do not want to turn him down so I accept the dance.  A mistake.

I am trying to follow his steps.  "It is milonga" he hisses at me.  I say nothing.  He is bouncing up and down with bent knees.  "What happened to your dancing?"  He asks me.  "You used to dance better."  I want to tell him that was before I realized he did not dance well. He is pushing my right arm back.  "You have no feeling.  You are dancing like a puppet."  I should just sit down.  The problem is that I cannot without embarrassing him.  The same with me.  Only he would be the one embarrassed.  So we suffer through the tanda.  I feel like a scene out of the movie "They Shoot Horses, Don't They."  The tanda never seems to end.

I am always amazed at how men will criticize women's dancing.  Only it is always the men that do not dance that well.  We always suffer through it.  I used to say something, but now I find it easier to just zone out and not listen.  Must be the Argentine influence.

I spy another Juan Carlos.  I adore this older, wiry man.   He is across the room.  I go over to greet him.  I love dancing with this guy.  He has a wonderful sense of the music.   He is a small man, but so solid. His embrace is protective.  He is happy to see me.  "Donde estabas?"  He asks me. (Where have you been)  We talk a bit and then he takes me to dance.  "How can we talk when this beautiful music is playing?"  He has beautiful clear blue eyes.

I go back to my table to sit.  It is a holiday weekend.  Usually Celia's is full regardless.  Today is interesting, there are less people than usual.  Unfortunately, the less people are men.  There appears to be 4 women to every man.  They are playing a tanda of vals.  I look around to see who might want to dance with me.  I spy a man in the corner who I have wanted to dance with for sometime.  I accept his invitation, but I am still not sure it is me he wants to dance with.

I continue to make contact with his eyes as he makes his way across the room.  The woman seated next to me hisses "no saca vos."  (He is not inviting you)  I freeze.  With all the women in this section it is easy to make a mistake.  I stay seated.  She is grining like a hyena.  He gets closer.  She gets up to go to him.  I still stay seated, only he is not looking at here, he is still looking at me.  I motion and he nods. I get up to go to him.  The woman realizing her mistake changes from hyena to mutant ninja and makes like she is going to greet a friend.  She is angry.  Lesson number 1, never get up until you are sure the man is inviting you to dance.

The man asks me what happened.  Did I not want to dance with him.  I explain that I was not sure he was inviting me, and that the other woman told me that it was her that was being invited.  He laughs, "Que lucha. Las mujeres luchando por el baile."  Sadly, at times this is true. (The women are fighting to dance) He is turning and turning me.  Normally I love to turn.  But this week my hip and knee have really been bothering me.  Even with ibuprofen I feel the pain as I turn.  I just hope my face does not show it or the men will think it is my reaction to the dance.

As we make our way back to my table I tell him how much I enjoy dancing with him.  He tells me he feels the same.  "Tu nombre?"  he asks me.  I tell him my name and then ask his, "Juan Carlos."  He answers. This is the 3rd Juan Carlos I have danced with tonight.

I am pretty much dancing every tanda.  I have low energy.  I am not sure why.  I am not sure if it is the milongas or me.  For the last couple of weeks the pain has returned to my hip and knee.  It is the fierce cold that we are having. The pain affects my dance, and most likely my mood.

At my table I listen to the women talk.  They are unhappy with how many women are there.  I start to agree when one of the jackals turns around and snarls at me "What are you complaining about? YOU are dancing."  OK, I will shut up, ain't no sisterhood in this quadrant.

Juan Carlos with the bright blue eyes comes to get me again to dance.  He knows that I will not turn him down so he comes almost to the table and smiles at me.  The woman next to me smiles at him he looks away.  She glares at me.  Hmmmmm  I don't seem to making very many friends today.

Juan Carlos tells me there is a nice milonga in Lanus tonight.  If I want to go he will take me.  Lanus is a long way I tell him.  He says not to worry, he will take me, we can go to dinner, then to the milonga, then he will bring me back.  I thank him, but tell him no.  Roxie is sick and I need to get home at 11 to walk her.  "One day, querida," he says to me, "you will accept my invitations."  I don't think so, but he can dream.

The hyena and her table mate are getting ready to leave. Good, less mala onda. (Bad vibes) Between 9:30 and 10 there is a changing of the guard.  The first shift leaves and the second shift meanders in.  Soon the jackals in front of me leave.  A beautiful girl is seated in front of me.  I have seen her from time to time.  She is foreign although I am not sure where she is from.

She goes to dance with Juan Carlos I.  When he returns to the table with her after the tanda he asks her something.  She does not understand. He then makes the motions of a phone.  He wants her phone number.  I am shocked.  This man has always been the model gentleman.  I cannot believe he is asking for her number. I never took him for one of these kind of guys. Oh well, bien.

A young guy asks me to dance.  OK not young, but not 70 either.  I figure he is in his 40s.  He dances nicely.  He is nervous. He asks me if I like the milonga.  I tell him yes.  We dance a nice tanda of Troilo. I wish he was not so nervous.

I go back to my table.  To my right are two new women.  They look nice, not like escapees from the zoo. It turns out the 3 of us are looking at the same man.  One of the woman says she thinks he is looking at me.  I tell her he never asks me to dance.  She insists he is looking at me and turns away her gaze.  He turns away.  "See" we say to her.  "He was looking at you."  We all laugh. 

The next tanda he starts to look again.  The three of us laugh.  It turns out he is not even looking at us. He takes someone else to dance.  We find that humorous.  The fog of the milonga lifts.  It is much nicer to have women to talk to who are simpatica.

A friend of mine comes in.  He comes to the table to greet me.  I never knew his name.  I just know him from all the milongas. He takes me to dance.  He tells me how pretty I look.  He asks why I was not at Enrique's or Canning this week.  I tell him it was too cold.  When the tanda ends, he says to me "I forgot your name." "Deby" I tell him.  He looks perplexed. "Cortita para Debora."  "Ahhh Devy"... I ask him his, He smiles, "Juan Carlos."

It's Raining Chinese Food....

For whatever reason I really like the people from Singapore.  It isn't like I know lots of people from there, but the few people I have met have all been the same.  Kind, warm people, and very intelligent.  This week on Tuesday came Kenny.  He is originally from Singapore but is currently living in Geneva, Switzerland.

He is a very modest man.  In short he is super intelligent and a highly regarded lawyer in an international firm.  At his young age he has lived or worked on every continent but South America.  His colleagues teased him about his trip here as an expedition to find work and complete his resume as an international kind of guy.

He is here in Buenos Aires for a month.  For the time being he is the only guest until Christopher arrives from England.  He is new to tango and was eager to take a month off and explore not only tango but Buenos Aires.  He said reading my blog made him want to come here.

The poor guy got here but his luggage didn't. He was not prepared for the insane cold weather we are currently having.  Phillippe my boyfriend of a million coats and jackets, lent him a down vest to wear.  He first night we took him to a parilla.   He was in heaven.  He may be tall and thin, but he loves to eat.

On Wednesday he went with me to Dr. Loco, my dentist.  On the way home I asked him if he wanted to check out Chinatown.  Being the polite young man he is, he did not want to force me to do something.  So I pulled him off the bus and dragged him to all 2 blocks of Buenos Aires "barrio del chino."

As we walked down the block his eyes lit up like a child's.  When we got to my favorite market, the reserved Kenny went wild.  He told me he had not seen anything like this since he left Singapore.  In Geneva he cannot even find noodles.  When he does, he says they are very expensive.

I had planned on just buying a few things.  Within minutes the small hand cart was loaded, and Kenny went off to get a shopping cart.  Unlike Jane and even Lee, this guy really likes to cook.  What a delight for me.  I love to cook also.  There were so many things that I could never find or understand simply because I don't read Chinese.  (Imagine that!) 

Kenny picked up a bottle of plum wine from Japan he said was excellent.  He decided to try a Korean version as well.  I finally found Chinese cooking wine because Kenny translated the bottle for me.  In no time the basket was loaded with Chinese vegetables, fish, rice, noodles, and many other wonderful things.  We decided to split the bill when it became obvious this was going to be a cooking partnership.

Wednesday night I cooked.  Kenny found it amusing to watch a "white" girl chop vegetables Chinese style and stir fry everything in a wok with Chinese technique.  "Mabel Lee."  I told him.  "She was my Chinese cooking teacher.  With her, everything had to be authentic, or it was not Chinese."  I told him how I had once made won ton with red snapper and green onions.  When I told Mabel she went "You can do that, but it is not authentic."

On Thursday Kenny wanted to cook.  Phillippe would be coming for dinner.  When I came home from teaching there were wonderful smells filling the apartment.  Kenny had made a winter style jook - a Chinese rice porridge.  It was completely different from any other jook I have had before.

I explained the jook to him that Jane had made for me.  He told me that it was a summer jook from Shanghai.  That is where Jane is from.  I had no idea that there were so many types of jook.  The jook we were having that night is a winter jook. In addition to the jook he was making steamed dumplings with a shredded ginger sauce. They smelled and looked incredible. 

Felipe arrived around 10.  Always larger than life and full of jokes.  When he came into the kitchen he looked at the food.  He got quiet.  Kenny explained with me translating what were going to eat.  Felipe shook his head.  I can say one thing about him.  He is very open to trying new things.

As dinner was prepared I translated as Kenny and Felipe talked about Barrio del Chino.  Kenny talked about how it was like home to him, Singapore.  He showed me the dried scallops he had brought.  His mom sends them to him in Geneva.  We were honored to have them in our soup.

Felip talked about how I took him to Barrio del Chino a couple of weeks ago.  Like many Porteños, he had never been there before.  "It was like somewhere else."  He said to Kenny.  "Not like Buenos Aires".  Just wait until he goes to San Francisco, or to Hong Kong like I want to go.  If he thought cilantro was exotic...

It was time for dinner.  Our chef brought the steaming food to the table.  I was in heaven.  Both Kenny and I used chopsticks.  Felipe was not to be left out.  He stabbed at his dumplings and speared them until he could get them into his mouth.  Ginger was hot to him, but "muy rico."

He told Kenny he was really happy to try this food.  "Muchas gracias" he said many times.  I was in heaven.  It has been 18 months since I had Chinese food this good.  I tell this to Kenny over and over. I tell him he is the perfect guest.  He laughs, "Tomorrow" he tells me.  "I will make spicy noodles with some different dumplings."  Ah yes, got to love those guests who come from Singapore.