TangoSpam:La Vida Con Deby

The milonga chronicles: Nostalgia

It is Wednesday.  I hurry to get to Leonesa.  There are several options for milongas on Wednesday, I like this one.  I could walk to Canning, but I won't have that many good dances.  Canning is like going to a high school reunion.  Lots of old familiar faces, but you wonder what you are doing there. I go because it is close and I like to see my old guys, but still.  I refuse to go to Fish Face's milonga.  It could be the only milonga on Wednesday and I would stay home.  I won't support someone who is unpleasant and at times rude.  Ever since the time she kicked me in Gricel because I was talking (yes, just talking) to some man she wanted, that was the end of her.  This kind of jealousy and histerica is not on my menu.

I walk up the stairs to enter the milonga.  Franca throws her arms around me.  She is happy to see me.  I normally don't come on Wednesday, but now my schedule is cleared.  I pay and enter through the curtains. The curtains are so dramatic.  Kind of like Loretta Young making a grand entrance.

On the other side is Lucy. "Divina" she gives me a big hug.  Really I don't care where she seats me.  I know in this milonga I will dance.  She wants me to sit in front.  She takes me to a table and sits me down.  The woman just stares at me.  I stare back.  I don't care if she want me there or not.  Those days are over.  "Buenas Tardes"  I say to her.  She mumbles "Buenas tardes" back to me.

I sit down and listen to the music.  I look to see who is here.  It is getting close to the end of the month.  There are fewer people. I go to dance with a friend of mine.  It is a nice tanda of vals.  When I come back to the table I order a bottle of water.  I am not sure how much I am going to be dancing in this milonga today.  I am glad that I like the music.

I see my friend come in. He smiles at me.  I smile back.  He invites me to dance.  "Que linda que sos" he says to me.  I thank him for the compliment.  He is a lawyer.  An activist type of lawyer.  If he lived in California he would probably live in Berkeley in rent control housing, drive a VW, and be green. 

"Y tu novio, como esta?" he asks me.  He is fishing. "No tengo novio."  I tell him.  "Are you looking?"  He asks me.  I tell him "Yes, of course."  "Well, give me your data."  I laugh, "Why, are you going to find a boyfriend for me?"  He blushes, "Well maybe."  I tease him "Oh you want to be a candidate for the job?"  I am not sure that this is a good idea.  I see him dancing with the same woman in the milongas for 7 or 8 tandas and  I also see the evil glances she gives me now.  She is not a candidate for my fan club.

We finish the tanda and I manage to continue to sidestep the question of giving my phone number or where I live.  I do not want any more milonga relationships.  I thank him and go back to my table.  For some reason my bottle of water does not seem as full as it was.  Not important, maybe I am more thirsty than I think.

I dance several more tandas and then go to the bathroom. I meet up with someone I have not talked to in awhile. "Estas siempre en el pais." she says to me.  How weird she knows I live here. "Amor, vivo aca, estoy en mi año quinto." She gives me a look "Yes but you go back don't you?"  "No, I haven't been back since January 2006." I tell her. "I am here permanently." I don't understand her attitude, she has always been so friendly to me. "What are you doing now?"  she asks.

I tell her how I rent my rooms and I am begining to work with a software company. "Good for you" she snaps at me."  You work with your American company earning American dollars and live here."  Now I get it.  "No," I tell her, "This is an Argentine company.  I earn pesos, just like you.  I have a cuil, just like you. I live in pesos just like you.  You are mistaken." She looks at me "Bueno, suerte."

There is a backlash growing against the foreigners.  I usually do not get this type of attitiude.  Most people know I live and work here the same as they do.  However the majority of the foreigners who live here who come to the milongas do not.  Things are not easy here with all the inflation.  Everytime the dollar increases against the peso our prices go up.  I have noticed a frequency of some services and places wanting to quote me in dollars and not pesos.  Their excuse is to make it "easier" for me. Easier for me to run. 

Argentines know that many foreigners are here working remotely earning dollars and euros.  When things were better here, no one really cared.  Now that things are getting tough again, people are starting to resent it.  I hear it come out in little ways.  I don't let it get to me.

I spend the rest of the afternoon dancing with my friends.  Some of my dances are good, some are very good, and some are not good at all.  I always manage to dance with one Argentine who blames his inability to dance on my being American.  It doesn't ruin my afternoon.  I feel good being here.

I look at my bottle of water.  It is less than half full.  I know that I have not been drinking that much water.  I realize that my table mate has been helping herself to my water.  Amazing.  I give her the mini-Brown connection stare.  Not the full tilt boogie.  Just the one to let her know that I know what she has been doing.  She looks away. She calls the mozo to pay for "her" water, and then leaves.

I enjoy the music.  There are not many people here but I feel good.  I have this feeling inside.  Then I realize what it is.  It is the same feeling I had when I used to go to the milongas before I lived here.  I would go alone.  Sit alone.  I came only to dance.  I spoke Spanish then, but not Porteño.  I was an outsider.  People were friendly to me, but I was still an outsider.  I always felt welcome.  I always felt like I belonged there.

Now it is different.  My Spanish is fluent.  I speak "Porteño".  I have lots of friends.  Now I come to the milongas to socialize, to see my friends, and yes to dance. As much as I try to fight it, I belong here. The feeling is the same.  Contentment?  I don't know how to explain it.

I pay for my water and leave.  I go to say good bye to Lucy and Luis.  Lucy reminds me about Los Reyes next Wednesday.  I tell her I will be bringing 6 people.  Luis gets up and gives me a big hug.  He says to Lucy "She always comes to my milongas. Do you know that?"  Lucy nods and smiles. "How long have I known you?" he asks, before I can answer he says "She came to Celias, to Saraza, to Maracaibo, to all of them.  She always comes to my milongas." He kisses me again. "Chau nena, gracias para venir."

The Milonga Chronicles: Are we having fun yet?

I like to dance on Mondays.  Today Sexteto Milonguero is playing in my favorite milonga. Not only that, my Australian sister Sharon is going to join us along with Nikki.  I always sit with Pia and Ana in this milonga. Melroy will be the lone man on the girl's side of the room.  He says he prefers to sit with us than to sit alone with a bunch of guys he doesn't know and cannot understand.

Pia texts me as I am about to go to my lawyer's office.  She wants to know what time I will be there. When there is live music we need to get there early.  I tell her I hope to get there at 7:30, she tells me she will too.  Neither of us can depend on Ana to get there early and Sandra..well, it is a miracle if she even shows up.

After the conference with my lawyer I am ready to do something fun.  Lawyers are the same everywhere. Boring.  I called my friend David the bionic super lawyer in the middle of our conference to make sure my lawyer was not being an idiot.  I am as always the enigma to the men here.  Exigente is the word most used to describe me.  Demanding.  Woman are supposed to accept what is said, given, or done to them.  I do not.  I don't care if it is a doctor,lawyer, or some other person with a "titulo". 

I am relieved to be on the subte heading towards the milonga. I think about my conference and I hope that in 30 days or so things will be different.  Maybe, maybe not.  This is Argentina.  It is like living in a fun house.  You never know what the next mirror will be.

I enter Central de Leonesa.  I am happy to see my friends.  I let Graciela know I am here.  I go to the bathroom to greet Amanda.  "Madre mala" she says to me.  She throws her arms around me and gives me a big hug.  I change my shoes as we talk.  I promise her that we will get together.  I have been busy.  I am not sure doing what.  Life is like that here.

I am the only one at my table.  I look around the room. Although it is early there are quite a few people here.  The regulars want to make sure they get their tables.  The orchestra will draw people who normally do not come to this milonga.  That and there are still tourists here from CITA.

I go to dance with a retired doctor I have known since my first time here.  He is a sweet old guy. "Que marviollsa a bailar contigo." he says to me.  I laugh. I ask him how he is. In between the songs we make small talk. "Estas muy flaca." he says to me. "y mas Porteña."  I wonder if being thinner makes me more Argentine. We sort of shuffle around the floor to the music.  I will always love my old guys and I will always dance with them. They are still gentlemen. They hold a special place in my heart.

When I get back to the table Pia is waiting for me.  I give her a big hug.  I am happy to see her.  It has been a long time.  I think at least 3 weeks.  "Estas con novio?" she asks me.  "No"  I tell her.  "Salio con un chico, pero quedo un disastre."  Pia doesn't read my blog, so if Sandra doesn't fill her in I have to.  She is confused.  Most of my Argentine women friends were.

Another friend of ours comes to the table and asks if she can sit with us.  "Claro que si chica!" she sits down and gives me her sorteo (raffle number)number.  I find it humorous that I am always the keeper of the numbers. 

Melroy comes in and sits with us. Sharon comes to the table and asks me to ask them if it is OK to for her to come in now, leave, and then come back.  I go with her to the front and ask.  They tell her no problem and for me to make sure I guard her chair.  I am thrilled to see her. I introduce her to Pia and to Melroy and my other friend.

We are a nice little group.  Pia and I joke that we have once again been abandoned by Ana and Sandra. I tell her no doubt that Ana will show up.  "I am not worried.  I have Sharon."  I tell her.  I explain to Sharon that we have this joke that Ana and Pia are a couple and Sandra and me. We used to do everything together.  But Sandra has disappeared and now I am flying solo.  Sharon laughs.

The milonga is very crowded.  I love the music.  I am dancing as much as I can.  It is not easy.  I think the CITA crowd are trying every fancy step they learned last week.  We are trying to dodge stilleto heels when possible. It is like bumper cars at Six Flags.

I get back to the table and Ana is here.  We throw our arms around each other.  I am so happy to see her.  I really miss my friends.  She wants to know why I have not been coming out. I tell her I just have not felt like it. "I needed to do other things."  I tell her. Pia nods.  She has not been going out as much either. For people who do not live here, they cannot understand how we who do sometimes get tired of the milonga.

As Sharon says good bye I receive a text message from Nikki.  She has that horrible 24 hour virus that starts with a massive headache.  She won't be coming.  We decide to order champagne.  Getting the attention of the waiter is going to be a magic feat.  We agree to take turns while we are dancing. As I look to the door I see a familiar figure. Great.  My favorite ex is here.  It doesn't matter to me.  I don't care about him anymore. If he gets his kicks stalking me and making phony phone calls. Good for him. My life goes on.

I am sitting most of the time and watching.  The floor is a little too dangerous to dance on.  It is stacked with dancers and very crowded.  People are banging into each other.  My favorite dancers are mostly sitting.  Every once in awhile at the last song of a good tanda one of them will come to the table to get me. Normally this is not acceptable.  However, they know I am not going to turn them down.

There is a group of young guys here from La Plata.  I am having a very good time dancing with them. They are so sweet, very nice looking. One tells me that he usually does not dance milonguero but now he wants to better his style which is why he came here. I can tell he usually dances open because of how he is turning.  I dance with each one of them.  One of them speaks excellent English and wants to practice while we dance.  He is adorable.  I want to take them all home with me...ummm well maybe not.

I found it interesting that these young guys were here to better their close embrace and milonguero style.  They like it. They like dancing it.  They learned the other style first and now they want to dance the "real" tango.  Our conversations were interesting.  I find this to be the case of many young people who have had lessons at La Viruta and want to get serious about tango.

The orchestra is playing.  I love these guys.  They have such great energy.  Maybe because their singer acts more like a rock star than a tango singer.  The crowd adores him.  They really get people going. The other thing I like about these guys is that they are not stuck in one style.  They play lots of music. They even play chacarerra.

In the middle Sharon comes back. "I am so glad I didn't miss them." she says.  She likes these guys too. I go to dance with one of my young guys.  This is a real switch for me.  Usually I am dancing with old guys.

Sharon is telling me about the class she went to and the person she was dancing with. She had a good time although the class turned out to be more than 2 hours. "Hey" she says to me, "I think that guy over there wants to dance with you. He keeps looking at you." I look over there to see who it is. "He doesn't want to dance with me."  I tell her who it is.

Sharon points out a friend from Australia.  I love her skirt.  It is beautiful. She is a very pretty woman. She and her friend come to sit with us.  She asks Sharon about her class. Sharon asks her about her classes.  She is very unhappy.

She names a well known academia of tango "I am very disappointed." she says. "There are 60 people in my class and all they seem to do is talk." I laugh.  "60 people? How can you learn with 60 people in a class?"  She continues "I feel like they are only doing this for the money."  Now I am really laughing. "They are, what do you think they are doing it for?" She continues, "Everyone talks about them but to me they are nothing but marketing and hype. They charge a fortune for their classes and they teach nothing." 

I of course have been saying this for years but the foreigners have been enamored with them. She tells me that she went to another place to "study" and that there were 45 people in the class.  "I can't believe this." she tells me. "People say go to this place or that place and you will really improve your dance."  I am finding this pretty humorous.  It seems that somebody has finally seen that the emperor has no clothes.

"Where did you did study?" she asks me.  I tell her I didn't.  I tell her how I learned on the floor.  I tell her about Amanda.  I tell her how I danced with various men here. "Well you did study," she snaps at me, "You just didn't pay for it."  "What an odd way to think of things."  I think to myself. "And if you didn't go to classes how can you teach?" She says to me.  I ask her how Virulazo taught. "Who?" she asks. "No one, just someone who taught tango."

I tell her that she knows how to dance. Tango is simple: walking, turning, ochos. Just go to the milongas and practice. She complains about the milongas.  She has been to Salon Canning and Villa Malcom.  I laugh.  "Well they are not exactly known for their dancing." She doesn't think they dance all that well here anyway.  She is very disappointed with Buenos Aires and the tango here. "The people in this milonga are so old." she says to me. Many complaints.

"Tango has gotten very commercial."  I tell her.  "Go dance in the milongas and maybe take a couple of private lessons a week. to correct your defects. You don't need to spend thousands on classes.  There really is not that much to learn."

I ask her, "What is it exactly you are looking for?" I get the same answer I get from every foreigner who comes here. "I want to better my dance.  I want to improve my technique."  She is very unhappy. She goes off to dance with her friend.

I turn to Sharon.  "You know, you guys all treat tango like it is a job. It is like it is no different than work.  You are always looking to better yourself, improve."  She nods her head. "I know." "When do you start to enjoy it?" I cannot think of a single Argentine I know who dances tango that thinks of tango this way.  Not one.  I have friends that still take a class now and then, but they do it for fun.

This whole thing of classes, women's technique, men's technique, learn from the leaders, all the marketing geared toward foreigners to make them think that there is so much to learn, that they always have to take more and more classes.  When do you start to have fun?

Being single in Buenos Aires: Chinese food with a mysterious man

So I met that guy at the mixer.  We exchanged numbers.  He stuck to me all night.  It wasn't all that bad. He was very attractive, well traveled, a business owner, and a great conversationalist.  Just I would have liked to have met some of the other guys there too.  Oh well, next time.

The next day he texts me "Would you like to go to the Chinese restaurant tonight?" Well of course my Argentine side is indignant.  I remember the words of one of my amigas "I am not a fire sale item." Then my California side thinks, "Well why not." The two sides argue back and forth. Talk about being a schizophrenic. Si, no, si, no... Then I realize that the thing that frosts me the most is the text message.  I mean, why can't he just call?  What kind of an impression is this? So I decline.."No gracias, tengo planes. Tal vez un otro dia." 

My friend David calls.  He is always good for a debate.  I tell him what happens.  He tells me I should be more relaxed. "Yeah, but text messaging for a first date?"  I hear silence.  I tell David "Look I am not that high mainteance.  But I think for a first date, the guy should at least call you in advance and on the phone. Not just text message you in the afternoon."  Again I hear silence then he says, "Well maybe you are right."

"Hey if we are already dating it is one thing, but NOT the first date." I say again.  I think my favorite friend is a guilty man.  "I guess I don't think like a girl." he says to me.  "It is not thinking like a girl" I say to him.  "Look, how would you feel if I texted you two hours before a date and said gee, I can't go, besos." Silence. "It's not the same."  he says.  I explain to him the concept of respect.  "You know," he says "maybe I should try it your way." Bang...

The next day he texts again and asks.  He gets the same answer. He texts back to let me know when I am not busy because he would like to see me.  I can see this guy is not going to get the message.  Maybe he is dense like David.

On Monday I am tired and my back hurts.  I am not sure I want to go dancing.  So I decide to text Mr. No-Plan and ask him if he would like to take me to Chinese tonight.  I get this long text message back to which I reply "Can you please call me."  I have had enough of these f**cking text messages.

In two minutes he calls.  We arrange a time for him to come get me.  He is adamant about picking me up.  He must have a nice car.  He wanted to take me home from the mixer.  I know it was because he wanted me to see his car.  He doesn't understand.  I don't care about his stupid car.  I lived in California.  Here woman go gaa gaa over a Honda Accord.  Brande and I used to make jokes about it.  We still do. 

At 9:30 he comes to call for me.  I am dressed casual.  I figure a Chinese restaurant in San Telmo cannot be all that fancy.  "Que linda que sos!" he says to me.  "Que hermosa."  I am trying not to roll my eyes.  I give my best imitation of an Argentine woman (Sandra is my teacher) "Gracias, gracias." This is so un-me.  He leads me to his car.  Yup, a new car and a nice one. How predictable.

I get in and immediately go for the seatbelt.  That is the best part about a new car.  It has seatbelts that work.  He starts to ask me to put on my seatbelt when he sees I have it on already. We have this conversation about seatbelts and how he has to fight with Argentines to use them.  I humor him and look around his car and ask if it is new.  He smiles and says "Si."  I am bad, again, the Academy Award please, "Que linda coche, que divino."  I go on for 5 minutes.  It is the job of the woman to do this.  I cannot imagine more than "Hey cool, new car." in my old life.

Soon we are in San Telmo and he pulls into a parking garage and leaves his car. As we get on the street he informs me "By the way, this restaurant is only delivery." What the f**ck? Is what I am thinking but I say "Otra vez?"  He says it again.  I stop in the street and glare at him.  Not just any glare mind you, but the extra heavy duty Brown Connection glare, guaranteed to peel wallpaper off your walls.

I ask him "And where are we going to eat this "delivery Chinese food?"  As if I did not know the answer.  My glare along with my direct approach has him squeaking out the answer. "Ahh my apartment."  I continue to glare at him. "No precupes"  he tells me.  "Soy un buen tipo." I continue "Oh and if you weren't you are going to tell me?"  Now I know I have this guy a little freaked out.  He thought I was going to be so easy.

We are walking towards his building.  I realize I have to make a decision.  The guy really doesn't scare me.  Actually I think he is scared of me.  Which is good.  I am silent while he is pointing stuff out to me.  I still have the Belle Brown look on my face.  This is actually not as bad as my mother's look.  That look could probably scare the Taliban.  I hold it in reserve.

When we enter his building I can tell he is nervous.  Good.  I check to see what the exit points are. Someone on the door.  We go up to his apartment.  Small but nice.  I check to see how the door locks. Too many police television shows and mystery novels. 

He asks me what kind of Chinese food I like.  Now I am going to be difficult.  I prefer to tell him what I don't like.  "I hate sweet and sour."  I see his face drop.  "I don't like fried either." Another disappointed look.  "And I don't eat meat." At this point he hands me the menu while telling me how this is the greatest place in Buenos Aires.  I look at the menu. Boring. Not nearly as good as the two places I go to.  It actually crosses my mind to say I don´t like anything on the menu, but I decide not to. I don't say anything.  

Finally he decides we should have fried rice and chow mein. OK.  Whatever.  He orders it.  We sit and wait for the food to come.  He sets the table.  This is pretty interesting.  The conversation is still pretty good considering. The food comes in 15 minutes.

I decide to be polite.  I tell him it tastes fresh.  I ask for soy sauce.  This is such a bizarre evening.  I know all those women on BANewcomers who are complaining about Argentine men grabbing their tits and asses on the streets if they are reading this are probably having major heart failure.  They are ready to arm themselves with pepper spray and martial arts classes and here I am in some wierd guy's apartment having bland delivery Chinese food.

As soon as we finish eating he leaves me, clears the table to go into the kitchen to wash and dry the dishes.  Even I am not that obsessive.  It is not like we just had a six course meal.  "I won't be long." he tells me.  I guess not.  So I sit and wait. He comes back, puts everything away and then we resume our conversation.

About 20 minutes later he asks me if I want ice cream. I love ice cream.  I ask if we can go to get it. "No" he tells me. Why am I not surprised.  I am begining to feel like the prisioner of Zenda.  It is ice cream from Saverio.  I have always wanted to try their ice cream so I will be tranquila.  I pick 2 flavors he picks 1.  The ice cream gets ordered and we continue to converse waiting for it.

Just like the dinner, although the ice cream is spectacular, we eat the ice cream, then he collects the dishes, leaves me to go wash them, dry them, and then put them away.  The Brown Connection would be proud of him.

By this time it is 12:30 am.  I want to go home. He is trying to take my hand.  Eeew.  He looks at me "Do you have a boyfriend?" What a funny question to ask me.  He is the one not wanting to be seen in public. "No, why?"  I answer him. I get the typical stupid answer "Because you are so beautiful." I keep myself from rolling my eyes, "y muy complicada". 

He asks if I want something more to drink, "whiskey, lemoncello?" "No gracias." I tell him.  Then he leans over to try and kiss me.  This is definitely not going to happen or I will be stuck here. No way. I stand up. "I have to go home."  I tell him.  I see the surprise on his face. "My puppy needs to go outside or she will destroy my apartment." Little does  he know Maximiliana is crated. After the big story he has given me about being an animal lover and the pictures of his dogs, what choice does he have?

I already have my jacket on and I have grabbed my purse.  I have made it clear I want to go.  We leave his apartment and go to the car.  I have been there for almost 3 hours.  He has a great view, but I am tired.  Time to go.  All the way to Palermo he is chatting me up.  We finally get to my apartment. I see no way out.  He leans over and kisses me. OK. Then again. "Gracias" I tell him, "Hablamos" before I can get out the door he grabs me again and kisses me.  Jeesh, trapped in the car.  Well better than the apartment. Finally I am able to break loose.  "I'll call you."  he says.  "I like you a lot."  I smile and bolt for my apartment door.  Then before I get to my apartment he texts me that he had a great time. This guy is hopeless.

 

Single in Buenos Aires

Being single isn't easy no matter where you live.  Everyone complains. Being single here is a trip.  Especially after being single for so long in California. San Francisco - The Bay Area has the highest rate of singles in the US.  There are more single people there than anywhere else.  The single life style is more accepted, and has a unique place.  You don't really realize it until you leave there.

No matter where you live you complain.  I meet women from all over the world and we all complain about the same thing - men.  It doesn't matter where they are from. France, Italy, Canada, Sweden, they complain.  Women come here and they think the men are so wonderful.  They probably are - for two weeks.  Then you get to know them.  It is the same with men everywhere.

One thing though, living here, really taught me to appreciate the men in the U.S. (I hear American women gagging everywhere reading this blog post.) In the U.S. or the Bay Area, I know that I was valued for more than how I looked.  Here women for the most part are still considered property and are still valued for their looks and how they appear.

They don't get the positive reinforcement that North American and European women get.  The women's movement is just being born here.  Women here are now just becoming financially independent. Hopefully they will soon have positive female role models.  Women place all their self-esteem on their looks. Have you ever seen a place with so many beauty salons, places to get waxed, nails done, and many other beauty treatments?

Yes men are visual creatures.  But I do know that most men in the US want a woman who is independent financially, emotionally, and mentally.  They want someone who is an intellectual equal. Here? Ayyee.... If needy was a nightmare in California, it is a plus here.  I still don't get it and really it's OK.  It is another culture. 

So how does that play out in the dating game? Different.  When I lived in California you could pretty much meet men where ever you wanted.  You could meet them online, you could meet them on the street.  Hey, the Marina Safeway is famous for singles meeting on Friday nights.  There are single's dating services, video dating services, and single's parties.

Here all of that is new and most of the time it is weird or it makes good blog posts.  That is because here, it is still considered best to meet someone by being introduced to them.  There is still a stigma to meeting people in less traditional ways unless you are a vedette or rich and famous and then it doesn't matter.

Once when I lived in Oakland I was looking at olive oils in Safeway.  A really good looking guy started looking at the olive oils with me.  He started a conversation with me about which brand did I use and why, which eventually led to a conversation about cooking, which in the end led to an invitation for dinner and a possible joint cooking date.  He gave me his card and told me to call.  I did, and we dated for several months.  He was a totally nice guy.

And the same thing happening here....  One day I was in Jumbo looking at olive oils when this guy appeared in my aisle. "Que linda ojos tenis." he says to me.  I sort of politely ignore him because I don't want to encourage him. "Te gusta aceite de olivos?" he asks me.  (Now this is sort of a stupid question because why would I be looking at olive oil if I didn't like it?) I shake my head.  I have learned that encouraging men in these situations is usually not a good idea.  He however in his typical Argentine male fashion is not fazed at all and continues "Que marca te gusta mas?"  Finally I tell him I like the cheapest brand they have hoping it will disgust him.

"Sos extranjera, pense que sos de aca, de donde sos?"  Ah yes, I get this about 5 times a day too.  I tell him I live here, but I am from the U.S. This of course opens the doors for 500 questions he can ask me and leaves no room for me to ask him questions.  I do notice he is busily looking around. Then he moves in and asks me for my phone number.  I laugh and tell him no. "Porque no?" he demands. "Quiero cocinar para vos."  he tells me.  I slowly move up the aisle. "TIenes MSN?" he asks, again I decline.  "Sos divina, quiero conocerte." He smiles.  I am finally able to make my get away to another aisle.

About 10 minutes later I see him pushing the cart with...oh my, another woman.  What a surprise. He winks at me. Slime bag.  I move right by him and ignore him.  Later he finds me in another aisle and again asks me for my MSN.  I tell him to go away. "It is my sister." he insists.  Yeah right.

Another time when I lived in California I was early for an appointment I decided to hang in Starbucks.  I ended up talking to this guy who was working on his computer.  We had nice conversation.  He was really cute.  We exchanged cards, emailed each other, and ended up dating for 6 months. He was a producer for a video game company and loads of fun.

One time here I was early for a doctor's appointment in Martinez.  I went to sit in Cafe Martinez. The cute guy across from me smiled.  I smiled back.  I know this is not a good thing to do, but whatever. Finally he came over with a lame excuse about the newspaper and ended up sitting down. "Sos extranjera!" he says to me. "Pense que sos de aca, de donde sos?" he asks me.  I tell him the whole story, American, I live here, blah, blah, blah.  Sometimes I feel like I should just have it all printed out on a piece of paper and give it to them.

Of course he wants to know if I am a) married or b) have a boyfriend.  He wants my phone number, my email and/or my msn.  He of course does not have a home phone, is not married, and does not have a girlfriend, and works in a "company" doing "something" as he is a "businessman".  I have to go now.

We won't talk about the cute guy I met walking Roxie (when she was alive) who seemed like a nice guy. We met for coffee in the plaza. Not more than two minutes into the "date" he grabbed me and tried to stick his tongue down my throat and then wanted to know what the hell was wrong with me. My friends told me what did I expect since I met him on the street....oh, he was a lawyer.  So much for sexual harassment.

Meeting guys the same way as I did in California doesn't seem to work here.  So where do you meet them? You have to be creative.  All my girlfriends complain. The ones that dance tango still hold out hope that they are going to find that magic man in the milonga. You know, the one with the great job, good looking, and dances well. Good luck. The others just dream. I keep telling them they need to be proactive.

They have mixers here.  All kinds.  You just have to find the ones that work for you.  I try them all.  Well maybe not all, but at least I go.  I just cannot get the amigas to go.  They say they will, but in the end they always cancel.  They are too afraid of being rejected.  They have visions of these parties being full of half dressed gorgeous 25 year old girls with perfect faces and bodies with all the men lusting after them.  They see themselves as being old and not being desirable.  Nothing could be further than the truth.

I only went to one event where I was probably the oldest person there.  Well maybe not, but I felt that way.  I know I didn't look it, but I felt it.  I stayed for maybe an hour and then went to a milonga.  When my friends asked me how it was, they gave me that knowing look.  You see, they always think those parties are going to be full of gorgeous 25 year old girls with perfect bodies and faces. It's not true. But they won't even take a chance.

I guess compared to most of my friends I date a lot. Not to me.  I guess I date interesting guys. Since they only go to milongas, or hang out in living rooms, they really are not going to meet many very interesting men.  "You have to kiss a lot of frogs before you find a prince". I tell them. Only they don't want to kiss anyone.  Well I am not exactly kissing all those frogs, but at least I am having coffee with them.  I like to say I have my first and last date at the same time. I joke around and say "it more efficient."

I always tell them about these parties. "Next week is Internations" I tell them.  "You remember that is where I met my great friend David and also Dany the guy I dated for 3 weeks." Three weeks is better than nothing and he is still my friend, sort of, and I had fun.  The day of the Internations party each one of the them texts me that they cannot come with some lame excuse.  I go myself.

I have a great time.  I meet lots of people.  No new men.  I see some old friends.  I want to stay later but I cannot.  I have too much to do the next day.  When I see my friends I get the solemn face and "Como estuvo la fiesta?"  Once again they are shocked when I tell them it was great.  Once again they were expecting it to be ravishing 25 year olds with perfect bodies and faces with all the men lusting after them.  It is so sad that they feel this way.  I tell them that there were people there of all ages with all kinds of bodies and faces.

Last week I tried another new party. I had heard this one was all young people.  The host told me no, that it was great people and that I should please come. Every month I have had an excuse, and finally this month I decided to go. I had a blast.  A party where I could dance everything BUT tango.  I danced salsa, hip hop, swing, and who knows what.  One guy called me a "demonia."  If he only knew how old I was.  Oh my God, I had so much fun.  I can't remember the last time I danced so much.

I ended up talking all night to a guy that owns a real estate company.  He was very interesting. He has traveled all over the world, he is a champion wind surfer.  At the end of the night he invited me for Chinese food next week.  "Really?" I said.  "Sure" he says to me. "I like you, you are different." Yeah, we will see, because you know, my being different is usually the problem. 

My friend David tells me to just be myself and not worry about what it is like to date here.  He should talk.  It is just as difficult for him as it is for me.  It is too bad he is so young. This has been the challenge for me.  Dating.  Single I don't mind. Dating..that is another thing all together. I just wish I could get the amigas to go out there with me.

Sunday before the milonga

It's Sunday.  Sandra calls and asks me to come to Canning and meet with her and Marta.  She knows Canning on a Sunday is not my thing.  I would rather stay home.  But that is where I have been all week with a cold, on and off electricity, and a shrieking puppy.  It almost sounds good.

"Come on"  she says to me.  "Estas desparacida."  My other option is to wait and go to El Beso later.  I realize I don't feel that good, and if Canning is that bad I can walk home.  "OK"  I tell her, "A que hora vas a buscarme?"  She tells me she will come to get me at 8.

I have had a summer cold all week.  I spent the whole week inside my apartment watching television or at the computer.  Mostly watching television.  There is one station here called "Volver." I fell in love.  They play all these old Argentine movies and tv shows.  It was like watching reruns of  "I love Lucy" only they were not Lucy, they were Argentine.

I remember once when I was translating an interview for Amanda Lucero the journalist asked her what advice she had for people coming here to learn tango.  She told the girl "They need to learn Spanish and they should watch our movies.  Especially our old movies."  I remember thinking the movie thing a little odd.  Now I know why she said that.

It was like being 12 years old again and watching the movies from the 40s. These were movies from the 50s and 60s.  Buenos Aires was so beautiful, so clean.  The buildings didn't have those horrible tacky signs all over them.  The streets were clean, there was less traffic.  The people were beautiful.  It was clear to me why people say that Argentines are the most beautiful of the South Americans.

I don't know where those gorgeous men went, but they certainly are not here now, or at least not like then. Yeah, I know, it was the movies, but even the extras you could die for them. Dark, handsome. The women, were women.  It was interesting to see that unlike the walking skeletons of today, these women were actually very very plump - voluptuous. You have to wonder what happened to make them want to starve themselves to death today.

The movies showed people differently then.  They did't have that edge Argentines have today.  These movies were made before the dictatorship and two financial crisis. I guess that could take its toll on people. There was not only a lovely elegance to the people, they had a smooth sense of humor, they were polished.

I watched movie after movie. It was interesting to note how "cheating" was accepted, even back then. In one movie visiting Italian relatives came to Buenos Aires to see their family.  It becomes a free for all.  I couldn't even keep track of who was sleeping with who.  At one point in the movie, the host confronts one of the gorgeous Italians visiting (who is indeed sleeping with his wife) and tells him he has been told that he is having an affair with his wife.  He asks him to look him in the eye "man to man" "Italian to Italian" and tell him the truth, which of course he denys all.   "I would never sleep with my friend's wife." he tells him. Right.

The Argentine hugs him and tells him he never believed all those lies and then tells the Italian he will pay for his hotel bill.  In the next scene we see the Italian with the Argentine's wife telling her everything.  Obviously, some things never change.

Was there tango?  Yes of course.  In all movies.  The music was there.  In several you would see it danced.  Always a very small part, but there.  Just like big band music in our movies.  Always there.  I loved watching those little clips.  To see what the embrace was like, the steps. What had changed.

What was it Amanda wanted people to see?  The elegance.  The femininity of the women.  The grace, and the style.  Something very much lacking in today's tango.  It is the handkerchief in the hand of the old milonguero who wants to keep his hand dry for the lady, and to hand it to her if she needs it between dances.  It is the way he walks her back to her table instead of leaving her in the middle of the floor.  These movies made being sick worth it.

Then I open the Clarin to see how the government is celebrating Dia del Mujer.  (International Women's Day)  With a large suspended mural of a young homeless woman sleeping in a doorway.  The picture will be on display until May facing Nuevo de Julio. What kind of message does this send? They couldn't find an artist to depict women as being strong?  Women working? Even inside the home? This is what they use to celebrate International Women's Day?  ¡Que verguenza!  No wonder women starve themselves to look like skeletons.

 

Worse was not one women's group here complained that I know of.  I could only imagine if this had happened in the U.S. or France, or anywhere else in Europe, Australia, Canada.  What a shame on a day where women should be celebrated to be commemorated this way.

I wait for Sandra to come get me.  I will behave myself.  Canning on Sunday is not so bad.  I have my friends.

Another day in paradise..

It is one of those days you wake up, and you wonder why.  Tourists come here and they think Buenos Aires is perfect.  Today I had one of those less than perfect days.  At around 4:00 am I woke up thinking I couldn't sleep anymore.  I decided to read.  When I went to switch on the light it didn't go on.  I looked to make sure it was still plugged in.  Bien, something wrong.  I don't feel like messing with it and decide to go to the bathroom instead.  I flip the light there.  No electricity.  Back to bed, I will deal with it later.

Later comes in the form of a shrieking puppy.  I test the lights in my bedroom.  ZIp.  Then the fun begins. I go to brush my teeth.  No water.  This is going to be a very interesting day.   I go to greet the shrieking puppy otherwise known as Maximiliana and let her out of her crate.  She is thrilled. She runs to the kitchen.  While she is eating I look at the breakers.  Everything is fine. 

I check the hall outside my door.  Black as night.  That means no electricity in the whole building.  No wonder it is so quiet.  There are no elevators.  After two months of teaching her "OUTSIDE" or "AFUERA" Maxi now knows you do not under any circumstances go pee pee in the apartment or you take flying lessons off the balcony.  How do you explain to a 6.5 month old puppy you have no elevators or lights and you live on the 17th floor?  You don't.  Now she is barking at me.

I go to check the flashlight I have in the kitchen.  Me in my infinite wisdom never bought backup batteries for it.  What to do.  Maxi is insistent we go.  I get her leash and plastic bags and whatever else I might need for a couple of hours.  I grab my cell phone.  The only light I can think of. We get to the first set of stairs.  The 16th floor still has emergency lights and Maxi and I descend.  However, when we get to the 15th floor it is pitch black.  My dog refuses to move.  I press a button on my cell to get some light.  She gives me this "Are you out of your mind?" look.

Suddenly the door to one of my neighbor's apartments opens and there is a little light.  Maxi sees this as an opportunity to pay a social call.  She drags me over trying to run inside their apartment. "Che Deby," says Paola my neighbor. "Que disastre, no?"  I agree with her. "Maxi despues de 2 meses no puede hacer pee pee en departamento, bajamos, pero ella no le gusta sin luces."  Soon we are 4 people and 1 dog going down the stairs with cell phones to use as lights.  Along the way we pick up other neighbors.  By the time we end up in the lobby we are 8 people and 1 dog.  1 very irritated dog.

When we get down to the lobby the encargado Orlando is surrounded by angry and upset neighbors. Maxi pushes between them and stops in front of Orlando to give him a piece of her mind.  This dog in 2 months has managed to pick up many of my personality traits.  She is very vocal. "Guau, Guaauuu" she yowls at him.  "Viste" says one of my neighbors, la perrita tiene una rabia tambien."  Everyone laughs.

I take Maxi outside to pee.  She gives me a look of disdain.  The place is crawling with workers from Edenor and Metrogas.  She feels displaced.  We walk around the block.  The lights are out everywhere. I manage to talk to one of the porteros at one of the other building.  Apparently the storm during the night knocked out the electricity.  They hope to have it back on soon but refuse to give any estimates.

When I get back to our building both Orlando and Hugo are being mobbed by angry neighbors.  I decide to sit on the steps and wait for Juan.  Orlando is patiently explaining to my neighbors it is not just our buildings, it is a 4 block radius.  "No importa!" she shrieks, "La administracion necesita pagar." 

Finally I decide to comment "You know this happens all the time in the US when it rains." Everyone looks at me and one person says "This is not the US, this is Argentina, and this kind of thing NEVER happens here." (Now this is a switch, usually in the past I would hear Argentina como la mierda, or Argentina como la corrupcion, or how the US is so perfect and Argentina is a disaster, but ever since the fall of the US, the attitude has changed here.)My other neighbor informs me "I have lived in this building for 26 years and nothing like this has ever happened before. Do you understand?"  OK I understand.   

Finally Maxi goes off with Juan.  I cannot climb 17 flights with this knee.  My back hurts with all the humidity.  I decide to go get batteries and run some other errands then see if the electricity comes back on.  I run into a friend and we decide to have coffee.  A couple of hours later I go back to my apartment building.  The electricity is on, it will be 10 minutes before the elevators are working, we still do not have water.

When I can, I go upstairs.  I fire up my computer.  Then for the next 4 hours the electricity goes on and off.  More off than on.  Better to read. I like the magazine "Noticias".   I read all about how our President "Marie Antoinette" and her husband "El Pinguino" and their family are buying up chunks of Calafate.  They have a luxury hotel they charge as much as $1500 USD per day.  The magazine said the rooms are not worth the price. How nice, when the cows are dying in the fields and nobody has monedas to take the bus.  I wonder if they suffer the 30% downturn in tourism.

Juan calls me on my cell. He has had "la demonia" for 8 hours.  He can't handle much more of her. He says he will bring her halfway up the stairs.  No elevators.  I don't mind going down stairs.  I don't even mind going up them.  The problem is my knee gives out after about 4 flights. 

I go out my door to be greeted by Orlando and his son.  They live on the 18th floor. Orlando tells me he has been up and down the stairs 15 times today.  In Argentine real time that means probably 6 times. I tell him "Bueno, esta bien, finally you are working for all those expenses I pay for you, an apartment, salary."  He blinks.  "Cada vez mas Porteña."  He continues down the stairs.  I get to the 8th floor and no Juan.  Finally we meet on the 6th floor.  He has carried Maxi.  Not me.  She is walking. I am not walking up 11 flights of stairs with a 10 kilo dog.  I don't care how young or little or cute.  My knee cannot take it.

I know she is a tired puppy.  We start up the stairs.  She is not pleased.  When we get to the 15th floor she stops.  She will not budge.  Worse than that she starts to bark at me hysterically. She is furious. I try to get her to move.  She is defiant.  I can see it in that cute little face of hers.  She is not going to move. She continues to bark louder and louder. Where did this dog come from?  I cannot shut her up.  So there I am on the 15th floor with a hysterically mad puppy you can hear throughout my building during "quiet time."  (Quiet time is when you cannot do any loud work in the building) My left knee is throbbing from the humidity and the climb.  I am ready to toss her over the side when I look at her "Cookie?" She immediately stops. Thank God.  Just like a child. I get her to go up one more flight.

She stops at the 16th floor and wants to go in the door of the apartment of my neighbor.  I suppose they all look alike.  "Come on Maxi,un poco mas."  I say to her.  She sits down.  "Cookie?" She barks at me. Somehow we make it up the last flight.  As soon as I open the door to the apartment she runs in and runs to the kitchen. She opens the cabinet where the box of cookies are and waps the box on the floor.  "Where did this dog come from?"  I give her a pig's ear instead.  For now things are OK.  I have electricity, I have water, and I have gas. And I live in Argentina, where things like this NEVER happen.

It's another style..stupid

On Tuesday I left the milonga early.  There was an abundance of foreign women kicking up a storm. Literally.  How proud they were to be dancing in a Buenos Aires milonga. Boleos, ganchos. The sandwich and the over the leg brush now raised high and outward.  A new innovation since my days in the U.S.

I danced with my friend Angel.  The couple behind us kept kicking him.  He kept turning so I would never be in front of them.  He danced to the side and away from them.  Somehow they were always there. He said in one tanda the woman kicked him 7 times.  "Why don't you say something?" I said to him.  He shrugged his shoulders and answered me, "What for?  It is how they learned to dance."

I told him how once in Gricel Adriana had made a plea for the women to please leave their feet on the floor.  The problem was she asked in Spanish.  "It needs to be made in English, French, German, Italian, Chinese, Japanese, to get the message across.  He says to me.  I glare at the couple behind us every chance I get.

I see one of my friends and her partner.  Her skirt is wet.  "What happened?"  I ask her.  She tells me that when a couple of foreigners were dancing by, the woman kicked their table so hard it knocked over the bottles of water.  My friend got hit by one of the water bottles.  She said they stopped for a second and then continued to dance.  "I couldn't believe it." She said.  "They didn't do anything, not even offer to buy another bottle of water for us."

I saw this same scene on Friday at Luis' milonga.  A couple banged into the table of a group of women, spilled their drinks, broke some glasses, looked at them, and continued dancing. No apology.  I would feel so bad if I did this.  I never have, but I know I would feel terrible and would at the least want to buy the drinks for them.

I decide to leave and try to make the subte home rather than the bus.  It is the ongoing problem of the monedas.  I have a subte card.  I try not to spend my monedas if possible.  I can't wait until the buses take cards.  Finally the government made a good decision about something.

I go to the gym. In December I noticed a group of young people practicing some dancing.  I couldn´t decide if they were dancing tango or salsa.  I couldn't hear the music.  I watched them for awhile.  They were wearing dance sneakers.  I watched their routine.  Salsa, tango, hmmm, tango, salsa.  In the end I decided they were dancing salsa.  They were not elegant and most of what they were doing had little relationship to tango including the embrace.

 One of the trainers comes to say hi. Somehow we get on the subject of tango.  I tell him I dance.  He asks me if I ever saw the group that practices here. "They are dancing tango?"  I say to him, "Que disastre, I thought they were practicing salsa."  He responds, "It is another style."  I hate this.  I really hate when Argentines defend bad tango or really when anyone defends bad tango by saying it is another style.

"Yes," I tell him, "A bad style."  "No," he says to me, "Just different from your style."  I hate this too, when an Argentine who knows nothing about tango assumes that I as an American know less.  "What style is that?"  I ask him.  "Well you know, you are American." he says to me.  "I see,"  I say to him. "I learned to dance here, on the floors of the milongas, from the milongueros. Yo soy una nena de la pista.  Bailo salon milonguero."

He isn't daunted.  After all he is an Argentine man.  "Well they dance show tango."  I laugh.  I really do not want to challenge him, but these young people are not dancing tango.  "Amor,"  I say to him. (Calling an Argentine man amor makes it OK to chop their head off...)"no bailan por el escenario."  Then comes the worst "Well they are young."  he says.  I don't want to argue.  He tells me how they want to make a video and go to Europe or the US.  Just like everyone else.

I hang out with a group of young women in their late 20s and 30s.  They think of me as their big sister. I am flattered.  I adore them.  We power walk, we go to dinner.  They are all smart, interesting, beautiful women.  Some of them go to dance in San Telmo on Thursdays.  They keep inviting me to go.  I constantly decline. "It's not my thing."  I tell them.  "I don't usually go out on Thursdays."

Finally I decide to come outside my comfort zone.  I mean what the hell.  I can always leave.  So I go. We enter while the lesson is being given. I watch.  I decide I am not going to put my shoes on.  This is not my kind of place.  I am trying to be open minded.

I watch one of our friends in the lesson.  She is in love with the tango.  She is Argentine.  She really wanted me to come tonight.  She has not had good teachers, but I can see if she had some good lessons and corrected her posture and some other things, she would be much better than she is.

When the class is over she comes to the table.  We are a fairly large group. The DJ starts to play music.  I realize he is not playing tandas.  He has just put on a CD of Di Sarli and is letting it play. He does the same with Troilo. How weird.

My friend asks me what I thought of the class.  I hate this.  I hate when people who really like their classes ask me this stuff.  I tell her it was interesting.  Then she tells me "It is another style."  This pisses me off.  "What style is that?"  I ask her.   "Different from your style." she says to me.  She has seen me dance.  "True."  I tell her.  "But what style is this?"  Because to me there was no style.  It was two bad dancers teaching people how to dance.  There was no teaching of the lead because they were teaching steps.  Bad steps.  Figuras as they are called here.  The movements were executed poorly. Whatever.  I don't want to discuss it.

She starts to lecture me about the tango danced here.  The place has great "onda" and the people come to have a great time.  That all kinds of professionals come to this milonga.  "You will see."  she says to me. "All these really great teachers come here."  I think I can wait.  My shoes are still in my purse.

I tell her "Do you know that there are 4 really well attended milongas tonight?"  she looks at me. On Thursday, it is difficult to know where to dance, there is El Beso, Canning, Niño Bien, and Gricel.  Do you know those milongas?"  She tells me "I went to El Beso once and Canning too.  They did not have good "onda."  "It depends,"  I tell her.  "What day you went.  Every day is different at those places."

She looks at me "I have been dancing tango 3 years.  I know about all those places.  I like places with good "onda" like here and Villa Malcom."  I wince at Villa Malcom.  I change the topic.  "Do you like this orchestra?"  I ask her.  "Do you know who it is?"  She says nothing.  She doesn't know.  It is Troilo with Fiorentino.

One of my other friends asks me "Do you ever listen to tango when you are not dancing?"  I tell her "Yes, all the time.  I love the music.  It is the music that is my passion.  The words to the songs.  They are so passionate and so deep about the life here in Buenos Aires.  The music drives my dance. I love my tango.  I could never give up the music."  My Argentine friend looks away.

We are soon joined by a couple my friend waxes poetic over "They are teachers and professionals."  I can tell how by they walk, they cannot dance well."  I tell this to my other friend.  "When I taught, I would tell my students you bring to your dance the posture you have."  They get up to dance.

The young man is hunched over looking at his feet.  I tell my friend that is because he is not leading and he has no idea where the feet of the girl are so he has to look for them.  He looks terrible hunched over like that.  The girl is dancing with her knees bent because her heels are too high and she doesn't have enough training to carry off the steps she wants to do. She kicks out her leg and does this little thing with her foot. "What was that?" My friend asks.  I driely respond "The flipper move."  Our other friend is not amused.  "It is another style." she again insists.

I look around the room.  Besides the bad dancing we are treated to mediocre music from a guitar trio and singers.  You cannot dance to them.  It would be impossible.  I understand that there is live music all night.  I don't know if that is good or bad.

One of my friends wants to leave.  I am happy.  So we say good bye.  When we exit there are lots of people drinking and talking.  She says to me "This place seems more like a bar than a milonga."  I laugh.  When we get to the street three American girls are getting out of a taxi "Well I hope the guys are better looking here than the other night."  I wonder if I should save them the trouble.  I didn't really see anyone that hot up there.

It was a mix of people.  Badly dressed.  Called a milonga, but not really.  Tango music was played.  There were forms of tango danced.  But my young 26 year old friend was right.  It was more like a bar than a milonga.  She does not dance tango but has come with me several times to just watch.

My friend wonders why her other friend bothers with that place.  "Because she is overweight.  She thinks all tango dancers are anorexic.  She thinks no one will dance with her."  I say.  "It is not true. There are big women in the milongas and they dance because they dance well."  I continue "She is star struck.  By these guys who cannot dance. Because they are teachers. Professionals."

What is it about tango that people make so many excuses for it?  When badly danced, they say it is another style.  When danced to other music, they say we are improving it.  I can think of no other dance this happens with.

If you dance ballet, modern dance poorly, then you dance it poorly, it is not another style.  If salsa or ballroom is danced poorly it is danced poorly.  It is not another style.  I danced salsa for years before learning to dance tango.  If someone did not dance salsa well they were a bad dancer.  They were not dancing "another style."  You dance salsa to salsa music.  I don't remember anyone saying "Hey, let's dance salsa to Glenn Miller or to Arrowsmith."  Yet North Americans and Europeans think it is cool to dance Argentine tango to whatever they want and call it tango.

Traditional tango is danced between a man and a woman.  In Europe and North America there are woman and men who change roles.  There is almost a religious fervor to accompany their reasons why. Equality, lack of one gender or the other.  Yet here in Argentina with milongas flooded with women, the Argentine women do not feel the need to lead each other around the floor.  Even in this somewhat alternative milonga with "other styles" it appeared that only foreign women who were leading, not Argentine.

The issue is the majority of these "other style" dancers have never listened to nor understand the letras (lyrics) of tango to know what they are dancing to.  The two times I went to the Gay milonga here I was asked to dance by Gay Argentine men.  Each time they told me, that although they were gay, they felt tango should be danced with a woman.  Maybe it was the men I danced with.  Maybe it was the nights I went.  Many of my Gay friends here have told me the same.  They would learn with their partners, but they want to dance with women. "Why?"  I asked.  "Because, it is tango."