Tango seems to provoke many reactions.
People who watch it see it as erotic or hokey or scandalous or angst-filled.
Those of us who dance it, however, have a whole thesaurus of adjectives for tango, depending on where we are with our dancing, with our lives, with our bodies, with our spirits. A good dance can leave us elated for hours; poor ones can equally depress us. The elation -- the "tango high" -- drives us to improve, on the theory that becoming better at it will result in more good dances, and more tango highs. The vocabulary of addiction is appropriate here. But as addictions go, tango is healthy.
Argentine tango, (as opposed to ballroom tango, such as that seen on "Dancing With The Stars"), is a lead-follow dance that, in its social form, is completely improvised. There are infinite combinations of patterns from which a leader may choose to express his sense of the music being played, the partner being danced with, his particular attitude of the moment. (Women can lead, but usually men do.) In a simple analogy, the leader speaks the tango "language;" the follower hears and interprets it. A good dance is an intimate dialogue.
My initiation to Argentine tango is fairly classic. I had always been intrigued by the dance. I was newly divorced and needed to do something outrageous to prove to myself, I guess, that I existed. By chance I learned that Portland had one of the strongest tango communities in the country. On a whim, I signed up for beginner classes where I was embraced by a series of males, with none of whom I had to have more than passing conversation. It suited my mindset to a tee. I found that I felt rather giddy after these classes. I chalked it up to a pheromonal rush. Little did I know that I'd met the candy man.
Naturally, I wanted to learn more, so I took classes and workshops and tried mightily to figure out how I might convert my swimmer's body, which had no relationship with gravity and had strength in most of the wrong places, into a dancer's body.
And I began to really pay attention to tango music. That was like progressing from hash to heroin. Tango music is different from most other social dance music because it's not driven by percussion and it has the elastic dynamics typical of classical music. As a wee (and only) child, I used to amuse myself for hours dancing to my mother's light classical records -- things as varied as Saint-Saens "Dance Macabre" and Morton Gould's "Rumba Fantasy". So, while the technical aspects of tango continue to bedevil me, dancing to tango music feels very natural, and as exhilarating as being seven again. Hard to beat that.
And I'll bet you thought it was all about shoes...
Tuesday, October 30, 2007
Colgada Day
Colgadas are off-axis moves, in which the leader hangs the follower out to swing off his axis. They are quite counter-intuitive for a tango follower. Working 5 hours on them was exhausting, and I've hunkered down tonight at the apartment a little wine with leftover chicken salad from lunch amplified by bagged salad from the local market. (It isn't exactly bagged -- it's a variety of shredded, shrink-wrapped veggies on small paper plates. But it doesn't require a lot of gussying up and it's filling. And, hey, it's salad.) [Family joke.]
Our teacher said it was the toughest day of the two weeks, which is reassuring, since I agreed. She is Luciana Valle, 30ish, with long curly black hair, amazing posture, and a quick wit. In the hyper-competitive world of Buenos Aires tango, she has quickly built a following for her exceptional ability to analyze movement and to structure teaching. Her English is fluent, her energy intense, her attention direct and encouraging. One craves her "Bien!" (good) and even her "Bastante bien!" (not bad).
The other wonderful thing about her program is being able to dance with the 9 leader assistants, as they are called. (Privately, I've dubbed them "hunkacitos," sweet young guys who are passionate about the dance). Some of them are teachers elsewhere. Each has a different style, strength, body type, embrace -- and adapting to these variances is itself part of the learning process. One of my fellow students, a willowy, sophisticated blonde from Minneapolis, says, with a dramatic snap of her fingers, that the class makes her feel like Cleopatra: "Next!"
On the right-hand side of this page are some You Tube videos of Luciana dancing with young Portland hotshot Alex Krebs in Washington, DC , in 2003-04. More recent ones, from her visit to Portland this year, were too dark to include. These are at least visible. They include dances to two of the rhythms of tango: a tango (slower) and a couple milongas (faster). The third rhythm, not represented, is tango waltz.
Our teacher said it was the toughest day of the two weeks, which is reassuring, since I agreed. She is Luciana Valle, 30ish, with long curly black hair, amazing posture, and a quick wit. In the hyper-competitive world of Buenos Aires tango, she has quickly built a following for her exceptional ability to analyze movement and to structure teaching. Her English is fluent, her energy intense, her attention direct and encouraging. One craves her "Bien!" (good) and even her "Bastante bien!" (not bad).
The other wonderful thing about her program is being able to dance with the 9 leader assistants, as they are called. (Privately, I've dubbed them "hunkacitos," sweet young guys who are passionate about the dance). Some of them are teachers elsewhere. Each has a different style, strength, body type, embrace -- and adapting to these variances is itself part of the learning process. One of my fellow students, a willowy, sophisticated blonde from Minneapolis, says, with a dramatic snap of her fingers, that the class makes her feel like Cleopatra: "Next!"
On the right-hand side of this page are some You Tube videos of Luciana dancing with young Portland hotshot Alex Krebs in Washington, DC , in 2003-04. More recent ones, from her visit to Portland this year, were too dark to include. These are at least visible. They include dances to two of the rhythms of tango: a tango (slower) and a couple milongas (faster). The third rhythm, not represented, is tango waltz.
Monday, October 29, 2007
Tango Heaven, Week 2
I came here to go to tango heaven, which, very briefly described, is two weeks of classes with a superb teacher, each week comprising 25 hours of dancing with accomplished partners. Tough on the feet, tough on the bod, superb for the soul.
Today was the first day of Week Two. The schedule has us assemble at 11 AM, warm up (photo), and then address the material for the day until 1 PM, when we break an hour for lunch. Then another two hours dancing, followed by a half hour break, followed by an hour's review and practice. Note for the overly imaginative: we are not dressed in fishnet and stilettos. Most of us follow the example of the instructor and opt for dance sneakers. Crazy we are, perhaps, but masochists we're not.
Last night I was naughty and went to a milonga until past midnight. And tonight I went to the "practica" held by our teacher. It's 1 AM as I write this. But that's it for the week. I shall not sin again. At tonight's practica, I ran into a young Portland dancer who just arrived for a 2-month stay. He asked me if I'd sustained any mosquito bites yet. (Yes.) It was an odd question until I remembered that Portland has virtually no mosquitos. One person's ho-hum is another person's exotica.
Today was the first day of Week Two. The schedule has us assemble at 11 AM, warm up (photo), and then address the material for the day until 1 PM, when we break an hour for lunch. Then another two hours dancing, followed by a half hour break, followed by an hour's review and practice. Note for the overly imaginative: we are not dressed in fishnet and stilettos. Most of us follow the example of the instructor and opt for dance sneakers. Crazy we are, perhaps, but masochists we're not. Last night I was naughty and went to a milonga until past midnight. And tonight I went to the "practica" held by our teacher. It's 1 AM as I write this. But that's it for the week. I shall not sin again. At tonight's practica, I ran into a young Portland dancer who just arrived for a 2-month stay. He asked me if I'd sustained any mosquito bites yet. (Yes.) It was an odd question until I remembered that Portland has virtually no mosquitos. One person's ho-hum is another person's exotica.
Sunday, October 28, 2007
Election Day escape
The returns are coming in, to the tune of "Stars and Stripes Forever." At least that was what was on the TV in the cafe where I had dinner. Argentina has no dearth of home-grown music. Were they trying to pin this election on America? I shall try not to read too much into it.
I headed out late in the morning and passed two polling places thronged with voters. I was going to El Tigre, which is described as a favorite weekend retreat for Portenos. (I don't know how to effect the tilde on my computer, but imagine it over the n, which would mean the word is pronounced "portenyo.") BA is on the river Plata and so the nickname derives from the city's function as a port. Further upriver, there is a huge delta where tributaries join the Plata. And it is on the islands of the delta where many have built vacation homes on stilts. It has always sounded intriguing. I love water, but prefer lakes and oceans to rivers generally.
It takes around an hour to get there, using two trains. The second train runs along the river past some rather tony suburbs. There is a bike and walking trail all along this leg, and, at one of the stations a sign pronounced, in elegant lettering: Bike & Coffee. Must have been a displaced Portlander.
The thing to do in El Tigre is to take a ride through the canals on a launch in order to get a feel for this watery community. The launch I took was named the "Realidad II." An odd name for a boat. It promised some sort of revelation it never quite delivered.
The houses, most of them on stilts, have electricity. But water comes from the river and thus must be filtered. They are reached only by boat, so there are gas stations/convenience stores you just float into.
There are several rowing clubs, with hapless rowers trying to outmaneuver the wakes generated by the many power boats on a thoroughfare narrower than the Williamette above the Sellwood Bridge. I felt for them. A high point of the tour was seeing a kayaker turn over and struggle to reboard his craft. I heard the Spanish-speaking guide say something about "man alone versus nature." Whatever. The river is quite brown. I felt for him.
The houses ranged from modest but tidy (most) to impressive (a very few) to markedly decaying (more than a few). Then an apparition appeared on the left bank: a magnificent stone edifice which would have been very at home in Vienna.
It was the Museo del Arte Tigre, a recently restored former casino. The incongruity of its site made me laugh, but I had to admire its grandeur, and and after the boat tour I walked to it, to be sure I had seen what I thought I had seen. It was there, and the grounds were charming.
I headed out late in the morning and passed two polling places thronged with voters. I was going to El Tigre, which is described as a favorite weekend retreat for Portenos. (I don't know how to effect the tilde on my computer, but imagine it over the n, which would mean the word is pronounced "portenyo.") BA is on the river Plata and so the nickname derives from the city's function as a port. Further upriver, there is a huge delta where tributaries join the Plata. And it is on the islands of the delta where many have built vacation homes on stilts. It has always sounded intriguing. I love water, but prefer lakes and oceans to rivers generally.
It takes around an hour to get there, using two trains. The second train runs along the river past some rather tony suburbs. There is a bike and walking trail all along this leg, and, at one of the stations a sign pronounced, in elegant lettering: Bike & Coffee. Must have been a displaced Portlander.
The thing to do in El Tigre is to take a ride through the canals on a launch in order to get a feel for this watery community. The launch I took was named the "Realidad II." An odd name for a boat. It promised some sort of revelation it never quite delivered.
The houses, most of them on stilts, have electricity. But water comes from the river and thus must be filtered. They are reached only by boat, so there are gas stations/convenience stores you just float into. There are several rowing clubs, with hapless rowers trying to outmaneuver the wakes generated by the many power boats on a thoroughfare narrower than the Williamette above the Sellwood Bridge. I felt for them. A high point of the tour was seeing a kayaker turn over and struggle to reboard his craft. I heard the Spanish-speaking guide say something about "man alone versus nature." Whatever. The river is quite brown. I felt for him.
The houses ranged from modest but tidy (most) to impressive (a very few) to markedly decaying (more than a few). Then an apparition appeared on the left bank: a magnificent stone edifice which would have been very at home in Vienna.
It was the Museo del Arte Tigre, a recently restored former casino. The incongruity of its site made me laugh, but I had to admire its grandeur, and and after the boat tour I walked to it, to be sure I had seen what I thought I had seen. It was there, and the grounds were charming.
Saturday, October 27, 2007
El apartamento
There is a brisk business being done these days in BA renting furnished, short-term apartments to visitors. Several agencies (ByT, Baires Apartments, to name but two) have extensive listings online, from the modest to the luxe. I got my humble digs through a woman who has arranged apartments for a number of people from Portland. She represents individuals who have these places as a side gig. The owner of my apartment is a charming young woman who works translating news stories from German and English for the local press.
The apartment I'm in is right off one of the busiest intersections in the city, Callao and Corrientes. It's rather like being just off Times Square. The world's leading tango CD store, Zival's, is a block and a half away. Buses -- "los colectivos" -- careen around the corner and screech to a halt in front. In the photo at right, my building is the one hung with balconies.
Also within the square block is a locutorio (Internet, phone booths) with a laundry in back, a small food market, a bakery, several cafes, a hardware store, a fine coffee roaster, and a major subway stop. So it's convenient, to say the least. Most importantly, a really good "heladeria" is in the next block. Its gelato with figs and hazelnuts is quite the perfect reward after a strenuous day dancing.
The apartment is a studio, with minimal kitchen facilities (why am I not sad?). But I can make coffee and keep wine cold. It has a gorgeous parquet floor, adequate furniture, a super internet connection, and, behind a glass partition, a comfy queen-sized bed. There's an in-wall air conditioner, which helps block the noise and reduce the humidity. Getting in requires many large, heavy keys: for the gate at the street, for the front door, and for the apartment, which is one of 2 on the 5th floor.
Tomorrow, Sunday, is a national election. It is predicted that Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner, the wife of the standing president, Nestor Kirchner, will be elected, besting 12 opponents. She is a senator and a glamourpuss, in the style of many upperclass Argentine women. This fragile country craves continuity, but I'm too uninformed to have an opinion as to whether her election will benefit Argentina or not. One perspective is at: http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601086&sid=a_ncSlw4J7sQ&refer=latin_america.
Since unrest is predicted, I plan to leave town, for a resort retreat 30 miles upriver called El Tigre. That should also give my body 24 hours off from dancing, which it needs. But, as I write this at 12:30 AM, my new CD of the music of Pedro Laurenz is uploading into iTunes, which makes me long to dance, and I'm tempted to hit a milonga. BA-time, tango-time, it's the shank of the evening.
The apartment I'm in is right off one of the busiest intersections in the city, Callao and Corrientes. It's rather like being just off Times Square. The world's leading tango CD store, Zival's, is a block and a half away. Buses -- "los colectivos" -- careen around the corner and screech to a halt in front. In the photo at right, my building is the one hung with balconies.
Also within the square block is a locutorio (Internet, phone booths) with a laundry in back, a small food market, a bakery, several cafes, a hardware store, a fine coffee roaster, and a major subway stop. So it's convenient, to say the least. Most importantly, a really good "heladeria" is in the next block. Its gelato with figs and hazelnuts is quite the perfect reward after a strenuous day dancing.
The apartment is a studio, with minimal kitchen facilities (why am I not sad?). But I can make coffee and keep wine cold. It has a gorgeous parquet floor, adequate furniture, a super internet connection, and, behind a glass partition, a comfy queen-sized bed. There's an in-wall air conditioner, which helps block the noise and reduce the humidity. Getting in requires many large, heavy keys: for the gate at the street, for the front door, and for the apartment, which is one of 2 on the 5th floor.
Tomorrow, Sunday, is a national election. It is predicted that Cristina Fernandez de Kirchner, the wife of the standing president, Nestor Kirchner, will be elected, besting 12 opponents. She is a senator and a glamourpuss, in the style of many upperclass Argentine women. This fragile country craves continuity, but I'm too uninformed to have an opinion as to whether her election will benefit Argentina or not. One perspective is at: http://www.bloomberg.com/apps/news?pid=20601086&sid=a_ncSlw4J7sQ&refer=latin_america.
Since unrest is predicted, I plan to leave town, for a resort retreat 30 miles upriver called El Tigre. That should also give my body 24 hours off from dancing, which it needs. But, as I write this at 12:30 AM, my new CD of the music of Pedro Laurenz is uploading into iTunes, which makes me long to dance, and I'm tempted to hit a milonga. BA-time, tango-time, it's the shank of the evening.
Friday, October 26, 2007
It hardly seems fair, but....
The newlyweds are back in Seattle toiling at their respective jobs, walking their dog, Ditka, and swilling untold amounts of coffee. They are, in other words, settling into Real Life. Meanwhile, I get the extended honeymoon -- 6 weeks in Buenos Aires. It's not seemly behavior for the Mother of the Groom, I know. But as the late, great Steve Goodman wrote: "From the cradle to the crypt is a mighty short trip, so you better get it while you can." And besides, when have I been known for seemly behavior?
Buenos Aires, aka Baires, aka BsAs, aka BA, is the capital of Argentina, a gritty 24-hour city which calls to mind New York or Paris. Why Buenos Aires? The primary incentive is to study and dance tango, about which there will be more in later posts. Secondly, our winter is BA's summer, so it is late spring here. Jasmine and other fragrant blossoms abound. And a third factor is that and extended stay here is good value: Right now BA is one of the few Western capitals where the US dollar still counts for something. (One is tempted to say that's because Argentina's government has followed even more questionable policies than ours. But that would be over-simplification, and there is nothing simple about Argentine politics.)
I've had some qualms about starting this blog. For one thing, after so many years as a writer, it feels suspiciously like work. For another, I seem not to have brought the cable that allows me to upload photos from the great new camera I bought in New York before coming down. And of course, I'd like to adorn the blog with photos. For now, they will be those taken by others.
But many have asked for updates and tales from the bottom of the world. So here it is. Feel free to tune in at your leisure, and send me feedback when you feel like it, either by posting a comment or back-channeling. You know where to find me.
Buenos Aires, aka Baires, aka BsAs, aka BA, is the capital of Argentina, a gritty 24-hour city which calls to mind New York or Paris. Why Buenos Aires? The primary incentive is to study and dance tango, about which there will be more in later posts. Secondly, our winter is BA's summer, so it is late spring here. Jasmine and other fragrant blossoms abound. And a third factor is that and extended stay here is good value: Right now BA is one of the few Western capitals where the US dollar still counts for something. (One is tempted to say that's because Argentina's government has followed even more questionable policies than ours. But that would be over-simplification, and there is nothing simple about Argentine politics.)
I've had some qualms about starting this blog. For one thing, after so many years as a writer, it feels suspiciously like work. For another, I seem not to have brought the cable that allows me to upload photos from the great new camera I bought in New York before coming down. And of course, I'd like to adorn the blog with photos. For now, they will be those taken by others.
But many have asked for updates and tales from the bottom of the world. So here it is. Feel free to tune in at your leisure, and send me feedback when you feel like it, either by posting a comment or back-channeling. You know where to find me.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)