Gotta Dance!
So, where was I?
Saturday night, having expected a quiet night in I got something quite else. Miguel came and picked me up from outside my building. He was late, so I spent ten minutes chatting with the porter downstairs about Buenos Aires and London and Prince Charles. Everyone wants to talk about Prince Charles but it took me some time to work this out because he is called Prayinsa Carlos and Camilla is pronounced Cameezha. I managed to convey my indifference to the match and that I think it is a bad thing for the whole world to watch people as if they were in a zoo. Clearly this is not what is expected but I´m not about to brush up on royal gossip and would rather get the vocabulary to discuss something interesting!
As I type, there is a demonstration about something or other approaching down Maipu. These are a fairly frequent occurrence in Bs As and I am afraid I don´t take the trouble to find out what they are about. Always they are led by someone banging a huge drum and often there is a person with a loudhailer either singing or shouting about the injustice du jour. Today it is singing of a repetitive refrain, accompanied by a Notting Hill type of whistle. They have stopped outside the building next door, so maybe that is the home of the wrongdoers, which would make sense, we are a block away from the HSBC building and there are stacks of other big businesses and banks around here.
But I digress! After collecting me, we went round to get Dan and Judy in San Telmo then on out into the suburbs in Miguel´s little Fiat to another genuine community milonga in a sport and social club called Pedro Echagüe. Another marble floor surrounded by tables. Couples, very well turned-out in their weekend finery, sat and ate and waited for the dancing to start.
Most of the evening I danced with Miguel and I have to hope that I have been improving by osmosis. I certainly had great fun and am amazed but delighted that someone of his talent would spend so much time dancing with a novice like me. The other great joy of that evening was watching the dancers: people who had probably been dancing together for decades yet could still make each other giggle with a sudden change of pace or an unexpected twist. This is the real tango, as Miguel explained, echoing something Michele had said in an email from London last week. She talked about "the guys who have the Tango in their blood and just can't not dance! They love it so - and it's very 'catching'". It is so very true and on the whole something rare in London, maybe not surprising in the country that has offered Morris dancing to the world.
Here at Pedro Echagüe were old couples who clearly loved to dance, had to dance. Even people unsteady on their feet when they approached the floor were transformed and inspired to elegance, grace and downright cheekiness as soon as they started dancing. They hold each other comfortably, naturally and their footwork is impecable. Although they know each other´s moves and share the same timing, there is nothing choreographed about what they are doing and the spontaneity is evident. It is bliss to watch this kind of dancing and desperately sad that there is a large generation gap in the tango which means that this is unlikely to survive when these people hang up their heels.
When I told Miguel where I had been dancing, he was quite sniffy about Ideal, saying it is just full of tourists (although as I pointed out, I had only danced with one foreigner when I was there) but he reserved the utmost contempt for Club Catedral. It is billed as an edgy, punky sort of place and I wouldn´t argue with that. It is an old warehouse which still has its rough wood floor and high beamed ceiling. All sorts of broken chairs and tables are arranged around the place, straight out of a skip and no attempt to patch them up - a bit of a hazard in a short skirt and tights but I did find one chair that was smooth enough to sit on. The place was lit, well just about lit, by a home made chandelier about 4m in diameter and all around the vast walls was more junk and artwork, or maybe the junk was artwork; it was hard to tell. A huge portrait of Carlos Gardel hung above the band platform, though I doubt the great man would have been too impressed by it all. My favourite thing was a huge Argentinian flag hanging on one wall, on which someone had scralwed "NO TODO ES ROCKENROL". Anyway, I took a class, which was interesting enough despite starting an hour late. It was good to go right back to basics but alarming that I could so easily pass as a beginner!
Once that was over and the dancing started, I really lost interest in the place. It was far too flamboyant for my taste - look at me dancing rather than gotta dance dancing.
My other class last week was with a lovely lady called Mimi, who clearly commanded more respect from Miguel although he didn´t say anything about her. I had enjoyed the class, even though it was in Spanish and felt I did learn something.
Miguel very kindly drove me around at the weekend, taking all of us home on Saturday night at God knows what hour, then coming bcak to collect me for lunch on Sunday. He had invited me to meet his family and eat a fish that had been caught by a friend of theirs in the River Plata. The family was very sweet, consisting of a sister and her husband, their son and four grandchildren. There is a daughter too but she is a psychiatrist and could not make it for lunch on account of some patient emergency. A book I have been reading about Buenos Aires makes great meat of the Argentinian preoccupation with psychiatry and I had thought it a bit exaggerated. Maybe not. The people were charming and the fish was delicious. Miguel´s sister is very talented with her hands and since retiring has made a living from knitting and crocheting beautiful things. I think I will call him this week and ask if she could make something for me.
I went home and made a couple of calls while Miguel had his nap, then in the evening we met up again to go to an outdoor milonga in a bandstand in a suburban park. Again this was one of Michele´s recommendations, so I was very happy to do that. We danced once and said hello to a few people but didn´t stay long. We drove instead beyond the City limits to a place called La Barraca, where there was a milonga and the opportunity to eat. It is a splendid venue, again it is a social club of some standing, and its architecture reminded me of the Soviet Russian resort toen of Sochi; curvy white concrete and palm trees outside, maroon curtains and marble floors inside. Who should we bump into but Dan and Judy, so we sat with them and ordered a meal.
Again, the standard of dancing was fabulous and as the place was fairly sparsely attended, we had every opportunity to observe while eating. We also danced a lot and I hope that by osmosis my technique is improving. As the evening wore on, the moves got more complicated and by the last dance, Miguel was doing all sorts of hooky things and somehow I was keeping up and not tripping over. I rather wish I had someone here to film me dancing so I can see whether it looks as good as it feels.
Oh dear, I am getting carried away but I must go now and let in the cleaner. She is coming at two, although in Bs As (again, it suits me so well!) punctuality is not really a virtue. Not a single class that I have been to and not even the concert started on time. I love it!
So, no time to tell you about the class yesterday with Ricardo Vidort. I know his name from London and I think Leroy talks about him, but I can´t remember what it is that he says... someone remind me in an email please!
Ciao-ciao!
Raquel
Saturday night, having expected a quiet night in I got something quite else. Miguel came and picked me up from outside my building. He was late, so I spent ten minutes chatting with the porter downstairs about Buenos Aires and London and Prince Charles. Everyone wants to talk about Prince Charles but it took me some time to work this out because he is called Prayinsa Carlos and Camilla is pronounced Cameezha. I managed to convey my indifference to the match and that I think it is a bad thing for the whole world to watch people as if they were in a zoo. Clearly this is not what is expected but I´m not about to brush up on royal gossip and would rather get the vocabulary to discuss something interesting!
As I type, there is a demonstration about something or other approaching down Maipu. These are a fairly frequent occurrence in Bs As and I am afraid I don´t take the trouble to find out what they are about. Always they are led by someone banging a huge drum and often there is a person with a loudhailer either singing or shouting about the injustice du jour. Today it is singing of a repetitive refrain, accompanied by a Notting Hill type of whistle. They have stopped outside the building next door, so maybe that is the home of the wrongdoers, which would make sense, we are a block away from the HSBC building and there are stacks of other big businesses and banks around here.
But I digress! After collecting me, we went round to get Dan and Judy in San Telmo then on out into the suburbs in Miguel´s little Fiat to another genuine community milonga in a sport and social club called Pedro Echagüe. Another marble floor surrounded by tables. Couples, very well turned-out in their weekend finery, sat and ate and waited for the dancing to start.
Most of the evening I danced with Miguel and I have to hope that I have been improving by osmosis. I certainly had great fun and am amazed but delighted that someone of his talent would spend so much time dancing with a novice like me. The other great joy of that evening was watching the dancers: people who had probably been dancing together for decades yet could still make each other giggle with a sudden change of pace or an unexpected twist. This is the real tango, as Miguel explained, echoing something Michele had said in an email from London last week. She talked about "the guys who have the Tango in their blood and just can't not dance! They love it so - and it's very 'catching'". It is so very true and on the whole something rare in London, maybe not surprising in the country that has offered Morris dancing to the world.
Here at Pedro Echagüe were old couples who clearly loved to dance, had to dance. Even people unsteady on their feet when they approached the floor were transformed and inspired to elegance, grace and downright cheekiness as soon as they started dancing. They hold each other comfortably, naturally and their footwork is impecable. Although they know each other´s moves and share the same timing, there is nothing choreographed about what they are doing and the spontaneity is evident. It is bliss to watch this kind of dancing and desperately sad that there is a large generation gap in the tango which means that this is unlikely to survive when these people hang up their heels.
When I told Miguel where I had been dancing, he was quite sniffy about Ideal, saying it is just full of tourists (although as I pointed out, I had only danced with one foreigner when I was there) but he reserved the utmost contempt for Club Catedral. It is billed as an edgy, punky sort of place and I wouldn´t argue with that. It is an old warehouse which still has its rough wood floor and high beamed ceiling. All sorts of broken chairs and tables are arranged around the place, straight out of a skip and no attempt to patch them up - a bit of a hazard in a short skirt and tights but I did find one chair that was smooth enough to sit on. The place was lit, well just about lit, by a home made chandelier about 4m in diameter and all around the vast walls was more junk and artwork, or maybe the junk was artwork; it was hard to tell. A huge portrait of Carlos Gardel hung above the band platform, though I doubt the great man would have been too impressed by it all. My favourite thing was a huge Argentinian flag hanging on one wall, on which someone had scralwed "NO TODO ES ROCKENROL". Anyway, I took a class, which was interesting enough despite starting an hour late. It was good to go right back to basics but alarming that I could so easily pass as a beginner!
Once that was over and the dancing started, I really lost interest in the place. It was far too flamboyant for my taste - look at me dancing rather than gotta dance dancing.
My other class last week was with a lovely lady called Mimi, who clearly commanded more respect from Miguel although he didn´t say anything about her. I had enjoyed the class, even though it was in Spanish and felt I did learn something.
Miguel very kindly drove me around at the weekend, taking all of us home on Saturday night at God knows what hour, then coming bcak to collect me for lunch on Sunday. He had invited me to meet his family and eat a fish that had been caught by a friend of theirs in the River Plata. The family was very sweet, consisting of a sister and her husband, their son and four grandchildren. There is a daughter too but she is a psychiatrist and could not make it for lunch on account of some patient emergency. A book I have been reading about Buenos Aires makes great meat of the Argentinian preoccupation with psychiatry and I had thought it a bit exaggerated. Maybe not. The people were charming and the fish was delicious. Miguel´s sister is very talented with her hands and since retiring has made a living from knitting and crocheting beautiful things. I think I will call him this week and ask if she could make something for me.
I went home and made a couple of calls while Miguel had his nap, then in the evening we met up again to go to an outdoor milonga in a bandstand in a suburban park. Again this was one of Michele´s recommendations, so I was very happy to do that. We danced once and said hello to a few people but didn´t stay long. We drove instead beyond the City limits to a place called La Barraca, where there was a milonga and the opportunity to eat. It is a splendid venue, again it is a social club of some standing, and its architecture reminded me of the Soviet Russian resort toen of Sochi; curvy white concrete and palm trees outside, maroon curtains and marble floors inside. Who should we bump into but Dan and Judy, so we sat with them and ordered a meal.
Again, the standard of dancing was fabulous and as the place was fairly sparsely attended, we had every opportunity to observe while eating. We also danced a lot and I hope that by osmosis my technique is improving. As the evening wore on, the moves got more complicated and by the last dance, Miguel was doing all sorts of hooky things and somehow I was keeping up and not tripping over. I rather wish I had someone here to film me dancing so I can see whether it looks as good as it feels.
Oh dear, I am getting carried away but I must go now and let in the cleaner. She is coming at two, although in Bs As (again, it suits me so well!) punctuality is not really a virtue. Not a single class that I have been to and not even the concert started on time. I love it!
So, no time to tell you about the class yesterday with Ricardo Vidort. I know his name from London and I think Leroy talks about him, but I can´t remember what it is that he says... someone remind me in an email please!
Ciao-ciao!
Raquel
posted by Rachel in Buenos Aires at 4:45 pm
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