First Tango in Buenos Aires

After the milonga last Wednesday, I never thought I'd dance any tango here, but I was wrong.

I spend a lot of time in front of the computer (obviously), checking websites and looking up different things. The internet really is an amazing thing.

At some point in the past week, I came across a teacher who was recommended by someone on some website that I'd have to retrace my steps to find. They said he was very exacting and focused a lot on technique. He came highly recommended by whoever these guys were that created this website. The prices they quoted for classes were also cheaper than the quote I got from someone I had contacted from San Francisco. The guy I was trying to arrange classes with, Claudio, was asking $30 US per one hour class for a private lesson. I think that was even a deal based on the fact that I was going to be taking 2 months of lessons. Larry thought it was expensive, which is one reason I hesitated. The other is that I was dealing with Claudio's assistant and it was at the point where I had to make phone contact. I really don't like the telephone when I can use e-mail. And I especially don't like the phone when I have to do it in another language.

So anyway, I came across this other guy, Marcelo. His listed price was $30 per hour. But when I wrote to him he said that he would go as low as $20 if I agreed to several lessons per week. Since I was planning on taking two lessons with Claudio at $30 per hour ($60/week), I was willing to do three classes with Marcelo at $20 per hour, for the same final price.

We e-mailed back and forth several times, trying to set up some times for lessons, and finally agreed on 5 p.m. today. It gave me enough time to leave class and find his studio. I also had time for a few empanadas before my lesson.

I had no idea what to expect. We hadn't spoken, so I had no idea how old he was, what he looked like or even where I was going. But I forged ahead like the adventurer I am.

When I got to his building, it was in a part of town I am not familiar with called El Congresso. It was located about two blocks from the Congress, hence the name. It is not that far from where I'm studying Spanish, and I was able to walk there.

The neighborhood was definitely not the Recoleta. Buildings and streets seemed in need of repair. As I got to the corner closest to his building a man who was looking rather down and out pleaded with me to buy some socks that he was selling, and I think he said he needed money for a bottle (maybe I misunderstood). I was glad I told Marcelo I couldn't go there tomorrow night at 10 p.m. for a lesson. It didn't seem like the kind of neighborhood I wanted to be walking around in at night.

So I buzzed him and waited. A woman pushing a baby stroller was on her way down the stairs. A man came down behind her and helped her. I didn't know if it was Marcelo or not. I was kind of hoping my teacher would be the dark, handsome guy with sparkly shoes from the milonga last week, and hoping it wouldn't be the guy with the tail and the shoes with the silver stripes.

It was neither.

Marcelo was a youngish (younger than me) Italian/Argentine looking guy, not particularly striking, but not bad looking either. He is a little taller than me and has very short, thinning hair, glasses and was in need of a shave. He greeted me with a hug, but not a San Francisco, let's press our hearts together so we can feel them beating, kind of hug, but rather a quick hug and release kind of thing.

We rode this fantastic elevator up to the third floor. From the outside, the building was rather ordinary looking, nothing really spectacular about it. But from inside it was amazing. The elevator was a cage that ran up the middle of a winding marble staircase. The ceilings in the building were huge and all of the apartments had huge old wooden doors. It definitely was a classic building that had seen better days.

We entered his apartment which was also enormous. It looked like a flat that went way back with high ceilings and big doors. Immediately inside the apartment was a table with a funky tablecloth, a computer, and off to the side, towards the front of the building, a small room with french doors that he used as his tango studio.

The tango studio was small, but had nice wooden floors, walls that were painted blue with visible brush work, and one window looking out to the street. The only furniture was a table with a lamp on it and the stereo.

We started with the basics - walking. It is my least favorite part, but is so important. Fortunately, we didn't spend too much time on that, and moved on to some basic steps, and eventually to forward and back ochos. All of this we did with him demonstrating and me following behind.

Finally, he took me in a tango embrace and we started to dance.

I started dancing tango in January I think. I started as a leader and took classes for three or four months. I thought it would get easier, but instead it got harder. Finally in frustration, I took a month off.

When I returned, I decided I would try following. On my first day in level 1 as a follower, as I was leaving, my teacher Amy asked if I would stay for the level 2 class because they were short on followers. I didn't think I could do it, but Amy thought I could, and I did. By the end of my first month as a follower, I was able to dance with people and actually feel like I was dancing. It was so much fun.

After about 20 minutes of basics with Marcelo, he took me in a close tango embrace and we started to dance, and again, I felt like I was dancing, rather than a bumbling, two-left-footed, starting way too old to really learn, student. It was so much fun. And what was even better was that I was doing it in Buenos Aires, where it all began, in this old building, with scratchy old music playing in this little room that looked out on this dingy street that was now becoming dark as the sun went down and the man selling socks still approached strangers on the street so he could earn enough to buy a bottle.

It was all very heady, and after doing quite a lot of spinning, I was starting to get dizzy.

Admittedly, I was nervous. I didn't have a lot of faith in my ability as a dancer, and here I was dancing with this teacher with no place to hide. Every now and then I'd miss a step and panic, but Marcelo would just continue as if nothing had happened. From time to time he'd remind me that he was leading, if I got over anxious and started anticipating where we were going next. He'd subtly shake his hand to remind me to close my fingers around his.

It was really amazing and really fun. In one hour we had covered the basics, learned a basic pattern that he was able to adjust to make it feel like we were ready to hit the milonga, and he had introduced me to the three forms of tango - regular tango (old school), milonga (which is much faster and a more modern style), and vals (which is based on the waltz). I have to say, I liked vals a lot. The music and the tempo and the building all brought me back to a more romantic time of big ballrooms and beautiful gowns and live orchestras and princes and princesses and all of that glitter and romance and Jane Eyre and Emma Thompson, and you know...

Marcelo said I was a good student, which was really nice to hear. I thought he was a terrific teacher and a great leader. We set up a lesson for tomorrow and Saturday. I regret not having started sooner, but I still have four weeks and will be taking three lessons per week, so that's still pretty good. He also said I would be ready to dance at the milonga next Wednesday. I don't know if I am ready or if I want to go back there, but we'll see.

I guess I need to start looking for my tango shoes now because I think it is safe to say I'm hooked.

When I left it was rush hour, so I wasn't going to attempt taking the subway, which I've heard is packed at rush hour. I walked out of Marcelo's apartment and walked past the beautiful Congress building which stood there in the dark, pink sky behind it and traffic buzzing all around. I decided to walk home and take a different route. I walked through the center of the theater district, passed through the area where the courts are and eventually made it to my neighborhood. All the way home I was smiling, enjoying the sights, the warm evening air (we're having a mini-summer here in winter) and feeling the electricity of the city rushing to get home after a hard day of work.

I'm now waiting for Hernan who is coming over to cook me dinner to thank me for helping him with his resume. He had to send it to this Canadian playwrite who he wants to go to Quebec and work with. I told him I'd check it for him and it's a good thing I did. He might be a talented playwrite, but he had no idea how to make a resume. It was all over the place with crazy fonts, irregular formatting, lots of italics, mis-spellings, and Spanish mixed in with the English. I reformatted it for him and cleaned it up to make it presentable. It's sweet that he's going to cook for me to thank me.

The cold seems to have cleared up quite well. I felt very froggy throated today and sounded very sexy when I spoke, but now I just have a little tickle in my throat and feel pretty good. I think the tango dancing helped.