Buenos Aires, The Tango City

When I first stepped outside the airport this morning in Buenos Aires, I smelled that old familiar South American smell. This is not a pejorative statement. I have found that continents truly do smell differently. China smells like China, Africa like Africa, Europe like Europe, South America like South America. It is not in the least unpleasant, but rather familiar, and individual to each country. I was delighted to learn that there are seat belts here. The last country in which I travelled, Russia, not only didn´t use seatbelts, but cut them out of the cars so people like me couldn´t use them.

The weather here is perfect for me. It is winter and about 14 to 18 degrees centigrade. I walked round all day and evening in jeans and a t–shirt, very comfortable indeed.

For a while, I wasn´t sure if I was gong to be able to blog as everything was en español but it´s okay, yo entiendo and I just kept going. What a great day I´ve had! After two days of travelling, I was ready to walk, and when I arrived at the hotel this morning, I asked the receptionist what I might do on this quiet Sunday morning. She pulled out a map and showed me where to go. I asked if I could walk there and she said it was a bit far. I really needed to stretch after a ten and a half hour flight and two days of travelling, so walked there and back. I was armed with a map and my Spanish phrasebook and felt I could go anywhere. I walked through the Plaza del Mayo – a large square bordered by government buildings and churches. The square was loaded with people and pidgeons, but I continued on my way until I got there.

¨There¨ was a market like I´ve never seen before. When I reached all the stalls and tables on the cobblestone roads, I walked at least fifteen more blocks, all full of stalls. And people. And food. And music. The rastaboys were braiding hair and playing drums. The local Indians were playing pan pipes. There were guitar players, electric harp players, you name it, they made music on it, making lively the stalls of clothes and junk and artwork and food and every posible thing you could imagine including leather table ¨cloters¨(table cloths). I bought a chorizo from a BBQ man, a glass of orange juice (my first in three years) from a beautiful woman squeezing oranges on the street. I walked and walked and was determinined not to buy anything on this, my first day in Argentina but then I got to the art walk and there was one woman´s work I absolutely adored, so I bought a small present for a friend. And on my way back home, I stopped and bought four more larger presents. By then, the artist, her husband and I were great friends and took photos together, and hugged, and chattered away. She knew no English at all, just like most of the people in the market. I thought there would be more English spoken in general, but am very happy habla'ing Español. I babbled away and managed just fine. On every block there were people handing out pieces of paper with menús, and information about shows happening, things like that. A young woman handed me a sheet about a tango show that was to be at two. Well, a los dos. I determined to go to that show, even though I received other tango show pieces of paper. And I´m so glad I did.

I went into the restaurant where the show was to be held. Outside of a chorizo and a glass of orange juice, I hadn´t eaten since the plane so thought I might as well order something with a bit of wine. Now, if you saw garlic prawns on a menú, would you not think of those massive BC suckers? I did, so imagine my surprise when I get teeny weeny tiny shrimpies, like maybe from a can. Oh well, I wasn´t really there for the food. I didn´t eat much, because shortly after they came, someone behind me started smoking. It was as though I was being ambushed. We don´t realize how lucky and spoiled we are, back at home with no smoking.

The tango show – picture this. A restaurant, with a bunch of tables in a semi–circle round a stage. An tired old gay waiter. An emcee, who wants to be a huge star, sings far too much and likely is an owner of the place. He talks only in Spanish, but esta bien. Three excellent musicians, one of whom looked exactly like my step–brother Paul, who clearly hate the singer-emcee-probable owner of the place. And the tourists watching the show. In the middle of Mr. singer-emcee-owner singing a song, there was this terrible racket. ¨Que es eso?¨ (What is that) he asks the musicians and stops singing. Everyone watches a tourist, who turns out to be from Uruguay, try to and initially fail, to turn off some sort of electronic device that is roaring with a bizarre noise and bouncing on the table.

The one and only female dancer (who was always partnered with the same guy) changed clothes at least ten times during the one and a half hour show. I thought I was skinny, running around in my size 6 jeans, but let me tell you, I am positively obese compared to these Argentinian women! They are SO skinny! Like way too skinny. The skinny dancer is dancing, the musicians are playing and laughing, the old gay waiter is scowling, the singer was hogging the mike, it was quite hysterical. The mic was screeching, the singer was getting more and more dramatic, the other single woman tourist at the table across from me is yawning, the Canadian, (me) is taking movies on her iphone, the hispanic folks on the other side of me send back their steaks to the kitchen (which in retrospect is what I should have ordered), and they appalud with gusto, at least the woman does, as often as possible. There is a female singer too, even skinnier than the female tango dancer, who sings her heart out but is way older than she tries to look. I can tell by her feet. This is a show of has–beens but I love it. The Uruguayans are stuffing their faces with bread, one piece after the other, the smoke is thicker, I drink my wine, the music gets faster, and at the end, the singer-emcee-owner asks where people are from. I say Kah – Nah – Dah – I think I am the only North American in the room, there is Italy, Sao Paolo, Chili, lots of Spanish places, but the emcee-singer-owner only spoke Spanish so maybe others didn´t understand him. Everyone applauded when they heard Canada and that was my name from then on: Kah–Nah–Dah. It was a wonderfully tacky experience and the dancing was pretty good too– tacky but incredibly good and very tango–Argentinian.

I was gone well over five hours, and it felt wonderful to walk again after all those days sitting in airports and on planes. The whole way home, I sang the tango song – you all know it, it goes dum dum dum dum, pause, da–dum da–dum dum, pause, dum, dum dum dum, pause, da–dum da–dum dum, dum da, dum dum, da dum da dum da dum da dum, da–dum da dum dum, daaaa–dum.

Tomorrow I have booked two tours– one in the morning, one in the afternoon. My conference starts Tuesday am and goes through Friday evening, with at least some evenings involved. I am only here for six days and don´t want to miss one second of exploring Buenos Aires. This evening I walked in another direction for over an hour. They dine late here, likely not before ten pm. One place advertized dance shows, and they were at 2 am, 4 am, etc. I think it´s a late city. Not for me. It´s 9:30 pm, well before most Argentinians dine, and about my bedtime. Buenos Notches.