As we skyped this morning, one of my daughters remarked that I hadn’t written a sausage in over twenty days. Twenty days? Well, I was in bed for one week. No, it wasn’t swine ‘flu. I gave up smoking and my body went into shock. I did consider writing about my fever and nausea-altered consciousness. Or about staring at the wall outside my window and seeing how many faces I could see in its cracks and shadows. Or about sniffing my farts like flowers, like Jean Genet in his prison cell. But I didn’t have the energy and as soon as I did, I got straight up, Lazarus-like, and danced for seven hours.
As for the other two weeks, my life has been more or less the same everyday and I never tire of it: up around mid-day, an afternoon class at DNI, an evening class, práctica or milonga and sometimes all three. I no longer feel out of my depth in the Level 7 class and my teachers tell me my tango has come along ‘un montón’. I don’t just follow, I dance and I feel the difference in my balance, sensitivity and suppleness. But you’re only as good as your last gig and when I go back home and dance a whole lot less and with dancers of a somewhat different caliber, I imagine I’ll come back down a notch or two. Boohoo!
My faithful friend, Mabel, (pronounced as in Michelle ma belle) who is a dead-ringer for Kate Winslet, or rather a cross between Winslet and Greta Scacchi, asked me to join her at a new milonga last night, in the barrio of Balvanera. It was situated in a great big hangar-like structure on Adolfo Alsina 2764, with pink and lemon lighting, tiered seating on the entrance side and an enormous Romanesque mattress along one side for reclining upon. I bet the mattress came first. They probably acquired this mattress and thought, how can we put this thing to good use and someone said, I know, let’s build a milonga around it. That is almost certainly what happened. Anyway, it was friendly and the drinks were cheap (yes, they sold booze, even though the sale of alcohol was prohibited, it being the night before the elections.) The milonga finished at 03:00 and Mabel and friends insisted I accompany them to La Viruta, even though I was there till 07:00 this same morning. After a few feeble protests, I gave in and off we went, the five of us, all squashed into one taxi, thanks to an accommodating and fun-loving cabbie.
I had to have café con leche on arrival to kid my body into believing I still had bags of energy to burn. But not only had I danced till 07:00 in the morning, I had also been in Tango 7 at DNI at 14:00, followed by three hours of práctica and then a tango electronico class. That’s seven hours of tango on five hours' sleep, before even setting foot in the first milonga. Crazy, crazy, crazy… but isn’t life exquisite, with a capital X.
And now, it’s the night after and I’m sitting in my Sunday night favourite, the Torquato Tasso, scribbling about it all. Someone’s taco crashed into the top of my left foot and even though I murmured my trusty mantra, “Toes of steel, toes of steel!” which always seems to work, it carried on hurting , so I decided to sit out a couple of tandas and whip out my note pad, instead. But here comes another porteño stunner… I’m off. Goodnight!
Monday 29 June 2009
Thursday 18 June 2009
Saturday Milonga in La Boca Cancelled
Please note, the Saturday Milonga in La Boca, hosted by Soledad and El Gordo, has been cancelled till further notice.
Monday 8 June 2009
El Indio at La Catedral
A bit dozey this evening, having had just four hours’ sleep last night, I glanced at my watch, misread the time and showed up an hour late for Tango 4 at DNI. At a loss as to what to do with myself, I headed back home and just as I was about to open the front door, thought, I wonder if there’s anything on at La Catedrál, across the road. I went over to check and sure enough, the poster on the door advertised a class that was just about to start with none other than El Indio.
I first heard mention of him in Danny Israel’s book. Since coming to Buenos Aires I have had him pointed out to me several times, most recently at Prácticalab, which he founded. As I paid my entrance, a tall, dark character with striking ‘indio’ features and a long black mane entered the building. Ladies and gentlemen, I thought, He has arrived. He is here. And by some gorgeous accident, so am I.
It was an exciting class. He draws quite a crowd. He teaches purposefully, from the essence. He knows how to communicate the elements, whilst maintaining the pace of the lesson. Musicality, technique and floorcraft were integrated into the preparatory exercises. He was demanding and the lesson was challenging, but the choreography was thrilling and included a move I haven’t seen before, a Montesino gancho. Tango flowed from him into us. I will most definitely be going back for more.
I first heard mention of him in Danny Israel’s book. Since coming to Buenos Aires I have had him pointed out to me several times, most recently at Prácticalab, which he founded. As I paid my entrance, a tall, dark character with striking ‘indio’ features and a long black mane entered the building. Ladies and gentlemen, I thought, He has arrived. He is here. And by some gorgeous accident, so am I.
It was an exciting class. He draws quite a crowd. He teaches purposefully, from the essence. He knows how to communicate the elements, whilst maintaining the pace of the lesson. Musicality, technique and floorcraft were integrated into the preparatory exercises. He was demanding and the lesson was challenging, but the choreography was thrilling and included a move I haven’t seen before, a Montesino gancho. Tango flowed from him into us. I will most definitely be going back for more.
Sunday 7 June 2009
Three birthdays and an opening night
Quite a few parties this week. Three of them were birthdays and two of those were mine. Oh my head. Where is my alka seltzer? My tongue is asleep and my teeth itch. (Okay, that was Shelley Burman.)
On 2nd June, Tango Queer celebrated its fourth birthday with a special milonga (band, balloons and birthday cake.) On 4th June, I held a milonga at home (yes, I did!) to celebrate my birthday. I turned 39, as usual. On 5th June, my class in la Boca held a surprise birthday party for me and on 6th June, Soledad and El Gordo inaugurated their new milonga in La Boca in the same cool venue on Benito Perez Galdos, where the French girls had their farewell party. Getting to bed at 08:00 is becoming commonplace. As is helping to wash up after a milonga. I’m beginning to consider myself at home in Tangoland, consider myself a part of the furniture.
I am malingering at home, between class and going out, waiting for my phone to charge, when I should be out milongaring. I’m snatching a moment with my Thinkpad, to tell you all about my life in Buenos Aires. It is full on, so I’m finding it harder and harder to spare a minute to talk about it. I have never been so deliriously happy, month after month, but I’m suffering from feelings of anxiety about having only got a couple left to go…
At Tango Queer’s birthday party, a woman came and sat at my table. She was small woman with a sweet face, quiet and unassuming. She looked to be in her sixties and I imagined she was someone’s mum, who had come down to TQ to watch. It turned out she was an accomplished dancer from Florida, who could lead with as much panache as she could follow, was seventy-eight years old and that her partner had given Mariana, the founder, a stipend to get this project started. Just goes to show, the boughs that bear the most fruit hang low.
TQ is worthy of celebration. I love the freedom of switching roles mid-dance, watching men dance with men and women dance with women and women lead men as well as the usual. I like being on first name terms with the bar staff. Peru 571 feels to me like an extension of my living room. It was a good night. There was live music from a band called Cruel China and a brilliant solo tango performance from Mario, who dances with a stick as a prop. The place was packed and a good night was had by all.
I decided to have a milonga at home, the day before my birthday. I sent out a whole load of emails and texts, but because it was a weekday and a bit last minute, some of my women friends who have children, were unable to attend. Also, it coincided with the leaving party of one of my other friends. Nevertheless, I was delighted to see all the people who did come, including a few of my tango teachers. This is a lovely space for socializing and we danced till about 03:00 and I’m proud to say the police were called because it was a weekday and one of the neighbours considered us a nuisance. We turned down the music and carried on a while, but then decided to move on. We went to Theodoro’s, an atmospheric tango bar round the corner, which apparently never closes, where you can bring your own booze, forget the corkscrew, and someone with a strong index finger will do the honours for you, where musicians show up randomly with their instruments and keys, crow bars and battering rams for opening the doors of perception and you are treated to spontaneous performances all night long. Red-eyed, coked up revellers who don’t or can’t dance seem to know all the tango lyrics and join in whenever someone starts up. I was completely enchanted. It was broad daylight and there was traffic in Sarmiento, when I emerged, ready for bed.
When I woke up, it was time for my evening class in La Boca. This is a class in a Centro Cultural, a community centre, attended by a cat and the people of this run down barrio. We always have a beer and crisps at the end of the lesson, which frequently goes on till after 01:00 in the morning, but this day, they came with picadas and wine and a home-made birthday cake (full of dulce de leche, my favourite) and every single member of the class, including the teenagers, brought me a present. I was overwhelmed by their warmth and goodness and I will never forget it. We danced everything, including some tango and some of us got very drunk. That was a proper birthday, that was.
Apart from La Viruta, which you either love or hate (I love) and the Milonga de las Morochas, I’m not terribly keen on anything that’s on offer on a Saturday night, so I am very glad that Soledad and El Gordo, two of the most fun-loving people I know, have collaborated to open a new milonga in La Boca. The opening night got off to a slow start, but by 01:00, the place was buzzing and we didn’t start washing up till after 07:00. Sole and El Gordo greet every one that enters as if they are the most important person in the world and they dance with everyone, talk with everyone and make efforts to ensure that everyone has everything they need. The venue is cool. I particularly like the leafy shadows whooshing against the tall windows, the moody lighting, the high ceilings, the kidney-shape of the main room, the gigantic parilla (barbecue) and the fact that there is a quiet room where you can disappear off to for a snog, a chat or a foot massage. In summer, you can even sit in the garden. The next one is the week after next and as of 20th June, it will run every Saturday and offer dinner as well as dancing. Entrance is free. What more can I say?
On 2nd June, Tango Queer celebrated its fourth birthday with a special milonga (band, balloons and birthday cake.) On 4th June, I held a milonga at home (yes, I did!) to celebrate my birthday. I turned 39, as usual. On 5th June, my class in la Boca held a surprise birthday party for me and on 6th June, Soledad and El Gordo inaugurated their new milonga in La Boca in the same cool venue on Benito Perez Galdos, where the French girls had their farewell party. Getting to bed at 08:00 is becoming commonplace. As is helping to wash up after a milonga. I’m beginning to consider myself at home in Tangoland, consider myself a part of the furniture.
I am malingering at home, between class and going out, waiting for my phone to charge, when I should be out milongaring. I’m snatching a moment with my Thinkpad, to tell you all about my life in Buenos Aires. It is full on, so I’m finding it harder and harder to spare a minute to talk about it. I have never been so deliriously happy, month after month, but I’m suffering from feelings of anxiety about having only got a couple left to go…
At Tango Queer’s birthday party, a woman came and sat at my table. She was small woman with a sweet face, quiet and unassuming. She looked to be in her sixties and I imagined she was someone’s mum, who had come down to TQ to watch. It turned out she was an accomplished dancer from Florida, who could lead with as much panache as she could follow, was seventy-eight years old and that her partner had given Mariana, the founder, a stipend to get this project started. Just goes to show, the boughs that bear the most fruit hang low.
TQ is worthy of celebration. I love the freedom of switching roles mid-dance, watching men dance with men and women dance with women and women lead men as well as the usual. I like being on first name terms with the bar staff. Peru 571 feels to me like an extension of my living room. It was a good night. There was live music from a band called Cruel China and a brilliant solo tango performance from Mario, who dances with a stick as a prop. The place was packed and a good night was had by all.
I decided to have a milonga at home, the day before my birthday. I sent out a whole load of emails and texts, but because it was a weekday and a bit last minute, some of my women friends who have children, were unable to attend. Also, it coincided with the leaving party of one of my other friends. Nevertheless, I was delighted to see all the people who did come, including a few of my tango teachers. This is a lovely space for socializing and we danced till about 03:00 and I’m proud to say the police were called because it was a weekday and one of the neighbours considered us a nuisance. We turned down the music and carried on a while, but then decided to move on. We went to Theodoro’s, an atmospheric tango bar round the corner, which apparently never closes, where you can bring your own booze, forget the corkscrew, and someone with a strong index finger will do the honours for you, where musicians show up randomly with their instruments and keys, crow bars and battering rams for opening the doors of perception and you are treated to spontaneous performances all night long. Red-eyed, coked up revellers who don’t or can’t dance seem to know all the tango lyrics and join in whenever someone starts up. I was completely enchanted. It was broad daylight and there was traffic in Sarmiento, when I emerged, ready for bed.
When I woke up, it was time for my evening class in La Boca. This is a class in a Centro Cultural, a community centre, attended by a cat and the people of this run down barrio. We always have a beer and crisps at the end of the lesson, which frequently goes on till after 01:00 in the morning, but this day, they came with picadas and wine and a home-made birthday cake (full of dulce de leche, my favourite) and every single member of the class, including the teenagers, brought me a present. I was overwhelmed by their warmth and goodness and I will never forget it. We danced everything, including some tango and some of us got very drunk. That was a proper birthday, that was.
Apart from La Viruta, which you either love or hate (I love) and the Milonga de las Morochas, I’m not terribly keen on anything that’s on offer on a Saturday night, so I am very glad that Soledad and El Gordo, two of the most fun-loving people I know, have collaborated to open a new milonga in La Boca. The opening night got off to a slow start, but by 01:00, the place was buzzing and we didn’t start washing up till after 07:00. Sole and El Gordo greet every one that enters as if they are the most important person in the world and they dance with everyone, talk with everyone and make efforts to ensure that everyone has everything they need. The venue is cool. I particularly like the leafy shadows whooshing against the tall windows, the moody lighting, the high ceilings, the kidney-shape of the main room, the gigantic parilla (barbecue) and the fact that there is a quiet room where you can disappear off to for a snog, a chat or a foot massage. In summer, you can even sit in the garden. The next one is the week after next and as of 20th June, it will run every Saturday and offer dinner as well as dancing. Entrance is free. What more can I say?
The extraordinarily poetic tango lessons of Debi Altieri
I’ve just returned from yet another exquisite experience at La Catedral, (half a block away from my flat), where Debi Altieri is currently giving her extraordinarily poetic tango lessons on a Sunday evening. The quality and subject matter of the tuition is priceless and yet, the group is small. Tiny. I just can’t figure out how it is that some of the most beautiful experiences to be had on earth, experiences that cost little or nothing, manage to escape the attention of the masses. I often wonder why this is, as I float on my back, feeling like a millionaire, under a mackerel sky in the deliciously icy water of the Lido, a seventy-five metre swimming pool next to my place in London, which I frequently have all to myself in winter.
Debi’s classes leave you deeply in love. In love with your dance partner, in love with tango, in love with the moment, in love with life. In this class, all the dancers hold each other tenderly for a long moment after the music has ended. Debi’s lessons are themed and structured to make it so. She has exercises that draw the genie out of the bottle.
Her last lesson was about the pauses and silences of tango. Before the class, I had depended upon the man to create these spaces, but since Debi’s lessons, I have learned that I can create them, too. It is the pauses and silences that give tango it’s poetry, it’s intensity, it’s tints of emotion. It is in the silences that we share another’s heartbeat, another’s breath. When we pause, we can luxuriate in the tenderness of the embrace, the proximity of another’s body, the bloom of another’s face. A tango, which is nothing more than steps and fancy figures is a lie.
Tonight’s lesson was about talking with your body. That is not what she called it, but I believe it is the essence of what she was trying to convey to us. The lesson was not about dance steps or ‘technique’. It was about giving and receiving, the communication of feelings via micro-movements of the head, arms, shoulders and the many different parts of the torso. The class started with contact exercises, the results of which were then carried forward into the dance exercises with utterly beautiful results.
The Catedral is the perfect venue for her classes, with its dark, cavernous hall, the warm wooden floor which she frequently gets us to lie on, the sculptures and artefacts hung all about , its central circle of coloured lights creating a hallowed space for our special dance experience and a colossal, illuminated human heart hanging on the wall. Sadly after next week, she expects to move the class to another venue, but no doubt she’ll somehow manage to transform it into a cathedral of the heart.
Thank you Flor, for telling me about Debi’s classes.
Debi’s classes leave you deeply in love. In love with your dance partner, in love with tango, in love with the moment, in love with life. In this class, all the dancers hold each other tenderly for a long moment after the music has ended. Debi’s lessons are themed and structured to make it so. She has exercises that draw the genie out of the bottle.
Her last lesson was about the pauses and silences of tango. Before the class, I had depended upon the man to create these spaces, but since Debi’s lessons, I have learned that I can create them, too. It is the pauses and silences that give tango it’s poetry, it’s intensity, it’s tints of emotion. It is in the silences that we share another’s heartbeat, another’s breath. When we pause, we can luxuriate in the tenderness of the embrace, the proximity of another’s body, the bloom of another’s face. A tango, which is nothing more than steps and fancy figures is a lie.
Tonight’s lesson was about talking with your body. That is not what she called it, but I believe it is the essence of what she was trying to convey to us. The lesson was not about dance steps or ‘technique’. It was about giving and receiving, the communication of feelings via micro-movements of the head, arms, shoulders and the many different parts of the torso. The class started with contact exercises, the results of which were then carried forward into the dance exercises with utterly beautiful results.
The Catedral is the perfect venue for her classes, with its dark, cavernous hall, the warm wooden floor which she frequently gets us to lie on, the sculptures and artefacts hung all about , its central circle of coloured lights creating a hallowed space for our special dance experience and a colossal, illuminated human heart hanging on the wall. Sadly after next week, she expects to move the class to another venue, but no doubt she’ll somehow manage to transform it into a cathedral of the heart.
Thank you Flor, for telling me about Debi’s classes.
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