Argentina is known to travelers for many things. Savory meat cooked to perfection, sophisticated wine from the Andes Mountains and Mendoza, and the breathtaking countryside in southern Patagonia. Indeed the meat is the best on the South American continent. Of course the wine’s tastes are produced with the mastery of the craft, passed down from generations of Italian and Spanish immigrants. And who can refute the beautiful snow peaked tops of Torres Del Paine or the jaw dropping rumbling glacier of Perito Moreno Glacier. There is, however, another thing that seems to capture the hearts of travelers from all over the world; the Tango.
The tango, although originating in African and European cultures, truly began to claim its fame from the nurturing of the Argentinos in the late 1800s. In the early 1900s the dance began to spread across Europe, being snatched up by the French first and moving to other capitals in the region such as Berlin and London. Eventually the dance made its way to New York and the rest of North America but, its true home lies in Buenos Aries.
One can witness the dance virtually anywhere in the city. The distinctive music seems to radiate out of walls and down alleys during the Sunday crafts fair in San Telmo. Many restaurants all around the city employ dancers to steal customers off the streets with dinner shows. In the colorful Boca neighborhood, dancers twist their hips as circles of people form around the dancers to, “Ooooo,” and “Ahhhh.” The real performances that demonstrate the tango for what it is though are the theater shows. Alluring, vehement and able to convey a story of romance as well as any sappy Hollywood movie or trashy novel can. Lucky for me I got to experience this.
Some people at the hostel I was staying at in the Palermo neighborhood caught wind of a show being performed one evening. It turns out for people who showed up to the theater earlier in the day would be awarded with free tickets to the performance. Many of the hostel folks ended up scoring multiple tickets and I was fortunate enough to earn one myself along with a friendly invite. We gathered together that evening and utilizing the Buenos Aries bus system we made our way deeper into, I believe, the Palermo neighborhood. Arriving at an old theater with large Greek stylized columns in front, our group sauntered in and grabbed some seats together among the locals. The theater probably could seat a couple hundred and close to show time looked pretty full with chattering Argentinos old and young alike.
As the lights dimmed in the old colonial theater, scratchy music sounding like it was being played off an old record player from the 1920s hushed the hum of the crowd. Before the stage’s red velvet curtain could be raised fully into the rafters, a couple came sliding step-in-step together from the right side of the stage. The woman was wearing a deep purple dress that swirled among her thighs as she stepped in rhythm to the man in a tuxedo’s elongated steps toward her.
The Tango is truly the most passionate of all the dances I have ever witnessed. Methodically moving with the twangs of guitar strings across the stage, the woman kicked her feet and twined her legs seductively in between the man’s as they stared, seemingly, deeply into each other’s eyes. From time to time he would twirl her out at an arm’s length, only to whip her back towards him forcefully in a tight embrace. I thought it could not only be me in the audience that was feeling hot under the collar by this point; I half expected them to start ripping their clothes off and putting on the real show.
The two paraded around the stage by themselves for a few moments but were joined by two more couples. The music sped up and the new couples with it, moving across the stage elegantly and oblivious to the other couples doing the same. Lost in their own trance, eyes locked, feet blurring. And then the music stopped as they all struck a pose. The crowd went nuts.
Quickly though the music changed, picked back up and as it did the dance changed as well. Among the stage there were eight chairs where two of the couples sat while the other began to move slowly across the dance floor, annunciating each step clearly, their footsteps reverberating among the theater walls. The couple moved around the stage and as they approached some of the chairs, another couple rose and did the same. The couples changed with each other, each dancing a different version of the tango’s steps.
As the night went on, the audience was treated to different sets of theatrics and dances, telling different romantic stories of couples in the night. Some dances told stories of “boy chases after girl,” as two couples danced in circles while one man chased after a lonely dancer while spinning with arms wide, comically pleading. When he gave up the chase and sulked to the chairs she moved to offer her hand. Women. One dance had two women fighting over a single man, constantly and skillfully cutting in if the other woman would part from his arms for but a brief inhale. Couples interchanged partners in a blur of an eye at all times, whilst all along the women’s dresses, colorful and vibrant in the radiance of stage lighting, twirled high among thighs. The men would lift their partners above their heads, spin and place them gently back down.
For an hour the stage panted seductiveness, lust and romance. When it was over the crowd stood and cheered, whistled and clapped as the dancers took deep bows under spotlights. The curtain came down, the applause slowly died and people began to filter out of the building as I attempted to raise my jaw off the floor. I do not think I will ever have the grace for such a dance but, the performance sure makes me want to try.
