News and adventures from Argentina
This evening I went dancing at La Glorieta, a gazebo in a park in Belgrano where there is tango on the weekends.
It’s lovely. When I go, I feel like I’m in a movie or novel: very picturesque.
It’s one of the few milongas where it actually is a good idea to get there early.
By 9:30 p.m., the gazebo is packed to the gills with dancers.
Here, it’s still early.
La Viruta is one of my weekend tango haunts.
Dancing starts late, and the best dancing, even later.
(Once when I was headed to La Viruta from another milonga at about 1:30 a.m., a dancer told me with a surprised look, “But it’s really early for La Viruta!” She was right.)
After 3:30 a.m., it’s free. And continues until 6 a.m. (Maybe 6:30?)
I like it in the wee hours, when the dance floor clears a bit and those who are there just to find a date have gone.
I also like the mix of levels of dancing. It ranges from beginner to professional.
They also mix up the music, every so often playing a swing or salsa or even chacarera.
From my first visit; last night I was even closer.
Last night I headed out for a second visit to the Boliche de Roberto, also known as “Lo de Roberto”.
It’s an old-school tango bar–and old, as in more than 100 years old– in the bohemian barrio of Almagro, which I love. (Read more about it here.)
My first visit was a couple of weeks ago, after the empanada-fest for Thanksgiving.
This time, I was up close, though the place is so small that everyone is close to the musicians.
Two guys sing tangos and milongas on their guitars.
One had tape on his guitar and tuned it by holding his ear very close to the instrument.
The main singer is incredible (to the right in the photo). He has a powerful voice, full of raw emotion–perfect for tango.
They mostly sang very old-school tangos.
But the night ended perfect, for me at least: They played my request: Mano a mano.
Here are the lyrics:
Mano a mano
Música: Carlos Gardel y José Razzano
Letra: Celedonio Flores
Rechiflao en mi tristeza
hoy te evoco y veo que has sido
en mi pobre vida paria
sólo una buena mujer,
tu presencia de bacana
puso calor en mi nido
fuiste buena, consecuente
y yo sé que me has querido
como no quisiste a nadie,
como no podrás querer.
Se dio el juego del remanye
cuando vos, pobre percanta,
gambeteabas la pobreza
en la casa de pensión,
hoy sos toda una bacana,
la vida te ríe y canta,
los morlacos del otario
los tirás a la marchanta
como juega el gato maula
con el mísero ratón.
Hoy tenés el mate lleno
de infelices ilusiones,
te engrupieron los otarios,
las amigas, el gavión,
la milonga entre magnates
con sus locas tentaciones
donde triunfan y claudican
milongueras pretensiones,
se te ha entrado muy adentro,
en el pobre corazón.
Nada debo agradecerte,
mano a mano hemos quedado,
no me importa lo que has hecho,
lo que hacés, ni lo que harás,
los favores recibidos
creo habértelos pagado
y si alguna deuda chica
sin querer se me ha olvidado
en la cuenta del otario
que tenés se la cargás.
Mientras tanto que tus triunfos,
pobres triunfos pasajeros
sean una larga fila
de riquezas y placer,
que el bacán que te acamala
tenga pesos duraderos,
que te abrás en las paradas
con cafhisios milongueros
y que digan los muchachos:
es una buena mujer.
Y mañana, cuando seas
descolado mueble viejo
y no tengas esperanzas
en el pobre corazón,
si precisás una ayuda,
si te hace falta un consejo,
acordate de este amigo
que ha de jugarse el pellejo
“pa” ayudarte en lo que pueda
cuando llegue la ocasión.
Compuesto en 1918 y grabado por Carlos Gardel en 1923.
I saw this on a wall along Serrano today in Palermo Viejo aka Palermo SoHo.
I loved the little guy. I feel like him: en la lucha.
Today Clarín’s Sociedad section ran my story on minors from Africa who are seeking refugee status in Argentina.
There’s been an increase in general of refugees here in Argentina.
But the case of minors has been problematic and different agencies have taken action this year to offer more assistance.
(I’ll post the PDF later, which includes more information.)
One of many things this story taught me was just how globalized our world is.
In my reporting, I called one of the mosques here in BA. This “yanqui” talked with a man of Middle Eastern descent, in Spanish, about refugees from Africa in Argentina.
What impressed, and humbled, me the most in this story was talking with some of the refugees.
I met with one at a park near Once and we talked there, sitting on a curb in the shade on a very hot day.
As we walked back to the train station, we passed by some street kids. He stopped and shook their hands and said hello amigo with a smile. They knew him as a friend who shares food when he can. He then started telling me about the story of Job, how he relates to Job, the tests he endured and his faith.
I learned a great deal, not just from hearing his story and what’s he lived through, but seeing how he lives his daily life.
This story came out last week in the Sociedad section of Clarín.
I did a video along with the story.
I bought a small plant at a feria in Palermo on Sunday on my way to a play.
I’ve had African violets, mis niñas, in Houston and a plant that suffered a lot when I was in NYC.
I’m hoping this one survives. I adopted the plant that I was told was the hardiest. (I don’t have much sunlight in my room, and am not blessed with a green thumb, digamos.)
Meet mi niño.
Most Mondays I head over to Villa Malcolm on Córdoba.
The group Motivo Tango, where I take classes, holds a práctica there that’s really quite lovely.
The last month or so, they’ve also been having professional dancers give performances during the práctica/milonga.
It’s kind of a performance for peers because the majority of the dancers at the practice are quite advanced. Very high level of dancing.
Yet the atmosphere is always relaxed. I love it.
Clarín ran a story in today’s paper about a study that discovered supposedly why men are attracted to the color red.
They asked me to do an informal poll/encuesta on the street.
So yesterday afternoon, I trolled Montes de Oca in Barracas and asked men and women alike: What color do men find most attractive?
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