I've decided that the most beautiful people in the world are the ones
who know how to tango. Last Wednesday, my loquacious,
know-no-boundaries-neighbor invited me to a small tango show around the corner
from my house. The invite was an unnecessarily nice gesture, although
admittedly I was a bit skeptical when I got to the little concert hall and I
was the only person in the audience under 65. As un-ideal as the circumstances
might appear (yes, I just made up that word), the whole thing proved to be quite
enjoyable, and I’m particularly proud that not one part of me felt the urge to complain that there wasn’t really anyone my age to
talk to. And no, the open-bar serving limitless quantities of
fresh strawberry and peach daiquiris and Brazilian caipirinha wasn't what made the evening so incredibly great. The show finally got started three hours after the fact (immense
technical difficulties in the beginning; they couldn’t get the stage lights
figured out…and you’d think this wouldn’t be that big of a deal, but lighting is crucial to a tango show). It
was definitely well worth the wait and the $25 entrance fee. It’s not only the
passion that could get to any person in the audience—man or woman—it’s the tension between the
two partners that has a presence you could throw a lasso around. The movement
is complicated, yes. Could I ever do it? No. Do I want to learn? Of course. I do love dance, I totally wish
I could dance, but only a few companies can ever really hold my attention, namely Alvin Ailey and his Revelations. Everyone who comes back from Buenos Aires always praises tango, and
so I always understood it was something I “had” to do but now I can truly see
why. So what’s the basic moral of this story? Listen to the guidebooks and get
your butt to a milonga (tango place) ASAP.
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| From the a visit to the Boca; definitely not the same. But great Nike-swish pants, so had to share all the same. |
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