Archive for January, 2010

At some point you start wondering just how the old milongueros do it. How do they ‘keep it up’ all night – so to speak – especially if they are still working during the day. I realize a passion, an obsession, can be extremely motivating but the body just can’t physically endure extended periods of sleepless nights, nicotine, alcohol, a heavy diet and dancing.

I’ll tell you how they do it: cocaine.

“It’s so cheap here,” my American friend said, “For 50 pesos I can buy enough coke to last me from Friday’s milonga until Tuesday’s milonga.” A recent Tuesday night’s milonga, for this organizer, happened to be 12 hours long. That’s a lot of work. Already suffering from a heart condition and a myriad of other health problems including a current sinus infection, he was in no shape to be going out that night. But having a (perceived) responsibility to others is one of the only things that keeps him going these days. A combination of cocaine, fernet and cola, nicotine and sheer determination got him through one more night – and a good time was had by all.

How many times a night do those milongueros get up from their seat at the bar to go to the bathroom? Prostate problems? Maybe that too. One milonguero telling me some of these stories excused himself from the table three times during the four hour dinner party we attended.

In the past month the tango world has lost two well known milongueros. One was only 46. Both had pre-existing heart conditions. Both had ‘nose problems’. Both died doing what they loved to do best – by cocaine-induced myocardio-infarctions.

My dear American friend almost died once from a heart attack and had a close call a year later. With several stents keeping the physical gateways to his heart open, he still experiences pain regularly and doesn’t receive enough oxygen rich blood to his heart at times. Still, he insists on getting a regular burst of ‘feel good’ to keep him going at the speed that he’s used to. Cocaine (along with everything else considered an unhealthy lifesytle) constricts his already compromised blood vessels. It’s just a matter of time (and one more bife de chorizo) before he just shuts down completely.

Already having surpassed his expected life span by over a dozen years, my friend is lucky to have had the time he’s had. I’ve been fortunate to share some of that with him. “I just want to make it until 2012″, he tells me, “I want to see how it all goes down – at the end of the Mayan calendar.” I hope he makes it that far.

One more night, one more milonga, one more tanda. Live hard and fast, tango on.

I can’t sleep through the night anymore. No, I’m not going to milongas; I’m learning how to lead tango. Now that I have some control over the dance I am being controlled by the music; I’m obsessed with what I can do to express it. The tango music in my head on endless loop wakes me up in the middle of the night. I wait for a cortina but none comes. If dawn has peeked into my bedroom I’m doomed to toss and turn while repeating a variety of sequences in time to the music. It’s tango torture.

Women learn to lead for two main reasons: they want to teach and/or they’re bored. So many times I hear a piece of music (usually milonga or nuevo) that I particularly like and want to express it wholeheartedly with my body. Often the man I’m dancing with is incapable (technically or creatively) in expressing the dance to my satisfaction. I have to remember to surrender to him and not to the music and my own desires. I’m often like a dog, sniffing a banquet and pulling at the leash. I think about how I would dance it if I had any control of my own. I’m determined NOT to be held back in my dancing. So, I’m learning to lead.

I always had a cognitive appreciation for how difficult it is for a man, with all he has to do, to become a good dancer. Now my appreciation is experiential. I get it. But, what I don’t understand is why I’m able to learn both the lead and follow simultaneously and some men in the same class have difficulty learning only their part. Do men and women learn differently? It’s not like I’m a genius or anything (just ask my computer tech) but maybe I have some kind of aptitude for this. Maybe after so many years of following I have some kind of inherent understanding of how to make the woman move the way I want her to. The most difficult thing is to execute the many aspects and maintain them simultaneously throughout the dance – navigating through traffic on the dance floor, oh ya – my posture, chest out, shoulders down, hips back, turn the lady . . . ooops – forgot about my own feet . . . it’s so much to think about, then forget about and just feel your way. My brain hurts, my feet hurt and I can’t sleep at night – but I’m having so much fun!

I’m tired of the complaining: national complaining, ex-pats complaining and my own complaining. When I walk out the door now I make an effort to appreciate at least one thing about this city.

Yesterday, a young man riding his bicycle down Santa Fe was playing his harmonica – with both hands.

We don’t have rats in Alberta. Over 50 years ago the provincial government waged war at the border to keep out rats traveling from the east where they disembarked European ships after WWII. I saw my first rat en vivo surveying the trash banquet one night on Av. Corrientes. It didn’t particularly bother me – because he seemed to be minding his own business. But, when I saw the silhouette of a rat skitter along the outer edge of my 13th floor balcony through the open door of my bedroom I became uneasy. I understand that rats are extremely resourceful creatures but how do they get up to the 13th floor – elevator? The balcony door is the only access route for fresh air into my stale, sweat-oven apartment and when the A/C broke down I had to leave it open overnight. Luckily, no visual memories of horror films including rats are etched upon my mind and the only midnight intruders challenging my vigilance were mosquitos – and their bites are annoying enough.

I think the rodent that I caught a glimpse of out of the corner of my eye as it scooted across my floor tonight was just a mouse . . . but I’m not sure. whatever size it was – there’s not enough room in here for the two of us.

I’m looking forward to returning to Alberta. Our government may not be as intelligent as the rats but they have bigger guns and they’re not afraid to use them.