my experience with tango (cultural proof #1)

Tango was born in Buenos Aires. It was created by European immigrants, longing for home and women, and practiced in the tenement houses of working class neighborhoods like La Boca. However, since I arrived in Argentina, my impression has been that the Tango has gone on to become a symbol of national identity and pride. Many cultures and a sense of alienation gave birth to Tango, but it is now ultimately and inescapably Argentine. I believe this resonates with many Argentines in their mezcla of genetic heritage and their search for cultural identity. Additionally, Tango’s huge explosion in Europe in the late 19^th century and subsequent global popularity has made the music and dance representative of Argentina’s time in the international limelight – a period in the country’s history when they were the 10^th richest country in the world. Given the difficult economic situation in Argentina today, memories of the past have a special allure. I think is shown by how ubiquitous the culture of Tango is (posters, cultural essays, billboards, concerts on every street corner), even though many Argentines have never learned the dance.

I was privileged to see three very different Tango performances in Buenos Aires. I experienced the heavy legendary atmosphere of a couple and a band in Café Tortoni, and then stumbled by accident on a fabulous display of physical skill and beauty given by company dancers on the street of Calle Florida. My favorite, though, was the first one I saw, in Plaza Derrago, San Telmo.

The plaza hosts a giant artisan and antique fair that spreads over twenty blocks and is a bastion of the celebration of the Buenos Aires that was. At the very southernmost tip of the fair, the crowds thin out, and I discovered an old couple dancing slowly to the crooning of elderly man with a clown nose and a tiny guitar. The old man in his faded suit, with wrinkles drooping off of his face, held tightly to the woman. She was a little heavier set, now, than she might have been, and carrying the weight of age, but still step by step, firmly placing her stiletto heels around and between the legs of her aged partner. The dance was slow, and somewhat jerky, but I kept standing there for a long time, unable to stop watching the threesome perform their past on a dirty, windy, famous street corner, for all of the world to see.

When I leave Argentina, I hope to take with me the memory of the physical awe I felt for the beautiful dancers on Calle Florida, and the longing I felt from the passionate lyrics of the singer in Café Tortoni, but I know I will take with me the picture of self-contained, dignified loss I found in Plaza Derrago.