Tango

It's Show Time!

The afternoon is clear and bright with thin, wispy clouds high in the sky in San Telmo, one of the oldest public areas in Buenos Aires.

Cutting across wide boulevards and cobblestone alleys, we walk into the center of town toward Plaza Dorrego for the milonga, an event where tango is danced.

The street is pulsing with life, upbeat, curiously light. We find ourselves transported along the walkway, hemmed in on all sides by a chattering crowd. People are swarming, running in and out and making so much noise. Children are peering out the windows, craning their necks from rooftops and balconies. Old folks are hovering around the local pigeon community, while bejeweled ladies stroll by sidewalk cafes. The carnival atmosphere is amplified by an inflating air of expectation.

We cross the avenida briskly and at a diagonal to avoid a group of Porteños arguing outside a panaderia bakery. Presently, we join the throng milling around and manage a good spot for watching the famous social dance.

As an enterprising couple take their position on the hardwood floor that has been set on the road, a murmur of excitement shoots through. There is a hush, a kind of dense silence that can only come from an audience that is watching intently, as the orquesta tipica guitar ensemble begins a few exploratory notes.

I take a deep breath, enjoying the wonder of it all.

They start the caminar, walking around the perimeter of the small square area, moving appropriately to the emotion and speed of the rhythmic, hypnotic sound of the all-engulfing music. It is something akin to a slow promenade. They are holding each other tightly and are effortlessly turning in cadence, and stepping and gliding as if they were one.

I stare open-mouthed, watching and grinning oddly.

They are so beautiful, this couple. Their movement is strangely intimate. It is soft, curvaceous, feminine. They keep their feet close to the floor, ankles and knees brushing as one leg passes the other. As they strut, their shadows join along the cobbled street.

Then the air begins to awaken with an extravagance of energy as the tempo begins to vibrate with sharpness.  I see the dancers now promptly entwined in a close embrace, chest-to-chest. Their connection is almost eerie, a bond that is so strong that it feels like a tidal pull. They look like they're enjoying a whispered conversation within the intimate space between them, as if the whole world had been shut off. Afterward, the male leads his partner through a perfectly executed spin, followed almost immediately by a second.

I stand in fascination, my eyes shining with pleasure as they dip and twirl.

The applause rises up like clouds of dust. The air itself seems enchanted. Miniscule particles drift on unseen currents, glittering in the late afternoon sun that's streaming through the thoroughfare. I can swoop my hand through the breeze, and they will frolic in response - fairy dust, gold motes, swirling snippets of stars.

I step forward and wait for them to part for me, opening a path onto the arrogant beauty and bustle and bravado of the city that cavorts proudly in the streets.

¡Olé!