“Las callecitas de Buenos Aires tienen ese que se yo, viste?”

I feel like I learned as much if not more about Tango outside of the milongas than inside the milongas. Take the cafes, for instance. I don’t think that there are cafes anywhere in the world like the ones in Buenos Aires. You cannot really say that they remind you of Europe or something else, because they really don’t, if you observe them. They are just…. the cafes of Buenos Aires. They have this certain “something” that I can’t explain. But you can feel it. I love the whole process of going to a cafe. I tend to prefer the corner cafes with a lot of windows, and I usually take a table at a window. I order my “cafecito” or my “cafe cortado” . When the waiter - in uniform - arrives with my order, he takes his time placing one thing at a time on my table, methodically, gently. Coffee is a process. He places onto the table a demitasse of coffee, a small plate of cookies, a small glass of sparkling water, the sugar. These extra things just come with the coffee. And it takes time. No paper cups on the go for these people.  And the way he places it, it’s not just the slow gentleness, it’s the…. something.  There is a certain elegance to it, but also a sadness, a nostalgia…as well as pleasant sentimentality.  It’s hard to explain.

I take my time with my coffee - I have to as the coffee is usually too hot - and look around. I look at the details on the ceiling, the people walking by outside the window, the faces of the people inside the cafe. Some of them know each other. Some of them have been coming to this cafe for years, decades. I watch the expressions of nostalgia on the older people’s faces, wondering what kind of memories they are having. Once, in a cafe like what I have described, I looked around and thought, “Oh my goodness I’m in the middle of a Tango song. This is Tango.” And it’s true… a lot of the tango songs talk about things like this cafe.

A lot of things about Buenos Aires have that “certain something”… the streets, the neighborhoods, the people.

Pedro. Pedro has that certain something. He is in his early 70’s, a milonguero, the teacher of Mi Amor for the past 5 years. We had the fortune of being able to spend a lot of time with him, to hear his stories, laugh with him, and of course, dance. He likes cooking, making new friends, sharing his love of Tango, and from what I can tell, enjoying life. He only speaks Spanish but knows a few English words, so when we’re dancing and it’s a crowded floor for example, he’ll look at me and say “mucho people!” He always has a light in his eyes, and while he can be critical of certain things, he sees the good in everyone. He doesn’t like to be called “teacher” - he says “I’m not a teacher, I’m just a dancer. I like to dance.” He’s one of the good sides of Tango. There are others in his generation who have lost themselves in the dark side of Tango (and believe me, there is a really dark side), but he gave himself to the bright side of Tango. He does it for pleasure, love, fun. One evening, while the three of us were eating dinner, I asked him what Tango was to him. He said (in Spanish), “For me, Tango is making love with a woman I really like.” And he’s right - Tango really is a love affair.