El Beso, ice cream, and other things

“Tanto Tiempo!” is a recurring phrase with people who know me here. “It’s been so long!” Has it? I understand it’s been 10 or 11 months since I left, but to me it feels as though I just saw these people last week. I’m in a bit of a twilight zone here when it comes to sense of time, I suppose.

I’m thankful for the weather. I need this. When winter reaches its peak, I turn into a grumpy girl who pouts. Now that I’m in summer, I feel myself relaxing, my shoulders lowering, my health improving, my smile widening. All in just a couple of days time.

I’ve already had some helado - as someone who has lived in Italy, I can really appreciate the ice cream here, perhaps in a way no one else can. Here, the same recipe is used as in Italy, but the milk of course is different and so the ice cream comes out a little differently. I can’t explain what the difference is, it just is. Miss Tango and I have talked before about what’s better, Italian or Argentine ice cream, and of course she’ll tell you Argentina does it best while I like to stick up for Italy. This means that perhaps the ice cream in a place is an indicator of where one’s soul feels the most at home. It also means that I’ll have to spend extensive time in both Italy and Argentina for the next few years, in order to make a truly educated guess. To be fair, you know.
Last night I should have been working but my dancers feet got the better of me and I went to El Beso. I got there at about midnight. It was packed, and hard to get a seat. While I was waiting, a friend, A, from Seattle spotted me and came up to me. He lives in Buenos Aires half the year so I was not surprised to see him. We danced the milonga set that was playing and I went back to where I was waiting. The hostess, ever so kind and gracious, did her best to squeeze me into someone’s table. The free spot was not in the best location, but I didn’t care. I was happy to be able to sit down and observe. She told me that she wanted to try to find me a better seat and that she’d come get me if she did. There were plenty of men who didn’t have seats yet who were nearby, and since we were in each other’s line of vision, that’s who I danced with. So many nice people. These men really love to dance.

Finally at about 1:30 or so things started to clear up, and A. gave me his table as he was leaving, and it was in the perfect spot to see and be seen. It was in a spot that’s sort of between the men and the women, so instead of his chair, I took the far one that was next to some women, so I wouldn’t stand out too much. That’s when I had my best dances of the evening. Each man I danced with (with one exception) protected me in his arms. So nice. Each man danced in his own way. And because the dancers here are so much more vulnerable to you, and allow you to feel so much more vulnerable to them, it felt as though… hm, maybe as though they were sharing a part of their soul with me… no. that’s not it. I can’t explain it. But I could get a good idea of who each man was. These are not highly technical dancers - these are people who love music and love Tango and love to have a woman in their arms. I didn’t once feel in danger of being bumped into, the crowd moved so smoothly on the floor, respectful of each other’s space, not dancing too big. Sure, a few times I would feel other dancers brush past us or a light bump, but that’s different. I love the navigation here. Sigh…

I only turned down two men. One who went straight to my table, got in my face and asked me to dance. He was Argentine. I said no. He knew better, and I knew that. I’d seen him cabeceo-ing others. Why should I be any different. He began to ask why not, etc., and I just ignored him. He finally went away. The other guy I didn’t like was an older man who seemed to be hailing me down like a taxi. He kept pointing at me and motioning for me to come over to him. Whatever that was about. I don’t think so.

I didn’t want to go home until I had my “ok, I can go home now” dance… and I finally did, with a charming man who had an embrace that was just perfect. What is it with the men down there, why do I like dancing with them so much? I’ve tried to elaborate on it before in this blog, but words are useless. There is no way to describe what it is about dancing with them. It’s just…

Once I had my Tango high, (siiiiiiigh….), my huge grin and I went home. I translated a little bit until my Tango high calmed down (trying to sleep while on a Tango high is useless), and fell asleep as soon as my head hit the pillow.

Will I dance tonight? Not sure. From the way people were talking last night, I guess Canning is now the good place for Monday nights. I would never have guessed. I’ve never had a good time at Canning. But, milongas change. I don’t know, we’ll see. I’m kind of a Gricel person so it’s hard to change my ways. I won’t make any plans until later. And maybe I won’t dance. We’ll see.

What’s in store for me today? I’ll get some work done, eat some fresh figs I just bought (figs!! I love summer!), get a cell phone, and who knows what else. I love this place.