You want to see something that gives me chills (in a good way)?

This was sent to me by someone very special…

 Unfortunately I can’t embed it so, you can view it by clicking here.

This is from when Osvaldo y Coca were Campeones del Mundial de Tango Salon in 2004.. (um…somebody correct my Spanish if I needed it there.)

Whenever I see them, I think, “This is why I dance Tango.”

If these two don’t fill your heart with love, I don’t know what will. I simply adore them.

Our chests connected and I gently draped my left arm over his neck and shoulders. My eyes slowly closed and the music soon infiltrated our embrace…we began to move as one. Almost at once, I was no longer on a dance floor in Denver; I was in Buenos Aires, sitting outside at a cafe near Plaza de Mayo, watching passersby, sipping Gancia (ahem, with soda and lemon, right Miss Tango?). That visual passed seamlessly into another one - now we were in a milonga in Maipu 444. My eyes opened slightly and I could see the outline of his shoulder and neck. I could smell a touch of cigarette smoke on his shirt, as well as his aftershave. I felt intimately protected. I felt as though the dance was dedicated to me. I knew I was dancing with a milonguero - he had the soul of a milonguero. As the tanda progressed, my body was tingling from our connection and the sensation of….que se yo. The air around us buzzed with electricity from an earlier thunderstorm. I felt as though a spirit was passing through us while we danced. I knew in my heart that he sensed the same things. I wanted to weep. The tanda ended, and he gave me a gentle squeeze. I opened my eyes, expecting to be somewhere else…somewhere in Buenos Aires. Instead I was in Colorado. We looked at each other, our eyes glazed over with post-tango euphoria, and smiled. Our dance had been blessed with the Ghost.

Before I get into the event at last night’s milonga, I just want to say that Sunday, at my happy milonga, I had the best Tanturi vals set of my life. I danced with the son of the organizer, an Argentine-American who is a fabulous young milonguero. He really is a bright, wonderful person and we recently agreed that we should always try to dance together as early on as possible at milongas because we seem to bless eachother with good dances for the rest of the night. Always a good person to have around. Anyway.

That tanda was out of this world. Especially the first song - I actually forgot that I was in Seattle, and I seriously, honestly thought that I was in Buenos Aires. I’m not even exaggerating or being poetic. It was weird and very cool. We were dancing The Ghost. Tanturi can do that to me, and with Castillo’s voice to help me along, I can easily slip into another dimension. The tanda was so good and so special that at the end we hugged and gave each other a high-5. We’re silly that way.

It made up for the fall I took later on towards the end of the evening, due to a very slippery floor (because of the people who had rented the space the previous evening)… I don’t feel like blogging about my fall as it was kind of traumatizing and really embarrassing. But at least I was not dancing when I slipped.  I was walking towards the dance floor. I’m trying to think it’s funny. I’m okay.

LAST NIGHT. I had a great time, dancing one tanda after another with some of my favorite guys in Seattle to dance with. The added plus? Almost all of my invitations were done via the cabeceo. !! It’s hard to do in a dimly lit place, but the guys I dance with here also know that I like the cabeceo, so they put themselves where they know I’ll see them and it works well.

At one point I was sitting down, watching people begin to dance a milonga set that had just started. I had decided to take a little breather. A man I’m not sure I recognize came up to me, stood in front of me and said, “Are you resting?” I said, “Yeah, for the moment.” He said, “So you don’t want to dance?” I said, “No, sorry…thank you.” He pouted (pouted!) and said, “Oh. Well that’s too bad, this is a really good milonga.” I said nothing. He stood there for a moment. I didn’t say anything else, just decided to enjoy watching people dance. He finally walked away and approached another girl, asking her to dance. I heard her decline, saying that she doesn’t really like to dance milonga.  And I think this is true because I never see her dance milonga.  He then seemed to be trying to convince her to dance, or perhaps demand to know why. I couldn’t hear him, I think he asked her why, as I heard her say, “Because I don’t want to.” Finally he said something like “Damn!” and stomped across the room to pout.

He may have just been having a bad night, but I think he could benefit from learning to take no for an answer.

We were watching the videos I took of Sergio & Alejandra (which will remain private, not to be published - sorry folks, but it turned out too dark and grainy) and reminiscing about the conversations we had with them over the weekend, and it was agreed that they definitely have “The Ghost”.

What is The Ghost, you ask? Well, it’s hard to explain. It’s usually called El Duende, The Gnome. But I like to call him The Ghost. Okay, perhaps it’s not really an actual “Ghost” that goes about haunting, perhaps it’s a vibe, energy. Who knows. I don’t know if it can be explained. One thing I can tell you, however, is that I’m sure The Ghost is the essential ingredient in all things Porteño - especially Tango. The Ghost is present in the air, everywhere you go in Buenos Aires. Not just in the milongas, it’s not just a dance thing, it’s everywhere - in the streets, the buildings, the eyes of the porteños, the air, your soul - if you’re open to it. Many people who have been to Buenos Aires have reported that they felt a certain “something” in the air, nearly everywhere they went. I’d say that they were feeling The Ghost.

Traces of The Ghost can certainly be sensed in traditional Tango songs - I wonder if The Ghost is therefore responsible for getting so many people addicted to the music - does The Ghost seep out of the speakers, penetrating our eyes, ears, pores, flowing through our veins to make his way into a permanent place in our hearts? Is it The Ghost that inspires us to move to the music?

Sometimes, when I’m listening to Alberto Castillo sing for example, I feel like I’m not only hearing Castillo singing, but also The Ghost. The Ghost permeates so many things.

I still look back at the times years ago before I learned to dance Tango, when I would listen to Tango music, and I didn’t know what it was that moved me so much, pulling my heart strings at all times during each song, calling me to close my eyes to weep and laugh at the same time… filling me with passion, desperation, tears, a strong desire to move to the music, to connect with someone. I think it’s The Ghost’s fault.

I don’t think Tango can be Tango without The Ghost. I don’t think people can sense The Ghost right away, at least not in its entirety. But it’s there. It very discreetly reveals itself to those who are open to it. A visit to Buenos Aires - if you’re open to it - will put you right into the realm of The Ghost, and it’s impossible not to feel his effects, his energy.

Last night at the practica someone told me that at the past weekend’s Tango Magic festival, they had the realization that Argentines - more specifically Porteños - have a certain “something” in their dance and really everything they do, that we probably will never have, unless we move down there and really soak it up (or unless we’re one of the few who is fortunate enough to just “have” it). He may not realize it but I think he was talking about The Ghost.

As I washing tonight’s dinner dishes, I had Rodriguez playing in the background, romantic and spooky. I was rinsing a wine glass and began to run my finger around the rim to listen to the eery musical sound it makes. After a few seconds of this, I finished rinsing and moved on to the next glass.

This is when I felt It. Someone was there - teasing me youthfully, peaking out from behind things, carefully observing me, causing memories of favorite tandas and love and Buenos Aires to nostalgically flow through my veins. I could feel The Ghost looking at me, watching me to see what was in my heart. The Ghost of Tango, of Buenos Aires… whatever he is, I was filled with many things at the same time - longing, warmth, comforting memories as well as very sad ones…Bittersweet nostalgia… a sigh…

I acknowledged The Ghost, thanked him and turned up the music.

The other week I caught myself saying, “Tango has nothing to do with dancing.” I don’t know what caused me to say it, I hadn’t planned to say it, it just came out without my control. Since my time in Buenos Aires, where I felt like I discovered Tango in places where there wasn’t any dancing, I’ve had the question “What is Tango?” swimming back and forth in my head. I’ve lost a little bit of sleep over it and cried a few tears as well, to be honest. (Remember, I’m half Italian).

Certainly Tango has something to do with dancing, obviously! Of course the dance is an aspect of Tango. But I guess what I was saying was that I think Tango is not only a dance. So much of what we see (at least in the States) is Tango but not exactly… Tango. Sure, people are dancing to Tango music, doing ochos and boleos and sacadas, and well… you know, dancing. But it’s not necessarily the only aspect of Tango. At least not the Tango that I’m talking about. Tango is so much more than that. Tango is something else. And damn it’s been bugging me.

This is not a critique on any dancer’s ability level, it’s not a critique of style. And it’s certainly not a critique on those who have fallen in love with the beautiful dance that is called Tango, devoting themselves to learning it well and enjoying every step they take, every connection they (hopefully) make, every pair of Comme il Faut shoes they buy. I’m one of those people, after all!

So many times in Buenos Aires, whether I was sitting in a café, talking to our old milonguero friend Pedro, eating lunch with the family of Mi Amor, or standing on the sidewalk looking around me at the people and the buildings, trying to understand the special “something” in the air, I would say to myself, “This is Tango.”

Tango is the eyes of Mi Amor. Tango is his family. Tango is his wonderful circle of friends (none of whom dance) in Buenos Aires. Tango is las calles (the streets) I’ve walked on – Entre Rios, Corrientes, Callao, Solis (the street my happy apartment was on), and many others. Tango is the waiter in my favorite café, who would gently place my coffee, water, sugar, and cookies on the table, one thing at a time, while wearing his rather classic uniform. Tango is the older people I would discreetly watch in that same café, as they greeted each other or sometimes stared off at a distant memory. There was one old man in particular, with beautiful blue eyes, who seemed to have something on his mind each time I saw him – I imagined him coming to this café daily, year after year, maybe since his youth? I imagined him a few decades ago, living the young, fun life… I imagined him growing older, living through one crisis or another. I wondered what his feelings were each day that he’d been at the café. What significant parts of his life were lived in the vicinity of that café. What sorts of changes he’d been through in life, while the café itself never changed – always the same coffee, the same medialunas, the same style of service, the same uniforms, the same name. This man was definitely Tango. Tango is that interesting feeling in the air of Buenos Aires– that “something” I could feel, that “essence” that permeated my mind, my body, my soul every time I would breathe in or blink my eyes. (Which makes sense- I mean Buenos Aires roughly translates to Good Air, right?) I could go around and around with this, and the truth is I still don’t know exactly how to explain Tango. I don’t know if it can be explained.

I know I will get some complaints from Tango dancers who read this and have never been to Buenos Aires, but I think that to make the most of Tango, you’ve got to experience Buenos Aires. Or maybe the better way to say it is that you really should experience Buenos Aires to elevate your understanding of Tango to a new level.

I’ve been dancing Tango for 4-and-a-half years, but it wasn’t until this past February and March when I plunged myself into the cultura porteña that I actually began to learn Tango. And I’m still learning.

All photographs in this post copyright 2007, A. Ferrari