There´s a slight spring in my step and a Mona Lisa smile creeping over my face as I walk back from class. And why? It´s Wednesday night and that means my favourite milonga, El Beso.
El Beso, for those who are unfamiliar with it, is one of the traditional milongas, on the corner of a busy street in the centre of town. I arrive on foot, with an old, oversized T-shirt over the top of my pretty halterneck wrap dress to cut the average number of piropos (compliments and wolf whistles from the men) down to a manageable 0.5-1 per block. All this male attention is going to my head. I hear that I am a goddess and that I have beautiful eyes an average of a dozen times a day. (Mostly, the Argentines are very polite and restrained in their choice of piropos, even on the street at night. My particular favourite one is “Ay, mamita!”) At this rate, you´d better keep me away from ponds. Look what happened to Narcissus.
My little bubble of happiness is still growing as I spot the glow behind the floor-length red curtains of the first-floor room where the milonga is held. As usual, I told myself that I would arrive early for once and, as usual, had problems waking up from my siesta and choosing between different dresses and pairs of shoes so that when I get there the place is already packed and I have forgotten to bring the girl at the door the English-language books I promised to lend her. The milonga is in a smallish room, with a large, square bar at one end and tables around the dance floor. El Beso is the name of the location. When I first arrived in Buenos Aires they had a lovely poster of Ewan McGregor and Nicole Kidman smooching, from the film Moulin Rouge, which has sadly and strangely disappeared. Usually decor in BA is eternal. The milonga is actually called La Bruja. There are little witches on broomsticks decorating the bar area.
As I wait for one of the two women who run the milonga to show me to my table, I scan the room, sussing out this week´s talent. I have to confess that at milongas I have eyes only for the men. I am particularly glad to spot two of my favourite El Beso boys. As soon as I get to my table, amid the other women on one side of the dance floor, facing the men who sit at the short ends of the room and also stand around the bar area, especially the good dancers, I change into my dance shoes — conventions be damned. I am impatient to get started.
I make eyes at one of the few professional dancers here, who, like most of the regulars, is at his usual table. He dances very little, and often spends much of the time reading a newspaper, but he always dances a tanda or two with me. He immediately nods his head (there´s not too much “histeriqueo” or teasing here at El Beso) and we are off. The floor is crowded, but we negotiate it without much difficulty. And I could lie down and make love to this floor (except that I might get trodden on) — it´s the most beautiful one in all of BA. Like many dancers, I am rather obsessive about floors and always feel rather miffed when I encounter a lovely, wooden parquet floor in a museum or government building, say, which isn´t used for dancing. What a waste! The El Beso floor certainly gets some use and it is absolutely perfect: smooth, but not slippery, encouraging effortless gliding.
After the tanda I am grinning like a mental retard and start singing along to the cortina (music that they play as a palate refresher between tandas (sets)). I think I have a good excuse, though, as it´s Son of a Preacherman. Later, they will play Queen´s Crazy Little Thing Called Love and my neighbour and I will probably sing along to it as a duet. Actually, I would love to dance to it.
So, what do I like most about this milonga? First and foremost, of course, the heterozygotes. I really enjoy dancing with men who are not professional dancers, but have a real life outside of tango. The guys here, by and large, spare me the posturing, the sexual innuendos (the only piropos I receive all evening are from a guy I´ll call Mr Chamuyero and I think he can´t help himself, in his case it´s hardwired), the haughty I-am-doing-you-a-tremendous-favour-by-deigning-to-dance-with-you attitude and the tango-is-my-only-life conversation. It gives me a warm and fuzzy feeling inside to embrace and connect with people I actually like. And the men are easier of access, too. I enjoy the play of eye contact and the subtle mime of the cabeceo, although I always stay firmly seated until the guy comes over to me and I am certain that I was the object of his non-verbal invitation. It is embarrassing to leap to your feet to dance with someone who was actually signalling to a woman in the row behind you. I seem to have magical powers in the case of some men, who actually have their backs to me but turn round in response to the strength of my gaze.
Although my best friend and usual milonga companion always spends Wednesday nights with her boyfriend, I´ve had a series of female friends at El Beso, offering conversation, laughter and solidarity. An older, experienced woman regular who is a lovely dancer punctuates the evening with hilarious acerbic comments. Anyone who doesn´t dance with her or whose dancing isn´t up to snuff is verbally assassinated. The women also share critiques of the male dancers. When I see someone new whose dancing I am unfamiliar with I usually ask the other women what they think of him. And the witty older lady gives me recommendations of men she has particularly enjoyed dancing with, which is invaluable, and generous. I´m guessing the men do much the same thing.
The age range at El Beso is much more mixed than at La Viruta. I am no longer the oldest woman, nor would it matter, since people are here to dance, not to flirt or pick up chicks. On the whole, I try not to dance too much with the older men, though. I find them stiff and uncomfortable and they have an unfortunate tendency to try to give me a tango lesson while we are dancing (a pet hate of mine). But there are some old men whom I love to dance with. One, of them in particular, always dressed in a very natty tweed suit, whatever level the mercury is at, is the most consummate gentleman I have ever met, here in Buenos Aires or elsewhere. We talk about poetry in the pauses between songs.
Towards the end of the evening, people start trailing off and my favourite part of the night begins. Most of those still left are true addicts, and therefore probably pretty good dancers. It feels so liberating to finally really push against that lovely floor and stride out. This is what Newton´s laws of motion were invented for. It would be a cliché to say that it´s the nearest thing to flying, except that my partner this tanda just happens to be a pilot. And how is it possible that I never get sick of tango music? It just gets more and more heartbreakingly lovely. And this is when I often get to dance with the serious professionals, too. I feel a little melancholy as the final tanda ends. Well, there´s next Wednesday to look forward to.
