Fatigue against Dancing

Today was the last day that our Montreal tanguera would be dancing on her 4-week trip in Buenos Aires, before going back to "reality". We went to an Armenian restaurant near La Viruta, waited in line for an hour (I mean, if most food here is meat meat meat, everyone would be dying for something different and would wait in line forever for it). Armenian food is nothing different from Greek or Turkish food (though if you make any comparison to Turkey you'd be likely shot on the spot). If I ever do live here the culinary diversity of even New Haven would be sorely missed in this city of no-new immigrants.

(BTW: even if I have already complained about this, I will do so again: how can the Italian culture, one of the richest in culinary excellence, have sent off so many of its sons and daughters who obviously jettisoned their culinary expertise on the ship to Argentina and ended up making the worst pizzas and pasta imaginable in a restaurant?)

We then walked over to Milonga 10 because we thought it was free, according to its organizers on facebook as a promotion for the last milonga before they leave for vacation. We were surprised by the door guy asking us to pay. In the end, we put our stuff down and didn't pay.

I had a few very nice tandas. It remains the best milonga for me and I am sorry to see that it was my last one there on this trip. It's cozy, the people are friendly, and the level is quite good.

The farewell was bittersweet.

But then, I will see her in Providence in three weeks. Still, why are farewells always so hard? Or only for the sentimental me?

Earlier in the day I went out to Recoleta market and bought myself a mate gourde with a bombilla, both made of plant material, completely, nothing metallic (which isn't inferior or less popular with the locals). There I bought a little farewell souvenir for this tanguera who had quickly become one of my favorite dancers. She was the one who trained with me on the last private class with Marcelo; and so we were part of each other's growth here. She had improved immensely. I can only hope I did too!

Recoleta market is only about 7 minutes walk from me. It's weird how I don't know my own neighborhood! Possibly because my tendency is to always go somewhere else, leave home, run run run. Possibly because I wrote Recoleta off as a posh (therefore snobby) place and that more original places like San Telmo and even Boca are more interesting. Either way, I am missing a lot with my tendencies and my stereotypes. I haven't even been to the cemetery here, just because I wrote it off as a "tourists'" destination.

After Recoleta I met up with my new comer friend in Belgrano and walked down to La Glorieta outdoor milonga. There was only one or two couples dancing so we went to a nearby parilla where I had my second steak here. I forgot to tell them to make it medium rare, so it came on my place as well done! Still, it was very flavorful, mmmm. I got to chat more with my new friend (you know, the new comer who snubbed me in Houston, oh, I still remember? :-). She lived in Israel and opened my mind a little about Israel's problems. I could see I have been at least a little unfair with my judgment of Israel over the Palestinian issue. It was very fun talking to her about it.

Back to La Glorieta. I had a good time, especially the second Porteña I danced with (not counting the great dance with my Israeli-American friend). But she, on the other hand, had the single-worst dance in her life with this Porteño. I told her, I hope you now can feel the right not only to say "No" to an invitation but a "Gracias" in the middle of a terrible tanda. The guy was stepping on her toes nearly every step for SIX songs at the last tanda. I hope she learned that the best thing a woman can do for a man and for herself is to say and do what she feels.

After that and Milonga 10, I was tired, too tired but too hyper. So we went to, you guessed it, La Viruta and just sat there for half an hour watching people dance. They even danced SIX chacareras, to which I would have done if I had found someone.

It was a night of some bittersweet sentiments, some dancing, some more mind-opening, and in the market, some time for myself.