Verde, Mucho Verde!

Buenos Aires Travel Blog

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OK, so here we are. A beautiful city with a rhythym all it´s own. As we are in the city that created Tango, Cass wants to try it. I subtly suggest that I cannot in any way assure the safety of her toes. She wants to do it anyway.
First though, we tour the city. We see a river so polluted that were rivers people, even the Torrens and the Yarra would look at the Därsena and say "Damn you stink!" On the way we see beautiful parks, statues to long gone heroes and liberators. Churches proclaiming the magnificence of their chosen deity, it´s all quite inspiring.
The only real culture shock has been the grand divide between poor and wealthy.
Another little thing that comes up is this: We´re still trying to speak spanish, albeit not very well. We´re getting by though.
However, it seems that should we require some assistance, very few shop keepers understand English, UNLESS they have people toting their wares in the streets, then all of a sudden they speak with a slight west american lilt as they enquire "You speak English?" It seems that a bank employing professional security and tellers cannot get the nuances of the queens language, but a tout on the street can converse in it like a native.
Still, It is my fault for not knowing the language as well as I should.
After the city tour, it´s time to tango.
We´re picked up from the Hotel by a bus, then on to the tango house. We´re met by the instructor, a girl of no more than 19 who moves like a cat. She greets us in rapid fire Spanish and noticing the blank look on our faces says "English?" and proceeds to welcome us.

I´m no expert on dance instructors, but this one must be very good, as she got cass and I to a degree of proficiency in tango above and beyond what I expected. Although, what I expected was to fall flat on my face and to bruise and batter cassies feet until they resembled flippers.
So, then it´s on to the show. I swear they do the lesson first to show how hard it is to do this stuff. My paltry attempts at seven dance steps are soon forgotten when the 6 tangoistas dance and fly around in an act that could be at home on the stage of cirque du soleil. All the while stamping and moving in time with the music provided by a live band of a double bass, a violin a piano and an accordion. Apparantly, unlike western cultures, a man who can play an accordion is not stoned and ridiculed, but appreciated as a serious artist. Go figure.
Towards the end they get us up for a dance. Cassie is selected by a guy who has more oil in his hair than the entire gulf, and I get a lady who has more than a passing resemblence to a stripper I saw some time ago.
After that its off home to bed.
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Tony Bennet and his bitches
OK, so here we are. A beautiful city with a rhythym all it´s own. As we are in the city that created Tango, Cass wants to try it. I subtly suggest that I cannot in any way assure the safety of her toes. She wants to do it anyway.
First though, we tour the city. We see a river so polluted that were rivers people, even the Torrens and the Yarra would look at the Därsena and say "Damn you stink!" On the way we see beautiful parks, statues to long gone heroes and liberators. Churches proclaiming the magnificence of their chosen deity, it´s all quite inspiring.
The only real culture shock has been the grand divide between poor and wealthy.
Another little thing that comes up is this: We´re still trying to speak spanish, albeit not very well. We´re getting by though. However, it seems that should we require some assistance, very few shop keepers understand English, UNLESS they have people toting their wares in the streets, then all of a sudden they speak with a slight west american lilt as they enquire "You speak English?" It seems that a bank employing professional security and tellers cannot get the nuances of the queens language, but a tout on the street can converse in it like a native.
Still, It is my fault for not knowing the language as well as I should.
After the city tour, it´s time to tango.
We´re picked up from the Hotel by a bus, then on to the tango house. We´re met by the instructor, a girl of no more than 19 who moves like a cat. She greets us in rapid fire Spanish and noticing the blank look on our faces says "English?" and proceeds to welcome us.
I´m no expert on dance instructors, but this one must be very good, as she got cass and I to a degree of proficiency in tango above and beyond what I expected. Although, what I expected was to fall flat on my face and to bruise and batter cassies feet until they resembled flippers.
So, then it´s on to the show. I swear they do the lesson first to show how hard it is to do this stuff. My paltry attempts at seven dance steps are soon forgotten when the 6 tangoistas dance and fly around in an act that could be at home on the stage of cirque du soleil. All the while stamping and moving in time with the music provided by a live band of a double bass, a violin a piano and an accordion. Apparantly, unlike western cultures, a man who can play an accordion is not stoned and ridiculed, but appreciated as a serious artist. Go figure.
Towards the end they get us up for a dance. Cassie is selected by a guy who has more oil in his hair than the entire gulf, and I get a lady who has more than a passing resemblence to a stripper I saw some time ago.
After that its off home to bed.
Tony Bennet and his bitches
Tony Bennet and his bitches