Tango, etc.

Last night, in the cab on the way home, the driver asked me where I was from. "Los Estados Unidos," I replied. He asked me if I was pro-Bush or anti-Bush. I said anti-Bush, at which point he turned around, took my hand, and shook it. The next day, when trying to direct me to a flea market, a few people told me that it was in San Telmo, "you know, the place where Bush's daughter got her purse stolen (chuckle, chuckle)." It's become a matter of national pride, that Bush's daughter was robbed in their country. Hahahaha.

I'm really loving the Argentinian accent. They pronounce the double L sound like "zhe" (as in, MoZHan), instead of the y sound we're all used to. Their Y is pronounced with a soft J, somewhere in between "zhe" and "je". The whole thing lends itself to a vaguely Brazilian sound, not the staccato, muscular, rapid-fire sounds of Spanish from Spain. That coupled with the insanely deep pitch of the Argentinian male voice - the kind most other people achieve with the somewhat paradoxical combination of lots of smoking and lots of vocal training - makes me go nuts for the Argentinian accent!

In other news, I had my first tango class today. For those of you who don't know, there was a brief period of time during college and while I lived in Berlin when I took tango classes and went to the occasional tango salon. I didn't stick with it long enough to get that great, and for some reason sort of lost the thread. Today, I went to "Confiterie Ideal," which by night is an apparently wildly popular tango salon, and by day, at least by THIS day, was an empty restaurant, with all the chairs pushed back, and a very old couple teaching tango to foreign tourists. My friends, today I remembered both why I love the tango, and why I never stuck with it.

Why I love it: it's pretty spectacular and sophisticated. It manages to be fun, sexy, and spontaneous, while remaining within these oddly strict and refined set of steps. Watching really great tango dancers is incredibly thrilling.

Why I let it go: you have to deal with some pretty insane people. For some reason, many of the people drawn to tango are total nutjobs. And if you're a lady, like myself, you have to deal with these nutjobs leading you, and telling you what to do with a lot of authority, whether or not they're deserving of it.

There was a couple today, for example, wearing matching knee length khaki shorts and shiny, black patent leather tango shoes with black socks pulled up all the way, who insisted on speaking with me in bad Spanish even though they were from San Diego (yes, they knew I was American). Then there was an Italian man who danced horribly and critiqued my every move, giving me his secret tips to improve my gait.

I did find myself in the very absurd position of translating Spanish into German. The tango teacher was trying to tell this German girl (who had been dancing with the Italian man) NOT to dance with the Italian man because he was so bad he was going to confuse her. But she didn't speak any Spanish (or English), and the teacher didn't speak any German, and for some reason, the teacher came up to me and pleaded with me to tell the girl, "PLEASE! Please tell her not to dance with that man anymore!" My head was spinning from all the slap-dash translating, especially from one language I don't speak, into another language that has receded into the netherworld of my brain where all the passive knowledge lies.

My new friend Gisela (another friend of a friend), informed me today that most Argentinians do NOT, contrary to popular belief, dance the tango, and that it's mainly for old people and for tourists. Haha.