It's every male wallflower's dream: walk into a hall of beautiful people, choose the woman you would like as a partner, nod confidently in her direction, and watch as she meets you on the dance floor. One caveat: In this country, when you take her hand you had better know how to tango.
With the goal of understanding my fascination with the dance and maybe learning a few steps, I introduce myself to Edith Paez, a tango instructor in Buenos Aires.
"It's OK to be a beginner in an all-level class?" I ask.
"No problem," she says.
"Good, because this is my first tango lesson."
Her face drops.
"Suerte!" Paez quips, exhibiting some Argentine pluck. Good luck.
My obsession with the dance began in Paris where, weather permitting, a tango group meets a few times a week in an amphitheater on the banks of the Seine. The music caught me first: somehow light, sultry, and full of longing, with the accordion-like bandoneón grabbing my heartstrings as I rode by on my bicycle. I watched, entranced, trying to understand it all, but it seemed beyond me - everyone was doing different steps, forcing me to watch one couple at a time, and even then, I couldn't figure it out. No matter. Simply watching and listening was a beautiful way to spend an evening.
In Buenos Aires, tango fanatic and area native Silvia Guzmán agrees to be my guide and immediately puts a finger on what fascinates me most about the dance.
"It's three minutes of connection," she says as we watch dancers go 'round in counterclockwise circles at the Salon Canning "milonga," or tango hall. "You're always right in front of your partner, never next to each other."
The sensuality is delicious. We watch instructors call out a few steps - "uno, dos, tres" "apart, together, apart" - as his feet scissor in and out between hers, which flare in circles. When the class ends and the floor fills, people aren't just connecting, they're smoldering. I zero in on one couple and while their feet flit about, cat-and-mouse style, their heads touch, and their chests are pressed together. I might as well be staring through a bedroom window.
Nothing this exciting will be happening for me anytime soon. Guzmán steers me toward websites and tango magazines that list courses happening at almost any given hour around town. There are so many that it's like looking up movie listings in the States: Starting around noon, pick the time you want to go and there's a class or three happening, broken down by skill level.
