After eleven years living, dancing, teaching tango, and writing in Buenos Aires, I came home to L.A. in 2014, where I'm reconstructing my life.
Sunday, February 11, 2007
SI! to the pretty pose on the left, NO! NO!! to the photo at the right
Tina Tangos' blog has some do and don't photos that are worth a hundred words: http://tinatangos.wordpress.com/
And now that we know how to sit when we get there, here's Miss Cherie's advice on how to successfully crash a milonga in Buenos Aires;
I enter the dance hall alone. Wearing a simple black dress, I pull out all the stops for a dramatic arrival, sweeping through the crowd behind the maitre d’ to a table on the edge of the dance floor. I walk tall and straight as if I were the headliner on stage at the Follies Bergeres. I make sure everyone sees me. If I had a full length fur, I’d drag it on the floor behind me. Then I cross my legs (see photos) being careful to show my thighs, and fan myself with a red Spanish fan.
I look around the room for partners with expectation and animation, seeking the eyes of men I would like to dance with. I’ve already changed into my tango shoes in the lobby or the taxi. I’m ready to dance and it shows. The only time I leave my table is to accept an invitation to dance or to go to the ladies’ room. Waiters bring my drinks, and there is no table hopping. When a stranger asks me to dance, I immediately am enclosed in his intimate embrace as if we were exchanging a loving hug, my arm around his neck, his breath on my cheek. Where am I?
You can be sure it’s not in the United States.