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The
Taxi dancers! |
Picture this, Girlfriends:
It is midnight and your pumpkin turns into a chariot. You arrive to
a grand
ballroom, all stained glass and chandeliers and ornate ironworks
curling
through the marble staircases.
At the entrance there are stacks of casino chips on a small table.
You buy
a few, they’re only $3.00 each, why not? How does this work?
You’re not
quite sure. You walk into a fairytale land of live music that tugs
at your
heart and nearly makes you weep.
You are in Buenos Aires and it’s your first Milonga, tango dance
parties
that begin at midnight. You look around for familiar faces and
finally spot
you friends, sitting at one of the many tables circling the old
wooden
dance floor with its ceiling up to heaven. Each chip buys you a
“set” of 4
dances from a taxi “dancer.” You look around the
crowded floor and spot
them in their black tight Tshirts and black pants, hair slicked
back..
Do you dare call a taxi Buenos Aires style? The music pulls you to
your
feet, your arm goes up slowly, your chip visible between your
fingers. This
feels so strange: sugar mama, wanton creature, you, you want to
dance and
you’re willing to pay for it! OK, here we go. That one over there
– you
signal him, he comes to your table smiling, gallantly offers you his
hand
and off you go. The sacred tango teachings are swirling in your
head: line
of dance, body slightly forward, relax but don’t collapse, don’t
look down,
keep you axis, relax your shoulders, elbow pointed down and on and
on and
on.
Then you close your eyes and remember to simply follow his chest,
his heart
It is here you connect in the immediate moment with no plan to plot
or
follow. One dance is over and you stand around for a minute talking
about
nothing because, of course, he doesn’t speak a word of English The
music
starts again and this time it is easier to get into the tango zen of
now.
Finally, it is over. Wasn’t that only three dances?? You are
relieved you
did not fall flat on your butt, didn’t slice up somebody privates
with you
deadly stiletto heels, only stepped a few times on your taxi’s toes
and only
crashed into a few others, coupled in tango tangles.
You open your eyes, look around slightly dizzy, dazed…pin the tail
on the
donkey?? Wait a minute…where the hell did you friends go???
Interesting,
but completely unfamiliar faces glance at you from your table. What
jerks
to have deserted you in the middle of the night, in the middle of
nowhere,
in a place you don’t know. Wait! You spot them on the opposite
side of the
ballroom.
Ah, the taxi dancers of Buenos Aires…Essssooo…One of my friends
really
lucked out. She said, “Galina,not only was my taxi a taxi dancer, he
was
also a taxi driver, so I got to dance and get a ride home too… Esssooo…….to
be continuedGalina Brouwer,
May 2 , 2006
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CLUB
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