I thoroughly enjoyed watching this video, a pastime I seldom allow myself.  But for  20-some minutes I sat glued to my iBook while real work nagged at me. Elizabeth Gilbert is a genius of sorts, the way Madonna is. Both are skillful in a few areas. Most people who excel in any one of those areas normally don’t bother to be skilled in the others. For example, Madonna sings, dances, and acts, all beautifully, but you wouldn’t call her a virtuoso in any one of those arts. It is her ability to cross-over, cross-breed her talent, along with her savvy management, that adds up to her unique  “madonna-ness” or what Gilbert might label “freakish success.” I am a fan of Madonna’s.

And I enjoyed Gilbert’s book, Eat, Pray, Love. I did almost put it down, but then I got to the part where the author begins to have crying jags over not wanting to get pregnant or to have children. I laughed out loud and thought, There’s nothing to it. Don’t get pregnant, don’t have kids, if you don’t want to. But without dramatic tension and deep conflict there is no story, in life and in literature. She wove that thread deftly.

I am grateful for a female author of Gilbert’s renown and stature, who shares my passion for the writing life and who loves kids, but doesn’t think, in her (my) case, there is room for them. She has been vilified as narcissistic. She may be, but that’s irrelevant to me. Is this label a double standard? Hers is a piece of literature where the woman is the heavy, telling the man, no, rejecting him, going off to have a torrid affair, and look for her soul. And then writing about it. Henry Miller did it. Norman Mailer did it. Hemingway . . . you can name the others. Heretofore, we had Erica Jong’s thinly-veiled fiction, Fear of Flying. But that seems to have crash landed long ago.

In Eat, Pray, Love, the writing is good, often excellent, but not great. What is my definition of great? Well, for one thing it would be a type of writing I felt I couldn’t achieve, like say, in Cynthia Ozick’s essays (even those with which I don’t agree). I and many others can and do write as Gilbert does. A commercial success, like hers, today or in the past, does not equal greatness. But it does merit our attention and consideration. (If her publisher wants to give me the same $200,000 advance, we can test this hypothesis—I’ll write Eat, Pray, Dance . . . )

Gilbert has done well in creative non-fiction, has written fiction, and is a noteworthy journalist. She is, like Madonna a cross-over talent: novelist, essayist, short story writer, biographer, memoirist—and, as her TED lecture proves, a standup comedian (I thought she was funny, the way Julie Sweeney is, with lots of substantial sobering commentary).

That she is not a virtuoso in any one of those above areas might well be a key to her “freakish success.” The times of sharply focused apprenticeship in one area have been over and done since the Middle Ages.

I stood in awe of Gilbert’s delivery of her talk —sans notes. Could she have memorized it all? I am fire and ice when I have to speak before a live public audience. I admired her ability to put herself at dead center of her talk: People keep asking me how am I going to top this huge success, EPL, she posits. And this, she suggests, makes her want to become self-destructive like Mailer, Hemingway, Woolf, etc. I’m sure only a small percentage ask that rhetorical question. But she made it her throughline, most skillfully.

So then, from the specific she leaps to the universal: Look at what we (society) do to our artists. It’s easy to get on board with her, because it is true we don’t support our artists/writers enough. But she doesn’t have time to cover the nuance, which maybe is the very oxygen of true greatness (something to ponder).

I’ll let you watch the lecture and enjoy her premises and conclusions, entertainingly delivered. The one assertion of hers, I’d take issue with, big time, is that we consider “genius” as an entity outside of ourselves, the way Greeks and Romans created gods for every human trait. (Never mind that I think she misrepresented the Greeks’ and Romans’ forms of belief in gods/mythology). But, the danger in this assertion is one that is highly visible today. The violence, wars,  bloodshed, and incredible inhumanity today has a direct link to the belief in this one god up there in heaven who is apart and separate from our human race. It has allowed us all to abdicate responsibility.

No, Elizabeth, do not take away the mysticism of genius, creation. It dwells in me, is me, of me. If I want to harm myself, I won’t blame society. I’ll take full responsibility, not blame God or anyone else.

I will not become a numb, jaded expat.

This evening, Azucena, the lovely portera in my building here on Arenales, invited me to see a tango show, BsAs Pasion de Tango at Centro Cultural Borges in Galeria Pacifico. The production is the skillful, impeccable work of Jorge Sergiani (a friend of Azucena’s). Since I see so much tango in milongas, I seldom go to shows, but this was a gift. With the vibrant, energetic companionship of Azucena, I’d go most anywhere

And was I ever glad. The show was amazingly good—better than Forever Tango, which I last saw about two years ago in San Fran. The staging, choreography, costumes, lighting, and dancing were all superb, a very tight fit with the music. There was one jaw-dropping number to Pugliese which I’d watch over and over—so I bought the video afterward in the lobby. There was another number, in which the dancers sort of mocked themselves, a jokey rendition of the Nuevo tango steps that fundamentalist tangueros disdain so much. And in so doing they mocked the overly serious tangueros, too. There was a singer whose voice was rich, strong, forceful, and filled the little theater.

The music was live—piano, violin, bass, and bandoneon were excellent. I highly recommend this show, even to tango dancers who often turn up their noses to stage tango, why I don’t know. It’s beautiful to watch and you can absorb so much about body mechanics. I love the aerials, especially when they coincide with the music, as they did tonight on this small stage. I didn’t much care for the show Tanguera. It did not fill the room and was full of small, miniscule moves. But this show was big and expansive, filling the room. The crowd roared.

I couldn’t help but notice the musicians, who, like some of those I would study back in San Francisco after an evening at the symphony, look like ordinary people, even frumpy some of them, who go home to musty apartments, filled with old newspapers, empty cups of coffee, stale smoke. I mean, in comparison to the jazzy, flamboyant dancers, how could they not look frumpy? The bandoneonista was probably in his 60s and I loved watching him sit and work that squeeze box. My mind drifted back to when he was in his twenties, here in Buenos Aires, loving his “axe.” But then the government went bad, the lights went out in his favorite clubs, tango went dark. The last dictatorship, which began its sordid life in 1976, quashed Argentine culture.

On January 17, 1977, some of its henchman nabbed a 28-year-old surgeon who treated the poor in a suburb just outside of Buenos Aires. Her husband, Abel Pedro Madariaga, watched in horror as army officers in civilian garb pushed her into a Ford Falcon and drove off. She was pregnant.

All we know today is that they had her deliver her baby, then murdered her, how we may never know. Let’s only hope against hope, with a bit a mercy, if that is possible. The baby was given to a military family.

That baby today is a 33-year-old man, Francisco Madariaga Quintela. He found out through DNA testing, following years of suspicion who he was (his “adoptive” father was a violent man he never felt part of). He was united with his biological father Abel Pedro Madariaga and they gave a press conference in Buenos Aires, Tuesday, Feb. 23, 2010, smiling big. Abel said he had gone on living only for this moment.

The Madres, grandmothers and mothers who have survived that reign of terror called a Dirty War (Guerra Sucia), have helped some 100 of these kidnapped babies of murdered mothers to reunite with any biological family that is left. Francisco is the 101st one.

So it’s not a stretch to say that the bandoneon moans and cries and has other human-voice qualities. It has seen, heard things, been stashed in an attic, retrieved. Thank heavens, tango survived its darkest period.

Azucena probably didn’t notice the flower vendor, as I did. Yerba mate, flower kiosks that keep hours through the night, are for her as much a fact of life as tango, as the “disappeared” children.

But as I watched him cradle his mate gourd’s sorbete (straw) an inch from his lips, staring off, he became a freeze frame. An image, forever indelible, that is my Argentina, along with Franciso and Abel’s smiling embrace, along with suffering I am incapable of imagining.

Live At Salon Canning – Video of Great Dancers – Buenos Aires’ Best

More to come in the next weeks. Enjoy!

These are three of my favorite tango videos—of me dancing and holding forth on tango. I used to be shy, not a ham. But when I tango, I’m on another plane, hardly aware that I’m being watched . . . something like that. The above video, produced by Martin Jacovella, gets me in a lot of trouble for my assertion that “tango is easy.” Let me further annoy the nay-sayers: “Tango is easy.” Enjoy.

Click here to view the embedded video.

I bring to my workshops more than thirty years of experience in publishing as researcher, writer, editor, and instructor in a vast array of subject areas including food, travel, essay, memoir, fitness, health, mind/body/spirit, creative non-fiction, fiction, and more. My work has appeared in numerous publications, including Islands, Country Living, Yoga Journal, North American Review, Vegetarian Times, San Francisco Chronicle, Los Angeles Times, Christian Science Monitor, Washington Post, and the New York Times.

Memoir (or travel-memoir) writing is hot as ever now, especially for women, and that is one of my favorite areas to teach. On that subject, as well as on food and mind-body-spirit themes, I’ve been giving instruction and workshops here in Buenos Aires (to expats) for the past year. My classes are small enough that I tailor my teaching to the individuals—we work as a group with one-on-one time for everyone, and a follow-up consultation, whether days or weeks after the workshop is over.

I work with novice writers who just want to get their piece or book out and with talented, experienced writers who want to ramp up their publishing opportunities. I am big on encouraging all my students of all levels to look toward publishing, and I help them research their options. I help them grasp the ever-morphing markets in books and all pubs, guiding them through the big divide: between the Net’s “social media” (what is respectable, what is exploitative and not worthy of their prose) and the bastions of journalism.

I teach that artful writing is not enough today, that one needs to know craft. I tell the meek and timid that getting their writing published is not about the ego, although it is always a blissful boost, but about their being heard, validated, having their convictions aired, and advancing the great dialogue of humankind. So, I have them each aim for three markets: easy-to-get-into, mid-level (a challenge), and the Platonic Ideal. Even if they are working on books, I encourage incremental writing of pieces they can publish. This helps them activate what I call their “autonomic writing system”—where writing becomes as automatic/necessary as breathing and you can’t NOT do it.

I guide writers through the book-proposal process for non-fiction. I’ve done work with novelists, guiding them through the chase for an agent, a hugely different process from non-fiction books. I teach that the inner critic is our friend, and tell how to cultivate that friendship. Besides experience and passion, I bring knowledge, fun, and entertainment (twist my arm and I’ll give a tango demo to the class), and I can’t help but, here and there, allude to how my years of Zen meditation has enabled my writing life.

I’m happy to offer special-themed classes, on demand:  say strictly food, travel, or memoir, even tango. My entrée into publishing was through my mouth—as food critic on a bi-monthly French newspaper in San Francisco. I was a cookbook editor at Rodale Press in the 1980s. My first-ever cookbook, Rodale’s Basic Natural Foods Cookbook (1983, I’m co-writer with Carol Munson), is still in healthy circulation. I was food editor at VIA Magazine and have written on food for the New York Times and other “bastions.”

Themes I’ve taught or lectured on:

• How to make your travel memoir writing stand out above the crowds

• How to quit your day job and move to another hemisphere, write now!

• How to activate your “Autonomic Writing System”

• Why the much-maligned Inner Critic is your friend

• How to write captivating features or essays about place with personal perspective

• How to Write a Cookbook/proposal

• How to query editors/agents/publishers.

For more info, contact me through my Web site. Email ocaramia@earthlink.net.

I finally got to Mar del Plata, Argentina’s much loved and much maligned seashore. Those guilty of the latter have certainly not grown up in New Jersey where the seashore sports some of the same grit. The tango—at Milonga de Gente Madura, at 3540 Gascon near España—was wonderful (phone: 54-223-495-2196).

I don’t gamble (at least not with my money) but I loved the casino – a bit of Atlantic City, Monte Carlo, and the French Riviera. Its architecture is eye pleasing. Yes, there are a lot of unsightly highrises, too, near the beach—but the same is true of every world-famous resort city I’ve ever been to—the aforementioned, plus Copacabana, Ipanema, Ixtapa, y mas.

Actually, Mar del Plata is not all that dirty. There was an accumulation of trash on one beach at shoreline. But many, if not most, beaches are clean. I swam at Cabo Corrientes, which was quieter and much less crowded than the popular La Perla. The water was in the high sixties (Farenheit), which is warm to me since I swim in SF Bay (as low as 55 degrees)

I took the bus, Pulsamar, from Retiro Station in Buenos Aires—took about five hours. I stayed at the comfortable Punta del Este hotel at 2563 Moreno, about five blocks from the beach (200 pesos/night, buffet breakfast included; room was small but fine; info@hotelpuntadeleste.com.ar, 54-223-494-2000). I loved walking along the long seacoast – much of it very scenic. I loved walking in Los Troncos and Divino Rostro barrios—they are stunning, see photos below. I found Villa Victoria – V. Ocampo’s home on Matheu, now a museum and her sister Silvana’s former villa, on Tucuman. In case you don’t know her, Victoria was a well-endowed Argentine intellectual in the 1900s. She published a famous literary magazine, Sur, that showcased many great writers from Jorge Luis Borges to Henry Miller.

I can recommend one restaurant, Casa Mama on Belgrano, about the 2200 block; steer clear of Montecatini – yuk. The city feels safe and I walked everywhere. I loved its seaside resort energy and bustle. Disfrute!

strolling along the malecon

Strolling the lovely barrios, Troncos

Teaching tango this morning to virgins – pure beginners, I had them first just walk as they normally would walk, in a circle, the line of dance, which is always counter-clockwise. Next, I had them walk applying sensory awareness techniques that are commonly used in guided meditation, Feldenkrais, Pilates, Alexander technique, and the oldest known practice of SA on earth, yoga.

First, I directed their awareness to their feet and the lower extremities in general. Watch how you step when you walk without thinking about. Now, consciously direct your feet how to step, various different ways:

—heel first, then rolling toward the instep, metatarsals, toes touching last.

—or ball of foot first, then, without dropping your body, roll down slowly into the full step.

Feel your weight distributed over the entire foot. Notice if you tend to pronate or supinate.

Now slow it down, so that you feel your body’s center of balance at every centimeter of locomotion. Pick up your foot slightly off the floor, standing balanced on the other. Move the airborne foot slow and close to the body, poising (or shaping) the foot for how it will be placed, heel or ball of foot first, whichever you decide.

Imagine you are a panther stalking its prey.

Imagine home base for the two feet is together touching, even when one is in the air slightly (this is the collection, all important in tango).

Sometimes bevel the stepping foot (bend it like a wing, as if you pronate when you walk, which means you step first on the inside of your foot). Place the metatarsal of the big toe, then the big toe, on the floor before you slowly roll down the rest of the foot. Imagine your foot is a big paw grabbing the floor soundlessly. All the while you are balancing and preparing the other foot to do the same motion.

Notice how your knee leads your foot. If it doesn’t – if you lead with you foot, you are marching. Focus on the knee for a while, letting it be the pilot for the rest of the leg. It should be flexed, softly.

Keep moving now but try to never have both feet on the ground at once – have one always slightly in the air ready to mindfully touch down. Put your mind in your foot. It’s OK, even better, if “in the air” simply means a little centimeter off the ground. Or even brushing the ground—but no weight on the foot.

Keep your arms relaxed at your sides, never stiff.

Direct your awareness to your lower and mid torso, finding your own center of gravity (the dynamic place that helps you balance the rest of you without falling over one way or the other). Feel your spine or axis running through your torso and center of gravity. Stretch it up without hyper stretching. Feel it’s power (all messages and information run up and down the spine). Stop mid-step now and then and pause and listen to the silence.

Now move again, slowly, placing your feet with determination to ground them, grabbing the earth as if your feet are claws. Feel that energy of grounding to the earth. If you do fall over, come back to your center and keep on. No recriminations.

Pause. Listen to the silence.

Next I had them break down into partners and do this exercise together, switching roles as leader and follower. Very informative and useful to the technique of tango.

How does it feel to put your mind where your feet are?

The lesson, or moral of the story: tango builds on natural, organic movements of the body. It asks you to move according to body mechanics you’ve known for ages. It is not like tap dancing, say, that asks the body to step out of its norms (because, for one reason, tap dancing arose from the urge to drum, to beat). Tango asks you to drop all notions of dance, to stay out of your own way. And just dance. Naturally.

Eugenio Maria follows me around like a puppy, trying to be heard over the din of music and chatter. He is telling me I’m beautiful or something similar. We’re milling around at the Christmas party awaiting the Tango Show at Jose T. Borda psychiatric hospital in Buenos Aires where I assist in tango classes a couple of times a month. This will be the last tango class until March because it is too hot and humid in summer here. The bright, airy cafeteria has ceiling fans but no air conditioning. Too many of the residents, all men, smoke. But I’m not about to make a fuss over that addiction when they’ve ostensibly conquered others worse.

Last time, I let Eugenio hug me but today he is beaded with sweat. So I press his arm affectionately and keep him at a distance. He speaks English, not badly. He says he lived in New Jersey once. He doesn’t tell me why or how. I sense his memory is fragmented. His teeth are brown as shoe polish. He is paunchy. He says he’s 47. And he looks younger. He has a baby face despite all the abuse his body has taken.

Last time, a psychologist told him he shouldn’t just go up to people (like me) and bother them with touching.  But I don’t find him annoying. Or dangerous. Having danced more than a thousand tangos, I trust my well-attuned instinct to accurately interpret touch. He rubs my arm. Eugenio just wants someone to meet his eyes. I do that. I thank him for the compliment (the tenth or twelfth one). Then we get swept into the dancing to the disco music that plays as we await the show. The wardees are way more animated than last time. They sit at long tables and kaffee klatch. A lot of sugary drinks are passed around. Pizza and pan dulce sit on paper plates.

You can tell the medical staff by their white lab overcoats. You can easily tell the residents by the look of wrecked by hard life—whether imposed from within or from without. They are men without home or family, no kin to take care of them—unusual in Argentina. They have been ravaged by drugs or alcohol or both and by lack of good healthcare and habits.

I smile at one man who looks slap-happy with most of his left ear missing. I walk around the room and admire the artwork, naive, childlike, and optimistic, a word that describes the atmosphere here. I don’t doubt for a second that every human in this room has their corner of despair—but all of us are lifted up by the festivity and lightness of the affair, all greater than the sum of parts.

It’s easy to be upbeat and optimistic when you look at someone like Matias, a glowing success story. Two weeks ago he was the one with the wild and giddy eyes. Now just look at him in his black suit with white tie. He’ll perform with Christine, a volunteer like me. He has gone through a period of rehab here, moved out, and he is teaching tango at a venerable Buenos Aires cafe, El Progreso. He hands me his card with his business name, Tanguito. I see his last name is Italian, Barrabino. That explains his stunning beauty. Nothing about him today bespeaks former druggie. He looks innocent as a priest (back when priests were innocent), even with his little silver earring and curly tail down the back of his neck, totally guileless (that’s him with Christine in photo).

If you want to call Matias for tango lessons, his number is 15-5095-44767 (a cell).

Soon enough the show begins with a little skit. Matias and Christine feign sleeping on a bench. A fairy with blue and silver sparkly mask comes and waves her wand. Fairy dust awakens the dancers and they magically dance tango. Another couple also performs and I don’t know until later that the woman is none other than Graciela Gonzales, the famous Argentine teacher who is known for her adornos, foot decorations.

No wonder I kept pointing my camera at her feet and shooting, more than a dozen photos; those are her legs (top right). Her partner wore burgundy pin-striped pants and burgundy suede shoes and they rocked.

•••••••

We offered a class to the men after the show, teaching them the six-step baldossa box. They really focus and learn it. Among other things, tango addresses the urge to be seen (affirmed) and the urge to be one (with god, the cosmos, yourself). It is great therapy for them. For anyone.

Come Nochebuena (Christmas Eve in Latin countries), these men would be alone, while every other Argentine was at home with his/her family. So they appreciated this fiesta more than anything.

Teaching the baldossa (6-count) box step, Christmas 09

I didn't get his name but he could dance cumbia like a champ.

The artwork is attractive and optimistic at Jose T. Borda

What a surprise--Graciela Gonzales and partner.

….

I had to make an unexpected quick visit back to the U.S. after my mother fell and needed help during her rehab period. She’s 87 and miraculously sustained only a broken tibia. A hairline fracture in her lumbar vertebra was easily patched with cement. The brace, knee pain, and limited mobility bummed her out. She had fallen while running an errand. A strong wind knocked the door of her her Lincoln Continental into her and she fell (in Stevensville, near Annapolis, Maryland).

Zealous, even evangelical, after a three-day International Conference on Tango Therapy  in Mendoza, Argentina, I came armed with my tango music and Big Ideas.

I had seen with my own eyes the healing power of tango. Two women in particular were walking testimony to tango’s salutary effects. Veronica Alegre was stricken with Parkinson’s disease at age 35, some 17 years ago. Silvana Alfonso, age 55, was sidelined with rheumatoid arthritis in her twenties. Both women (who are both medical doctors) talked of the challenging first years of their disabilities, not knowing day to day if they could even get out of bed. Silvana told us that just trying to inch her way across a street (she lives in Rosario, Argentina) taxi drivers would beep at her to get a move on. “I wished they would run me down and end my despair,” she says, laughing now.

Both women found tango after all else failed. They told heart-warming stories of throwing away their crutches, cutting back on their meds, and getting happily independent. Silvana, an artist, too, said she was even skeptical that the dance would help her. Listening to her, Veronica, and others who have told me how tango has helped them deal with bi-polar disorder, I came to think of this dance of dances as “the New Lourdes,” where people hang their crutches and drugs,  literally and figuratively on the Walls of Tango.

Every morning  for nearly three weeks, I would find my mother sitting in her recliner that faced the huge block of glass and plastic that serves as receptacle for the Infant of Prague and votive candles to Mother Mary et. al. It’s also a TV that gets blasted throughout the day while she naps, her sleeping fingers tapping the remote, raising the volume or changing channels through her unconscious state.

“Get up!” I told her the first day. “We’re going to dance.” I might have thought twice and thrice about this approach with any other woman of 87. But this was my mother, wife of my father for 64 years (he died in 2004). They never babied me or any of my nine siblings. So no coddling was forthcoming.

The physical therapist happened to be there the first day and he approved of the dancing. I put on Carlos DiSarli romantic A la Gran Muñeca, Bahia Blanca, and Buenos Aires. When my mother heard the music she went into a trance, not unlike the one in above photo where she is dancing with Dad to their song, Stardust Melody, a few years before he died (on Father’s Day and the Summer Solstice). Note their easy connection and total presence with each other. They loved to dance.

Leaning on her walker, she stood up with that awkward Velcro-locking brace stiffening her left leg. We used an open practice embrace and moved slowly in the line of dance. She stepped with the easy beat of the music. We stood in place some times and did just cadencias, rock steps that move weight from one foot to the other. She tired quickly, so I let her sit before the song was over. But we always kept the music going because there is something curative in the unique rhythm and tempo of tango music (suggests cardiac specialist, Dr. Comasco). Perhaps the crying violins and moaning bandoneon contain a cathartic sound. Eventually, I played Nido Gaucho, a heart-wrenching melancholic song with pastoral lyrics that I sang to her. This too, no doubt, cut in half her mending time (if only because she wanted me to stop singing).

The PT said my mother should not step backwards. But on the second day, she started to move her legs backwards on her own, so we continued with that. She could not comfortably do the pivots required for the ochos (or figure eights), so we did a modified little cross-body kick instead. She always enjoyed herself.

We both hated that brace and were eager to ditch the hideous thing. By the second week her balance and confidence in her own stability had improved tremendously. She graduated from the walker to a cane (see photo, right) and was moving about her single-level home with some abandon.

It is now about two weeks since I left her and returned to Argentina. She threw away the brace earlier this week and the doctor says she probably does not need the knee surgery he had thought would be necessary.

OK, there are those who are attributing her rapid recovery to any number of other factors—Father Bozzelli, her parish priest’s visit; her bible group; her sturdy Sicilian genes; her family of 10 kids, 24 grand-kids, 22 great-grand-kids (the damn phone never stopped ringing); Dave the PT whom she liked; her neighbors who looked in on her; my cooking and singing . . .

But I say tango upped the ante. I should know. We danced  daily for three weeks. And you know what they say about the tango embrace.

For yours and Mom’s health and listening pleasure:

Asi se baile tango (This is how you dance tango)

Malena

Esta noche me emborracho (Tonight I’m gettting drunk)

Mom with great-grandson, Charles Garrett

If you can’t read this flyer go to www.pttangofestival.com.

Gustavo’s eyes were dead or resting in pharmaceutical peace, while Mattias’s were hyper-wild and terminally giddy from years of cannabis and other drug practice.

The thing that stays with me is how well both men, wardees at  Jose T. Borda psychiatric hospital, dance tango.

The hospital is in Buenos Aire’s Barracas barrio and I assisted in the bi-monthly tango class on a Wednesday afternoon. Dr. Guillermo Honig is the psychiatrist in attendance, though he doesn’t participate in the class.

I arrived, not knowing what to expect, but eager to help out. A group of us, including Silvana Perl, a dancer and psychologist; Sol, a doctor-in-training; and Christina, a tanguera from France, began cruising the ward in a decrepit wing of the hospital asking everyone, “Want to take the tango workshop?” Responses ranged from indifference to affirmative. The class is in a new modern wing. But the ward where mostly men were lulling is dismal with ancient cots, old, cracked, crumbling walls, smell of dirty hair and urine, broken floor. Residents’ artwork on the walls attempt to prettify and I have to say there was a certain serenity and I never felt threatened.

Silvana led the hour-long class, her strong raspy voice booming a question: “What do we need to dance tango?” And the attendees booming back: “Attitude!” Applause followed. A sort of pep rally. A wardee was in charge of the music – mostly DiSarli who is easy for beginners to dance to.

She taught the 8-count basico or cruzada. I worked with Gustavo who had very little to say but who picked it up in about 10 minutes. After working in partners for about 15 minutes, each couple showed the class how they did the basico. After each couple went, Silvana asked the group to critique them: on ritmo, tiempo, coordinacion, improvisacion. The group was kind but honest – telling one woman she was back-leading. Gustavo and I got loud applause and high marks on all counts. He gave a weak smile.

Mattias and Christina went last (“He dances like a king!” Christina later told me.) Mattias is going to teach a class there. To me this all says, what I’ve believed always, that tango is like love, like solar energy, like god-consciousness. You can not destroy it. Brains cells are helpful but tangential. Clearly.

At the end of the class—the energy was high. Silvana handed out lyrics to A Media Luz by Carlos César Lenzi and we all sang way out of key, but from our hearts and souls.

If you want to come and participate, next class is December 23, starting about 12 pm with a little show. Email me for help getting there: ocaramia@earthlink.net.

Photos, Ed Waller

They have had no meat, wine, caffeine, sex, drugs, rock ‘n’ roll, or tango for four days. Very little social contact.

They spent most of their waking hours from 4 a.m. til 9 p.m. sitting cross-legged on the floor, staring at a wall. They smile because sensory deprivation is marvelous medicine, salve for the over stimulated mind––and lives of certain tango dancers who get over milongated.

Is your tango dancing suffering from fatigue? Has your dance gone flat? Lost that lovin’ feeling? Are your ochos at sixes and nines? Your voleos lost their kick?

This may be just remedy you need: Nothing.

Oh, the mind is a terrible thing. You know this.

Fifteen of us who believe that went to Vicente Casares, the country retreat outside of Buenos Aires, to not-think. Lovely vegetarian (mostly vegan) cuisine sustained us.

In tango as in meditation you must hold your own axis, or posture, straight up. And let go of thought, of past and future—in other words, of all illusion and delusion.

The essence of happiness, whether sitting still or dancing tango, is from within. It’s all too easy to forget that.

This is not to say that during this fiercely still period the mind is not like a dog (or pony) chewing on the bone (or grass) of the past, panting for the future. It is only to say that during this time, the Great Observer, the god-mind, the awareness that is you before you got conditioned and shaped according to your genetic material and your parents’/teachers’ ways and whims, the you that is not yet or ever Screwed Up, gets a bit of space and sees that there is a beyond, a mas alla, a green pasture, right now and here in this momentito.

Guided depression, sensory deprivations, getting a grip on real time is what it’s about.

Jim facilitated and he started out by asking each of us siblings to describe one of our best memories about growing up:

Tom: Noise, company, love, role models

Grace: Felt safe

Tina: Proud of my brothers and sisters

Terry: Mom gave me hope, Dad gave me affection

Camille: our togetherness, my fantasy-escape life

Lisa: Affection from Dad; never alone

Sal: bantering, discussions

Chuck: no need for outside world

Jim: Whenever people heard I was oldest of 10, felt proud, cool

What are our goals for today?

Tom: Finding the best path for Mom

Grace: Have everyone on the same page to know where Mom is mentally, physically, spiritually

Tina: Regain Mom’s happiness and confidence

Terry: Mom’s safety and maintain family unity

Camille: Shared awareness of Mom’s situation; address immediate needs

Lisa: Get Mom in a place where’s she’s safe and happy

Sal: Address immediate needs for Mom

Chuck: Ditto

Jim : ditto plus awareness

Rules for the meeting:

Tom: consensus not necessary; majority rules

Grace: Focus on goal (don’t go off on tangents)

Tina: non-conflict

Terry: non-violent communication

Camille: no crosstalk (no immediate rebuttal)

Lisa: Allow person to speak their mind

Sal: ditto #5 (Camille)

Chuck: listen to understand

Jim: Total integrity

Immediate needs for Mom (situation):

—Has aged considerably – will not resume vibrancy

—Needs someone to shop, be there when she showers, other assistance around home/community

—Can’t drive

—social interaction

—one in 20 chance of falling (statistic)

Solutions considered (before we voted on priorities):

—Call Tina

—Assess home for falls

—Hire someone to come in

—HomeInstead (a biz that charges $18/hour, minimum $150/week, two days/8 hours)

—Community outreach [Father Bozzelli, Marge (Avon lady’s mom), Kathy & Joe the neighbors, Jennifer, Bible group person, George (Camille’s bike buddy), cleaning women (Corinne, Debbie), others]

—Assessment of Mom

—Temporary stay in assisted living

—mobile wheelchair

—Ask Mom? (I forget what this was)

—Live with one of us

—1/10 of year live with each of us

—Hire someone to live with Mom

—Hire taxi service for Mom

—Put word out to grand kids (to take a “vacation” with Gram)

We then each marked our three preferred solutions, numbering them in order of preference. A CPA among us tallied the votes and the winning top three solutions were:

Assess home for falls

Hire someone to come in

Hire a taxi service

Some discussion ensued with and it was agreed that these three measures did not exclude others. Sal and I agreed on something, for the second or third time during the meeting: community outreach should be kept on the list.

Implementation of solutions was discussed:

—community outreach – Camille volunteered to undertake over a period of 3-4 weeks. This entails calling/emailing the people (mentioned above) and asking them to actively reach out – and specify what Mom needs. Etc, stay tuned for more on this.

—Call mom (more frequently, if/when possible) all of us

—Hire someone to come in. (Jim will spearhead)

—Assess home for falls (Grace)

—Look into assisted living (Terry)

—Hire a taxi service (Lisa)

We addressed the fact that there is a long-term concern, namely Mom’s housing, possible need for assisted living, that the expense would be shared by all, should it come to that. We did not attempt to come to conclusions on this issue, only get it on the table. (Send your comments on this – I don’t recall the whole discussion).

Lisa (and Vadj) who’s been Mom’s “first line of defense” for many years asked for some support – suggesting that NJ/PA family visit Mom every four weeks as this cuts down to some extent on Mom’s intense focus on her for every little thing. Our brothers also offered to try to get to Mom’s for a visit to alleviate the stress on Lisa and Vadj. If they can come three times a year to visit that would come out to once a month for a son to visit as well. Having a family calendar will assist on the weekends that we will offer to visit.

Camille will attempt to throw up a Web page – ideally with a calenda

Did I leave out any important details?

Another long term goal would be to go to Tuscany, rent a villa, for Mom’s 90 th birthday. Tom can trade one visit to Mom by running the organization of the trip.

UPDATE, February 19, 2010:

The workshops are going great. Note that I had originally called them “Travel Writing 101″—but I’ve changed the title to just “writing,” because the level of talent is above that of  “101″ and I’ve been tailoring the classes to the individuals’ various desires.

Learn more about my teaching here.

“Camille Cusumano’s 2-day writing workshop infused my writing practice with a much needed boost. In the workshop, I generated new material and breathed life into old work. Camille created and held the space for me to clarify and focus my writing for two days, allowing me to take a big step closer to my writing goals. And the one-on-one coaching sessions alone were priceless. I walked away from the workshop with a targeted list of targeted resources, valuable insights from a seasoned author and editor, a polished story, the best query letter I’ve ever written and a fistful of additional tools and tips for use in my writing practice. Camille’s teaching method is compassionate, supportive and focused. No matter where you are on your path as a writer, you will benefit greatly from taking Camille Cusumano’s writing workshop!” Katherina Audley, Portland, Oregon, January, 2010:

“Camille is an inspiring teacher, coach and cheerleader. I walked home after her 2-day writing workshop convinced that not only I can, but must write my story—maybe more than one.”
Peter Esser, Ph.D., Buenos Aires, January 2010

I have done my share of writing classes and workshops over the years and, most recently, started one-on-one consultations with Camille which have proven to be HUGELY beneficial. Camille treads tenderly on my art-side of writing, always encouraging and highlighting the good; then she fearlessly takes a surgeon’s scalpel to the craft-side of the writing and demonstrates and explains in great detail how to make the piece stronger and more compelling. At the end of the session, I am left with a polished piece of writing that is true to my story, but one that I also love reading again Life circumstance now puts us in different parts of the world, but thanks to internet and Skype, our consultations continue! I recommend Camille’s coaching/editing services highly.

Oga Cho, world citizen, March 2010

Camille’s 2-day workshop was exactly what I needed! I’ve been writing alone and in writing groups for years but have never felt any of my work was finished and ready to submit. Camille helped me get there. Her knowledge of the market, guidance in approaching editors and getting published, and her patient and focused editing of my work helped me rewrite with a clearer focus and feel confident that it’s ready. I’ve written my first query letter, and I’m excited about working on my many other pieces with the same vigor. I came away with a much better understanding of how publishing works, and a much greater confidence in my ability. Thank you, Camille!

Angela McCallum, Buenos Aires, http://santelmoloft.com

If you can write, there’s a reader waiting to read what you have to say. Why not start publishing your prose? The time has never been more auspicious—and I’ll tell you why. If you are coming to Buenos Aires for your first time, be prepared to find inspiration daily in this lively Latin city and its culture, full of surprises.

If you’ve already been here, you know there is so much to write home about.

In these two-day workshops we’ll work on one-two-three simple goals:

1. Crafting and streamlining a creative, publishable travel story.

2. Listing the many outlets and publications, both hard copy and online, where you can send your work for serious consideration.

3. Getting your work sent out now.

• The workshops will be given in the beautiful Recoleta neighborhood of Buenos Aires, Argentina, near easy public transportation, hotels, restaurants, and great shopping. (It’s a $30 taxi ride from Ezeiza Int’l Airport.)

• These workshops will be fun, no-pressure, and full of inspiration. Each one is limited to no more than eight participants.

• Each workshop lasts two full (eight-hour) days, 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. A typical Argentine lunch (for omnivores and herbivores) is included in the price, along with free beverages throughout the day.

• The workshops are given by me, Camille Cusumano, journalist, book author, and editor with 30 years in publishing.

February is summer’s end in Argentina and the living is easy and exciting. March is like September in the eastern United States – still warm and pleasant.

10 percent discount for members of  Bay Area Travel Writers

Price per workshop:

$195 (for two eight-hour days of instruction)

Choose from any of three sessions:

February 11–12, 2010

March 9–10, 2010

March 17–18, 2010

Extra, at no further charge: Each participant is entitled to a private follow-up consultation on your progress, in person, by phone, or email.

Reserve below, with a $50 deposit, refundable up to a week before workshop starts. Balance due a week before workshop starts. Email me with any questions and tell me a little about yourself: ocaramia@earthlink.net or ocaramia@mac.com.

Workshops by Dates

February 11-12 $195.00 March 9-10 $195.00 March 17-18 $195.00

I bend at the waist to grab my feet in paschimottanasana. My butt-end rises up like a balloon of hot air. Still, I get a great posterior stretch of my lumbar, hams, calves, and achilles. It is a pleasant feeling, this weightlessness. I breathe steadily the whole time—but only out.

Ahhh, the bearable lightness of yoga. I am doing my asanas suspended under water in the pool where I swim here in Buenos Aires—American Sport on Charcas. The water is a comfortable mid-seventies degree, but I am warmed up, having swum laps for at least twenty minutes. My lungs are expanded and elastic, so I can extend my exhalation longer and longer and slightly hold my breath at the end, remaining in each under-water pose for twenty seconds or longer.

I start at the deep end with the forward stretch. There, I also do a floating bow, or dhanurasana. When up, down, and sideways cease to matter in this near-zero-gravity element, you learn a lot about your own body’s participation in a pose. Years ago, I said to a fellow yoga practitioner that I didn’t like the use of props in my yoga. He said, well, then you better get rid of gravity and the floor, too. And so, I have now. There is only the slight resistance of water pressure evenly dispersed over my whole body. I feel my joints as I never do on land and can more accurately assess from where my own resistance to a pose emanates.

My hips open and acquiesce gently into full lotus as I float around like a celestial body in space. I come up for air, treading with my arms, then go under again on the exhalation and slight hold. I can never mistake when to exhale and when to inhale.

Also at the deep end, I do supta padagusthasana, where you grab your big toe and stretch your leg up and out, like a victory sign. The floating variations of this pose are playful.

Down at the shallow end of the pool, I slip into the eagle pose, entwining my two arms and my two legs, like serpents, easily going into the full, deep-squat position, which on land requires the added concentration of balance. I spin around freely underwater, like a pinwheel, always exhaling.

It is delicious to experience the complexity of the pose this way. My muscles and joints are loose and limber and well lubricated by the essence of a liquid environment. I never overdo a pose—as I am prone to on land.

I do an elbow stand. On land I need my props—-a block for my hands to grab, and the support of a wall. But here in about two-and-half-feet of water, I have just enough gravity to keep my forearms firmly planted on the pool floor and using my own muscle power, go into the pose perfectly, squeezing equally on all abdominal, thigh, and glute muscles. During my exhalation I have time to experience the asana with knees straight and bent. It is illuminating to feel the pose this way.

At the wall in the shallow water, I can do those warrior and triangle poses that give you intense side stretches. Finally, I finish up at the deep end with—what else?—matsyasana, or fish pose, then slip into savasana, corpse pose, face down. I contemplate our fixed meanings of words like prop and yoga. Tango.

I bring more than thirty years of experience in publishing as researcher, writer, and editor in a vast array of subject areas including  food, travel, essay, memoir, fitness, health, mind/body/spirit, fiction, and more. Whether you are a novice writer who needs advice, direction getting started, and keeping on track, or a seasoned writer who needs an editor’s critical eye or advice on marketing your work in the ever-changing world of publishing, I can assist you. I can help you with queries, short articles, long features, medium-size or big ideas, book proposals, and most any writing project between. No job too small or too big. I’ll tell you what sells and where, what doesn’t and why, teach you tricks to break through writer’s block. Together we’ll make your prose sing—a tune to be heard by the world.

I work with writers of non-fiction—books and articles—and of fiction, short stories or novels. I tell young and aspiring journalists where to find internships—for pay and/or experience.

My rates are reasonable and I streamline my approach to meet your individual needs. A basic consultation with estimate is free. Contact: ocaramia@earthlink.net

From those halls of truth and knowledge . . .

We—most of us—stepped through the doors of Mother Seton Regional High School one last time in June 1969 and here we are 40 years later.

I don’t think there was a woman in attendance who had actually aged 40-years’ worth. Call it the marvels of modern health, the aerobic age, genes, or our great academic foundation. The day was as radiant as we, and full of autumn brightness; some of us just smiled and beamed, speechless. We’re actually still here and  . . . there really was a place called Mother Seton.

I left NJ in ‘73, right out of college, for San Francisco. This was my first look back at MSR (and for the record, I love vacationing in my native state now).

Nothing like travel to shape perspective. What stood out most for me was what beautiful eyes you all had. How come I never noticed that back then? What was I looking at?

I think we all felt something similar to this: No matter how far our individual paths took us out into the big world, no matter what we’ve suffered or enjoyed, attained or lost, all paths could lead back to this patch of earth that was so defining and significant to all of our formative years; and in some ways it’s as if no time passed. It was wonderful to be around everyone, even those whom I didn’t know well back in the good ol’ school daze.

I arrived late on Saturday morning for the brunch. Sister Regina Martin was just about done speaking and everyone stood up—a receiving line to greet me. No, wait. They’re standing in line for the buffet. I decided to pretend it was a receiving line for me anyway — and collect hugs, which I did. Hugs are a major staple here in Argentina where I’m currently residing, which swine flu hysteria did not diminish.

I regret not having more time to chat with everyone. There were so many conversations begun and too soon ended. I loved hearing about marriages, divorces, children, grand-children (I’m a aunt/great aunt countless times!); new enterprises; careers begun, shifted, or enduring; whose parents are still going strong; whose have passed on the Great Beyond; and all of life’s interesting escapades. The photos were great to see.

I wonder if anyone got photos of us dancing – it was as lively as ever – but I was too busy gettin’ down to shoot. The energy we still have is fabulous. No men, no problem. We can dance. I recall each school year between 1965 and ‘69 begging my parents to send me to a co-ed school. Thankfully, they turned a deaf ear. They knew what I’d learn many years later—it was the hormones speaking. Oh, and they would have their say, in due time.

Mary Jo (who will forever be Mary Jo Spicer to me) had me lined up to give a tango lesson to any interested classmates Saturday after the golden oldie band was done. Regretfully, I had to leave hastily, though, right at 5 p.m. My 87-year-old Mom fell (broke some bones) and I had to drive with my sister Grace Becker (Class of ‘70) to Annapolis. Mom’s doing well in rehab now, amazingly—and she didn’t even graduate from Seton. Let me give a nod to our several classmates who couldn’t attend the reunion because of caring for parents—boy is that a timely topic.

Well, this Web site was set up to help promote my tango book, but you can follow some of my many other travels over the years here. If it looks like all I do is tango . . . well, it was once true. Now I go for tune-ups (it’s an amazing and wonderful dance). But now I mostly write, which has been my professional life since 1977.

Here are some favorite story links: THE BIG NIGHT IN SICILY ; FAMILY REUNION IN SICILY ; and be the first to read just published ROMANTIC BUENOS AIRES.

I will move back to San Fran, home base, sometime in 2010. And, as I have a humongous family in the east (NJ/NY/PA/MD) I will always visit there. So please stay in touch. I’m sure we’ll meet again. My email is ocaramia@earthlink.net.

Let’s not wait another 40 years. Next time: Tango Lessons.

Maria impende juvamen!

This evening in Buenos Aires, I danced at Confíteria La Ideal, the salon where Madonna was filmed performing tango in Evita. Like so much of Argentina’s capital, La Ideal with its marble stairs, Greek columns, beveled mirrors, and dark wood, is an architectural masterpiece but in a bit of disrepair. All of which adds to the romance for those of us who, like South Carolina Governor Mark Sanford, believe of Buenos Aires, “It’s a great city.”

As I walked home down Corrientes, “the street that never sleeps,” passing the floodlit Obelisco, late-night bookstores, cafes, and theaters, I thought what a collateral reward Sanford’s dalliance with Maria Belen Chapur might be for the city of Buenos Aires. When I decided to come live here part-time three years ago, I was amazed at the misconceptions rampant among even my most educated friends. Was I going to learn Portuguese? How was my samba? People confuse it with Rio de Janeiro, which, um, is—still—in neighboring Brazil, where they do speak Portuguese and dance samba.

For the record, a brief primer: as Mark and Maria can tell you Argentina’s official tongue is Castellano, Spain’s most widely spoken dialect. Let me also dispel the notion that Argentina is third world. It is a developed nation, rich in resources, most notably grazing land for its world-renowned grass-fed beef. Few people know that after World War II, Argentina was one of the world’s most wealthy countries. However, a bouncing back and forth between radical and military governments seems to have squandered much of that wealth. In contrast to heavily Amerindian countries like Peru and Bolivia, only about half of Argentina’s population has any indigenous blood. For better or worse, Buenos Aires is a very European city.

And it is incurably romantic. Its ornate, occasionally crumbling, facades are the legacy of Italian architects and French influence. Mark and Maria could have carried on their tryst in style. The city’s crown jewel, the Teatro Colon is closed for renovation, but another gem is the opulent and well-preserved Palace of Running Waters (Palacio de las Aguas Corrientes) on Riobamba Street. Inside, above the bland-as-water offices where Argentines pay their utility bills, is a darkly lit museum, the labyrinthine scene of a macabre crime in Tomás Eloy Martínez’s acclaimed 2004 novel, The Tango Singer. It’s perfect for lovers who wish to lose the downtown crowds—or paparazzi. The mounted pipe fittings and rows of toilet tanks and commodes are not as prosaic as they may sound—even Paris, the City of Light, has made its sewers a top tourist attraction (Le Musée des Egouts). And you can run your hands over artful chunks of the enamel-inlaid terra cotta building, also on display.

The Palacio Barolo on Avenida de Mayo, a sumptuous design of Italian architect Mario Palanti who was inspired by Dante’s Divine Comedy, also holds a spectacular venue on its rooftop. Guided day tours of this literary archetype are available (check online). But one night a month may find me climbing amid the rose marble and shiny brass from purgatory (floors 1 to 14) to heaven (floors 15 to 22) where there is a rooftop cupola. On the roof, every first Tuesday, Tango Moda clothier hosts an open house party. A defunct lighthouse, from which, on a clear day you can see to Montevideo, also graces the roof. Mark and Maria could have easily blended in with the international set of shoppers and dancers, whom fashionista and tanguero, Jorge Arias, fishes out of the dance halls for this event. Drop by—tell him I sent you.

It comes as a surprise to many that Buenos Aires is more Italian than anything else, a result of the waves of European immigrants who landed here in the early 1900s. For many it adds to the city’s romance. The mellifluous dialect, lubricated with many Neapolitan “sh” and “jh” sounds, includes numerous Italo-cisms (Che! Hey! Dale! Let’s go!; and chau, meaning ciao) and an Italianate argot, called Lunfardo (heard frequently in tango lyrics). Porteños, as residents of this port city call themselves, also have a repertoire of hand signals—straight from the old country. They think that their pizza and pasta is better than that of Italy’s. When I eat at such venerable places as El Cuartito on Talcahuano Street or at Pizza a la Parrilla at Scalabrini Ortiz and Loyola, forgive me, Grandparents, I tend to agree.

Buenos Aires is at least as romantic as Paris. Several times a week, I  stroll some two miles along Libertador, the city’s Champs Elysées, passing sidewalk cafes, plazas, and monuments. On or just off this broad axis are six museums that are free or cheap, never crowded, and full of fine art. The most romantic of them are the Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes; the exquisite Museo Nacional de Arte Decorativo, a neo-classical French mansion with portico, Corinthian columns, and the Croque Madame café; and the pint-size Evita Museo, serving up the myth and magic of one immortal Eva Peron. My stroll ends at a park, Tres de Febrero, with a rose garden, pergola, lakes, stone benches, and sculptures to make the Bois de Boulogne look pale.

Just like my times in Paris, every day here I come upon young couples in unabashed lip-lock, completely oblivious to passers-by, in the park, subway, or leaning against the broad-canopied deciduous trees that prettify streets. On a certain night in a certain doorway in the hip barrio of Palermo, you might find me discreetly giving a good night kiss to my favorite tango partner. However, for me, a writer always living on the edge, the real siren call of Buenos Aires is how it evokes what Paris of the 1920s, with its Lost Generation, might have been like.

I felt affirmed in this sentiment when I read The Tango Singer. The narrator, tooling around the centenary market in San Telmo, the oldest part of the city, says “In no other place in the world have things kept the flavor they’d had in the past as much as in this Buenos Aires . . .” The youth who flock to San Telmo and Palermo come as much for the low cost of living as for the enduring artistic, intellectual, and creative juice that is dried up or priced out of their reach in places like Paris, London, Rome, Madrid—and even Prague now. Francis Ford Coppola, a frequent denizen, has shot film in the city as have foreign TV production companies.

I rhapsodized on all this during a recent visit to the café at the back of Ateneo, a multi-tiered Greek theater turned bookstore on Santa Fe Street (if bookstores were futures, this city would have an economy of pure gold). Patrons were curled up on a couch perusing books they could return to a shelf without having to purchase them (this sort of kindness to consumers is widespread in a country that suffered a severe financial crisis in 2001 when, among other things, the peso lost parity with the dollar). Couples huddled conspiratorially over espresso and pastries. A solitary musician coaxed American jazz from a chipped upright piano. He had me lip-syncing and longing to linger with a glass of sherry and a copy of Jorge Luis Borges’ Labyrinths. The country’s most revered author borders on impenetrable metaphysics but he wrote passionately straightforward in a poem, Fundacion mitica de Buenos Aires, about his beloved city, “For me it is a fairytale that Buenos Aires had a beginning/I judge it as eternal as water and air.”

How could the birthplace of tango, whose music Borges loved, not be romantic? The country’s most famous folk dance has been enjoying a renaissance, a long overdue comeback. Tango was suppressed during the last dictatorship, because public meetings were forbidden. For this reason, most baby boomers didn’t learn the dance of their parents and grandparents. Democracy was restored only in 1983, and now the city boasts more than a hundred milongas, the venues where tango and only tango is danced. Some are known by mere word of mouth and it’s a joy to discover them trying to hide from us foreigners, who are desperate for the dance’s organic roots, in little sports clubs of the outlying barrios like Villa Urquiza. But there are tango dance halls all around the city heating up as early as two in the afternoon, some not cooling down until six in the morning.

People ask me, did Mark and Maria tango? I doubt it, but too bad. The milonga, with its very traditional codigos or etiquette, offers a splendid form of communication that might have spared them the embarrassment of those now public emails. In a milonga, men and women agree to dance with each other wordlessly, through a nod of the head or lock of the eyes, called a cabeceo. They implicitly agree to dance a whole tanda, or set of three or four like-themed songs. Between those songs, like all the other dancing couples, they are advised to stand facing each other for about thirty seconds and engage in charla, or chat. Eso! Nobody but the two parties involved ever need know if you’re telling your partner you wish she/he were a better dancer or you like the curve of her/his hips.

At La Ideal this evening, I danced with four different men, two of whom kept up an entertaining competition for my attention, each whispering textbook endearments and little ironic putdowns of each other. One of them wanted me to meet him at a secret haunt, (See Below**) Bistro, tucked away on (See Below**), a narrow pasaje, or passage, right out of Paris’s 16th arrondissement. I didn’t tell him I have met my good friend, Leonardo, at the tiny, intimate cafe many times. Or that throughout the city, amid the architectural disasters of the 1950s and 1960s, there are these lovely lamp-lit cobblestone pasajes.

I left for home without either of the suitors, having gotten exactly what I had come for—the dance, its ineffable embrace, the Zenlike satisfaction of stepping in time with another person to music that has endured seven and eight decades. Beyond romance, the whole empanada—the Obelisco that several years ago was sheathed in a pink condom (for Safe Sex Day); the macho “entertainment” at milongas; the city’s nightlife, its leafy day light; and even the broken sidewalk tiles and constant flow of traffic—is all very exciting. Perhaps in time Mark and Maria will share some of their secret haunts in this city that is sure to now be—correctly located—on any romantic’s map.

**Note: — name of Bistro is withheld upon request of my friend Leonardo. But if you write me an email [ocaramia@earthlink.net], I will share helpful coordinates.

The Larkspur Library presents:

“Tango: An Argentine Love Story”

An Evening with author Camille Cusumano

She dreamed of Buenos Aires and living the sensuous tango life . . . Camille Cusumano, San Francisco resident, did just that. She can tell you about her experiences on which she based her memoir and about the new book she’s writing, Get Tango, Dance your way to happiness.

WHEN: October 1, 2009, 7 pm.

WHERE: Larkspur Library, 400 Magnolia Avenue in Larkspur, California. For more information, call 415-927-5005,or visit www.larkspurlibrary.org

BOOKS AVAILABLE FOR SALE

The event is part of the library’s Armchair Travel Series going on right now, so check it out .

Watch Camille dance with street tanguero in Buenos Aires’ La Boca, one of the barrios where tango:

Click here to view the embedded video.

Tango & More, a non-profit group dedicated to bringing tango to school children and the world, in collaboration with the San Francisco Museum of Performance & Design presents:

“Tango: An Argentine Love Story”
“An Evening with Author Camille Cusumano”

She dreamed of Buenos Aires and living the sensuous tango life . . . Camille Cusumano, San Francisco resident, did just that. She can tell you about her experiences on which she based her memoir “Tango: An Argentine Love Story” and about the new book she’s writing, Get Tango, Dance your way to happiness. The evening’s program includes a reception, reading by the author, tango dance presentation, and a free tango mini-lesson.

WHEN: Tuesday, September 29, 2009 at 7 PM
WHERE: Veterans Building, Fourth Floor
401 Van Ness Avenue #402
San Francisco, CA 94102,

$10 general admission / $8 MPD members
Reservations: (415) 255-4800

Books available for sale

Watch Camille dance with a street tanguero in Buenos Aires’ La Boca, one of the barrios where tango orginated:

Click here to view the embedded video.

by: Stephanie E. Santana | 23 July 2009
section: The Consumer

Early on in Camille Cusumano’s ‘Tango: An Argentine Love Story’, the author mentions the Zen saying: “To relegate it to words is to defile it” as she discusses her perception of tango. Reading about someone’s experiences on tango made me skeptical. While it is one thing to personally experience this intensely stimulating visual and physical art, it seems as if it would lose its essence in book form. Nonetheless, Cusumano manages to recount a fluid moving memoir, holding her audience captive as if we were watching her sway across the dance floor.

“I flow with him like quicksilver on an incline. I am the passive element, shifting with his center until we share one sweet spot, wordlessly agreed upon” reads a phrase in the opening chapter. Written in the present tense, Cusumano’s memoir reads as if she is recounting a long, strange dream. It begins with her departure from a disastrous break-up in the US. She decides to turn her tango vacation into an indefinite stay in a foreign land, leaving behind her past while trying to unpack that baggage in Argentina. Through her Zen practices, she connects her love for tango while attempting to find peace with the life she left behind.

At first glance, this memoir may put off some readers because it appears to be another I-discovered-myself-in-a-foreign-country book. ‘Tango’ is part of a successful series of books edited by Cusumano and distributed by Seal Press about womens’ overseas adventures and their spiritual transformations. Although these recurring themes of self-realization and tango saving her life were at times mentioned excessively in my view, the author also breaks away from her encounters with dance partners to provide insightful and often humorous anecdotes about learning to live the Argentine life. Through these richly detailed accounts, Cusumano also creates a thought-provoking and often informative outlook on Argentine society. In one instance for example, she explains how a glance across the room can mean an invitation to dance while an invitation for coffee equals an invitation for sex. Her balancing act between lovers, friends and dance partners also lets the reader appreciate the varied Argentine landscape from the colourful neighbourhood of La Boca to the rustic territory of the gauchos.

In an interview, Cusumano described learning tango as “an antidote to obsession”. In her memoir, the author’s accounts of passionate, sweaty tango dances are reinterpreted through her explanation of Zen. In this sense the reader comes to understand how tango, as Cusumano puts it, is not a “vice” but a “virtue”, as it becomes a way to fall in love with Argentina. By the end of the memoir, I came away with not only learning tango terms, but also understanding many Zen practices. Although a reader may not have yet experienced tango, Cusumano’s spiritual layer makes her memoir relatable to many readers. Additionally, in spite of Cusumano’s emotional pitfalls with tango I closed the book feeling more energised to start my own adventurous world into the Argentine art.

‘Tango: An Argentine Love Story’ by Camille Cusumano, 2008, Memoir, distributed by Seal Press. www.camillecusumano.com

Recommended for: Foreigners before they arrive to Argentina.

Purchase the book online at: Amazon.com for US$10.95 or El Pipa Tango Store located inside Salon Canning at Av. Scalabrini Ortiz 1331. Call 15 5633 7895.

Where to buy the best little alfajores in Argentina – see purchasing info below.

Marcela who is the protagonist in Chapter 17 Sundays in San Telmo of my book, Tango, an Argentine Love Story, is a self taught cook in Buenos Aires. Marcela dances tango so she knows all about the care and feeding of a tanguera’s body. Having feasted many times at her home in San Telmo, I would safely venture to say she is the best cook in all of Argentina. She is the only cook I’ve met who can improve on something already good by its very nature, like pasta (more on that to come) or that decadent and ubiquitous Argentine sweet, the alfajor, pronounced—to the delight of English speakers who like an off-color play on words— “alpha whore.”

Above is her new and improved alfajor, which  is out of this world. The crust is made of only eggs and flour, nothing else. The filling is the best dulce de leche and the icing is the best chocolate. You will die with little crumbs and “divino, divino” on your lips when you try one. I was not prepared to love her creations as much as I did because there are so many lousy industrial (dry, tasteless) incarnations of this sweet around. So be forewarned, if you try Marcela’s, it’s like tango itself, you’ll be hooked. Below is Marcela’s chocolate flan which is up there with the alfajores.

To purchase Marcela’s alfajores, call her at home in San Telmo on her cell, at 15-3604-9394. Each alfajor, about six inches by two-and-half inches (big enough for two to gorge on) is five pesos if you have them delivered. If you go to Marcela’s place (it’s on Garay near Chacabuco—call for directions) you can purchase them for three pesos each. Either way is worth the dough. Ask Marcela about her Torta Rogel, which is an alfajor – out of control – a kilo-sized one. It’s 50 pesos delivered, 30 pesos picked up.

Marcela's Chocolate Flan

Marcela’s three daughters live in New York City. Carolina, Laura, who teaches tango, and Julieta, who cooks as a private chef and caterer to the rich and famous. Marcela tells me how she taught Julieta to cook by long distance phone calls from New York to Buenos Aires. Of course, Julieta now has earned her credentials. Julieta and Laura are in the process of starting a business called GourmeTango – stay tuned for details.

Marcela also makes fabulous hand-cranked pasta — eggs and flour, no additives (18 pesos a kilogram). One afternoon I sat in her kitchen as she dunked plum tomatoes in hot water, peeled and chopped them, then seared them briefly in hot olive oil with nothing more than salt and oregano—–what! not garlic? No. She had only cremoso cheese, a mild one. She tossed this steaming plate in front of me and I couldn’t believe how richly flavored, subtle, and perfect this heap of noodles was.

We talk by phone at times and I feel like her daughter- – “Marcela, give me that recipe again for matambre.” She did and I made her grandmother’s matambre right here at home – amazing dish.

Since writing the post for leaders about “airborne tango” (not an infectious disease, maybe an infectious “at-ease”), I’ve thought about this state of weightlessness while dancing with various partners, how I soar when the points of contact, even with negative space, feel equally weight-bearing. Obviously this state is dynamic. You don’t affix yourself to your partner (kind of as they do in ballroom tango) and then stay there. You must be completely and perpetually aware, ever shifting, ever present, to find the balance. Like skiing, skateboarding.

And, yet, not think too much about it.

There is a qualitative touching, nothing quantifiable about it, in this contact sport we call tango. It’s one of the many things that make tango experiential.

In this dynamic connection, followers, you have the lead. This may be the key to why experienced dancers feel there is no leader or follower, just a dance. The skillful leader doesn’t bumble into the dance partnership, grabbing you, deciding where and how to hold you. It’s a constant mutual decision. He or she waits and listens for subtle messages from you and your embrace, your posture, your distance or proximity to him/her, the way you place your head, the way your palms meet his/hers. The way you breathe.

A good leader recently described to me how all throughout a tanda, he didn’t know what to do about the woman’s head pressing so hard into him. It was distracting and there was no escaping it. I wondered how aware she was—it could have been a passive aggressive behavior and she might not even have been aware of it. It might have been that she was so accustomed to a skewed type of communication. But maybe it was something else more innocent. I have had the similar problem with men pressing my head so hard, I couldn’t relax into the flow of the dance, which in all other aspects might have been golden.

The awareness required for this smooth, pressure-free, equal-distribution connection is as easy as it is tricky. It requires not getting too hyper aware—not seeing the trees, not seeing the forest. A certain concentration is required and then paradoxically, you must also “de-concentrate” yourself—spread yourself and awareness around equally. Low-grade animal instinct? Maybe. I wouldn’t get too scientific about it. Already I’ve said way too much.

Years ago, a good dancer, a leader, told me how he didn’t like dancing with women who had just come from a certain teacher’s “women’s technique” class. I was not surprised. No doubt, the women were bringing the “fixed teaching” that they had just internalized by rote. But they failed to recognize that the class exercises are not the dance. The dance is born anew each time you step into the dance circle. It’s not memorized and had forever. It is like everyday life, a dance of constant instantaneous improvisation, constant reassessing where we’re at. You must meet your partner where you find him/her, not where the technique teacher told you he/she should be.

Consequently, adornos, the little extra decorations we do on our own are best when they happen without too much thought. You can watch dancers and tell whose adornos are naturally occurring and whose are premeditated. There is a disconnect in the picture of the latter. The partner feels it. The Princess and her pea has nothing on us tangueros with our acutely tuned senses.

How unveiled we are to each other in this dance! It’s only frightening if you’re afraid of your Self. No need to be. I’m awed by this seeming contradiction of how tango attracts macho men who must at the same time develop this deep full-body sensitivity. Something to ponder.

The most startling thing to read in my partner is fear. I’m never sure where his fear comes from—only he knows—but it affects the body almost identically to the way cold does. When threatened with hypothermia the body’s blood rushes to your core trying to offset the lowering temperature and preserve organs, so hands get stiff and claw-like, extremities clam up. You feel lightheaded because even the brain is getting deprived of nourishment. Fear seems to shape the body similarly so it’s hard to dance with a man experiencing this. I try to send messages of warmth, solace, and comfort, fun. Sometimes it works and when it does, it’s a gift to both of us.

Occasionally in older men (and women, I’m sure, too) fear has been such a constant companion that the body is so at home with clamming up, it has hardened with a hard shell of armor, curved posture. What a challenge to connect weightlessly with this person. But it can be an exercise in sharpening your own sensitivity and ability to meet the moment(um), meet the person. Like that old Shaker song, lyrics by Elder Joseph, which I bet you could tango to:

Tis the gift to be simple, ’tis the gift to be free,

‘Tis the gift to come down where we ought to be,

And when we find ourselves in the place just right,

‘Twill be in the valley of love and delight.

When true simplicity is gain’d,

To bow and to bend we shan’t be asham’d,

To turn, turn will be our delight,

Till by turning, turning we come out right.

Surely this man experienced tango. . .

Coming – a post on “Meeting.”

Cafe Garcia is a museum

Here is the complete list of bares notables shown at www.bue.gov.ar, a mysterious Web site that is often very out of sight, literally:

12 de Octubre
Dirección: Bulnes 331
Barrio: Almagro
(54 11) 6327 4594
E-mail info@barderoberto.com.ar
Web www.barderoberto.com.ar

36 Billares
Dirección: Av de Mayo 1265/71
Barrio: Monserrat
(54 11) 4381 5696
E-mail info@los36billares.com.ar
Web www.los36billares.com.ar

El Preferido - fabada asturiana - muy rico

American Bar
Dirección: Av Roque Saenz Peña 632
Barrio: Monserrat
(54 11) 4331 4825

Bar Aragón
Dirección: Av. Alberdi 4899
Barrio: Villa Luro

Bar de Cao
Dirección: Av. Independencia 2400
Barrio: San Cristóbal
(54 11) 4943 3694
E-mail bardecao@gmail.com

Bar del Hotel Alvear
Dirección: Av. Alvear 1891
Barrio: Recoleta
(54 11) 4808 2949
E-mail info@alvearpalace.com
Web www.alvearpalace.com

Bar El Estaño 1880
Dirección: Aristobulo del Valle 1100
Barrio: La Boca
(54 11) 4302 8880
E-mail elestano1880@hotmail.com

Bar El Federal
Dirección: Carlos Calvo 595 / 99
Barrio: San Telmo
(54 11) 4300 4313

Bar O Bar
Dirección: Tres Sargentos 415
Barrio: Retiro
(54 11) 4311 6856
E-mail info@barbarobar.com.ar

El Banderin has a basic menu locals love.

Web www.barbarobar.com.ar

Bar Oviedo
Dirección: Av Lisandro de la Torre 2407
Barrio: Mataderos
(54 11) 4687 8690

Bar Plaza Dorrego
Dirección: Defensa 1096 / 98
Barrio: San Telmo
(54 11) 4361 0141
E-mail cyufera@hotmail.com

Bar Seddon
Dirección: Defensa 695
Barrio: San Telmo
(54 11) 4342 3700

Bar Sur
Dirección: Estados Unidos 299
Barrio: San Telmo
(54 11) 4362 6086
E-mail info@bar-sur.com.ar
Web www.bar-sur.com.ar

Británico
Dirección: Brasil 399
Barrio: San Telmo
4361 7902
Web www.barbritanico.com.ar

Café de García
Dirección: Sanabria 3302
Barrio: Villa Devoto
(54 11) 4501 5912
E-mail garcia@cafedegarcia.com.ar
Web www.cafedegarcia.com.ar

Café Don Juan
Dirección: Camarones 2702
Barrio: Villa Devoto
(54 11) 4586 0679

Café El Banderín
Dirección: Guardia Vieja 3601
Barrio: Almagro
(54 11) 4862 7757
E-mail info@elbanderin.com.ar
Web www.elbanderin.com.ar

Café El Coleccionista
Dirección: Av. Rivadavia 4929
Barrio: Caballito
(54 11) 4902 7954

Café Esquina Homero Manzi
Dirección: Av. San Juan 3601
Barrio: Boedo
(54 11) 4957 8488
E-mail info@esquinahomeromanzi.com.ar
Web www.esquinahomeromanzi.com.ar

Café Los Galgos
Dirección: Av. Callao 501
Barrio: San Nicolás
(54 11) 4371 3561

Café Mar Azul
Dirección: Tucumán 1700
Barrio: San Nicolás
(54 11) 4374 0307

Café Margot
Dirección: Boedo 857
Barrio: Boedo
(54 11) 4957 0001
E-mail cafemargot@hotmail.com

Café Nostalgia
Dirección: Soler 3599
Barrio: Palermo
(54 11) 4963 0903
E-mail debetty44@hotmail.com

Café Tortoni
Dirección: Av. De Mayo 825/29
Barrio: Monserrat
(54 11) 4342 4328
E-mail tortoni@cafetortoni.com.ar
Web www.cafetortoni.com.ar

Claridge
Dirección: Tucumán 535
Barrio: San Nicolás
(54 11) 4314 7700 int. 335
E-mail inforeservas@claridge.com.ar
Web www.claridge-hotel.com.ar

Clásica y Moderna
Dirección: Av Callao 892
Barrio: Recoleta
(54 11) 4812 8707
E-mail clasica@clasicaymoderna.com.ar
Web www.clasicaymoderna.com

Confitería del Hotel Castelar
Dirección: Av de Mayo 1048
Barrio: Monserrat
(54 11) 4383 5000 / 9
E-mail info@castelarhotel.com.ar
Web www.castelarhotel.com.ar

Confitería Ideal
Dirección: Suipacha 384
Barrio: San Nicolás
(54 11) 5265 8069
E-mail confiteriaideal@confiteriaideal.com
Web www.confiteriaideal.com

El Gato Negro
Dirección: Av Corrientes 1669
Barrio: San Nicolás
(54 11) 4374 1730
E-mail gatone@elgatonegronet.com.ar

El Hipopótamo
Dirección: Brasil 401
Barrio: San Telmo
(54 11) 4300 8450

El Preferido de Palermo
Dirección: Jorge Luis Borges 2108
Barrio: Palermo
(54 11) 4774 6585

El Progreso
Dirección: Av. Montes de Oca 1700
Barrio: Constitución
(54 11) 4301 0671

El Querandí
Dirección: Peru 302
Barrio: Monserrat
(54 11) 5199 1770
E-mail reservas@querandi.com.ar
Web www.elquerandi.com.ar

Florida Garden
Dirección: Florida 899
Barrio: Retiro
(54 11) 4312 7902

Iberia
Dirección: Av. de Mayo 1196
Barrio: Monserrat
(54 11) 4381 6300

La Biela
Dirección: Av Quintana 600
Barrio: Recoleta
(54 11) 4804 4135
E-mail info@labiela.com
Web www.labiela.com

La Buena Medida
Dirección: Suarez 101
Barrio: La Boca
(54 11) 4302 0038

La Coruña
Dirección: Bolivar 982/94
Barrio: San Telmo
(54 11) 4362 7637

La Embajada
Dirección: Santiago del Estero 88
Barrio: Monserrat
(54 11) 4381 1520

La Giralda
Dirección: Av Corrientes 1453
Barrio: San Nicolás
(54 11) 4371 3846

La Perla
Dirección: Don Pedro de Mendoza 1899
Barrio: La Boca
(54 11) 4301 2985 / 87

La Puerto Rico
Dirección: Adolfo Alsina 420
Barrio: Monserrat
(54 11) 4331 2215

Las Violetas
Dirección: Av. Rivadavia 3899
Barrio: Almagro
(54 11) 4958 7387/ 88
Web www.lasvioletas-café.com.ar

London City
Dirección: Av de Mayo 599
Barrio: Monserrat
(54 11) 4342 9057
E-mail londoncitybarsrl@ciudad.com.ar

Miramar
Dirección: Sarandi 1190
Barrio: San Cristóbal
(54 11) 4304 4261

Olimpo
Dirección: Irigoyen 1491
Barrio: Villa Luro

Petit Colón
Dirección: Libertad 505
Barrio: San Nicolás
(54 11) 4382 7306

Plaza Bar
Dirección: Florida 1005
Barrio: Retiro
(54 11) 4318 3000
E-mail restorants@marriot.com.ar
Web www.marriotplaza.com.ar

Richmond
Dirección: Florida 468
Barrio: San Nicolás
(54 11) 4322 1341
E-mail richmond@uolsinectis.com.ar
Web www.restaurant.com.ar/richmond/

Saint Moritz
Dirección: Esmeralda 894
Barrio: Retiro
(54 11) 4311 7311

The Brighton
Dirección: Sarmiento 645
Barrio: San Nicolás
4325 9126
Web www.thenewbrightonsrl.com.ar

Tokio
Dirección: Alvarez Jonte 3550
Barrio: Villa Santa Rita

Balvanera
Cafe de los Angelitos
Rivadavia 2100
4952 2320

Check out my July 12, 2009 New York Times piece on Buenos Aires’s bares notables. Be sure to look at photographer Kevin Moloney’s slide show of some of the bares notables. The city’s list of notable bars and cafes is up to 53. It seems the city’s Web site is not only slow but disfunctional at the moment, so I am posting the list of bares notables here. I visited more than 40 of them before choosing the six that made the cut for the story. Some of my research documented in images:

Francis loved his submarino (hot chocolate); the budin was too dry

The Brighton - brass door handle like an over-sized tilde - lovely interior

Cafe Garcia - part of the gargantuan picada

Cafe Margot - hanging out over the bar

El Banderin - great hangout; food's survival good.

With Raquel (right), "research assistant" - after 36 Billares, Av. de Mayo

Borges, Gardel, and poet Nadia . . .Tortoni

Research assistants Carmen, Ed, at Pan y Arte

Linda Maxwell, research assistant, El Querandi

Research assistant, Oscar, Preferido, Palermo

Preferido, fabada asturiana - muy rico

Britanico, pizza matambre with papas fritas

La Coruna's crooked bar

Brighton, Robert, research assistant

Los Angelitos, waiter snapped this one.

Steam bar special

Hola from Buenos Aires. The dancing here is beyond words. But I must try.

Leaders: How many points of connection do you have with your partner? This is not a trick question, just a thought one. Lately, I’ve been aware more than ever of how the best tango dancing is qualified by a feeling that all points of contact with my partner, with the floor, with the air on my back, and the air in my lungs, bear perfectly equal pressure.

I believe in airborne tango – and that exactly describes what it feels like. It feels as if the pull of gravity is no more or less than the press of the man’s palm against my own; no more or less than his torso against my torso; no more or less than his right arm’s weight against my left side or than the push of my breath on my lungs; and equal, if opposite, to our horizontal momentum. In other words, it feels as if you could turn us sideways or upside-down and we’d still feel the dance same way.

I don’t know how you teach this. But I can tell you it seems more likely to occur with Argentines who dance what I call “organic tango.” They never learned to quantify the dance. They haven’t learned it from the feet up, maybe not even from the heart down. They learned it full body and mind—through watching, internalizing, knowing the music from the womb on. And what all else, I can’t say.

This is not to discourage non-Argentines. Only to direct awareness to the connection (and all points of body contact) and how vitally important it is. It can’t be overstressed. Indeed, I dance with Argentines who are “pile drivers” pushing me down into the ground until I feel like my body wants to collapse like an accordion or bandoneon. My hip joints scream. The balls of my feet start to burn. My core “chi” does double duty – saying, “just hang in there, this too shall pass.”

It’s interesting to note that if even one point of contact applies more or less pressure than the others, there is an off-balance feel and airborne tango cannot occur. My partner can be adept in many ways, but if he is squeezing the heck out of my hand, my awareness is pulled there. I let my hand go limp hoping he’ll notice. Or, there is the guy who will dig his fingertips into my back and it’s so distracting—like he’s trying to give me a shiatsu treatment as we dance. An old friend, Silvio, who is hard of hearing will not loosen his grip on my middle, for nada. When I wriggle, he says, stop wriggling. I yell in his hearing aid, I can’t breathe, you’re cutting off the circulation between my upper and lower body. Silvio is extreme and I only tolerate him because we go back to my first days here. Aside from my turning blue, we have a good time.

This equal application of pressure at all points changes from partner to partner, naturally, because of varying height, weight, and body mechanics. Dancing last night at El Beso, I noticed this with Hector, a friend and regular partner. Hector doesn’t do a lot of steps or patterns, but I could tango with him forever and never be bored, only energized. His lead is not just from the heart, it’s full body. We roll off each other as much as off the floor, as much as off the ceiling. There is a quiet contact of our palms, although occasionally, he’ll lower our hands down close to our bodies, as in canyengue. He knows how to do this. Our feet are at times incidental to the whole dance. Or so it seems. It is exquisite.

And then there was Roberto, an excellent tanguero. By contrast to Hector, Roberto knows a lot of steps and figures. He’s always fun. But he doesn’t yet have this “all-points-of-contact-must-be-equal” talent yet. He likes to do the rhythmic tandas and milonga with me. But when we did the milonga last night, his right arm pressed slightly too hard into my left armpit and it wasn’t possible because of our heights for me to lessen this. So, I had to pay close attention, at times guessing when his feet were traspie-ing because this one little extra pressure jumbled his signals to my “not-think message center.”

I am lucky to have found here three fabulous practice partners, all different styles of tango, all allowing  my dance to soar. There is Oscar, who is purely organic, dancing for more than fifty years. Juan (whose real name is Manuco Firmani) teaches at Mora Godoy studio. He is young, a beautiful fantasía performer. We dance mostly open embrace and do a lot of colgadas, volcadas, sacadas, boleos, etc. You can see him teaching me in the video on my Home Page. (Contact him for lessons at manucofirmani@hotmail.com). And there is Joaquin Amenabar, a bandoneonista who teaches at two conservatories in Buenos Aires. As a musician, he understands the music deeply and in an extraordinarily articulate way. We practice once a week and it’s airborne quality. (See his book, Tango! Let’s Dance to the Music – he’s visiting the SF Bay Area in October and will offer a workshop on tango music. I highly recommend it.)

One more thing: A couple of weeks ago, at Club Fulgor, on Tuesday night, I danced with Andrew, a young American, who is blind, from San Francisco. Not only could he navigate the floor without bumping anyone, he had this equally-applied connection thing down. The women constantly invited him to dance. Obviously, he doesn’t cabaceo. If you come upon a tall blond, blue-eyed man sitting in a milonga reading the St. James Bible in braille (he’s a theology student), do invite him to dance. I guess what Andrew’s dancing demonstrates is that this ineffable connection is internal.

The quality of the dancing lately here has been so good. Thursdays at El Beso are my new favorite milonga. But that can change without notice. Between the winter cold and the misplaced fear of swine flu, the milongas are not crowded—but the good dancers still come.

I hope this has been helpful. I look forward to your thoughts and comments.

Tomorrow is Argentina’s Independence Day, a national holiday, but the country has already been shutting down due to hyper panic over the swine flu (or gripe A).

Friends Day, July 20, is coming, but I’m really worried. The Argentine hug is in danger of disappearing. Que tragedia!

Each year, two million children worldwide die from diarrhea that could have been cured with an oral serum costing about fifteen cents, writes Carlos Alberto Morales Paitán, pediatric doctor at Children’s Hospital in Lima, Perú. But his email, which reached me via Argentine friends, was not about that too common tragedy.

It was about the epidemic of mass hysteria here in Argentina over the swine flu. People are walking around in surgical masks, schools have been closed, events canceled (including the International Conference on Tango Therapy, around which I planned my year), and the government and many people are acting as if the bubonic plague has returned. They either don’t know they are dupes or don’t care—some quarters like an alibi for closing up shop.

Roche and Relenze who silently rubbed their palms together when the bird flu (avian flu) caused similar panic, are waiting in the wings (bad pun, sorry). Or the pig sty, I should say. Their Tamiflu vaccine, despite not having had remarkable efficacy, raked in the bucks, making a killing (there I go again) in Asia.

The bird flu killed 250 people in the entire world. Yes, 250 people in a 10-year period, 25 victims per year. La gripe A’s casualties are so far at about that rate, maybe a little higher. The common flu, on the other hand kills half a million people each year throughout the world. Pneumonia, a curable illness with cheap vaccines, causes the death of 10 million people in the world each year. And the media does not inform you of those. You do the rest of the dot connecting.

So, with these faux precautions thrust upon us, I’m getting fewer hugs and here I boasted about Why Argentines are not so hot on Valentine’s Day—because July 20, Dia Del Amigo is their big day for celebrating love. I’m sure there are enough lucid people around to celebrate without this silly charade of macro-microbia-phobia.

Hugs and kisses to all.

This is a post from last year, June 08 – I’m dusting off to republish. It’s still fun:

Tango was on Jeopardy, featured as a category in the first round of the TV game show on Tuesday, June 24. Just as I was telling someone who is not in the “Tango Club” that, yes, tango is like a cult, there it was on mainstream network TV. I felt elated—the dance that is more than a dance was finally of wide-spread interest.

However, my elation dwindled rapidly as I watched the contestants, those ordinary folk of above-average intelligence, all avoid the category Tango the way I would avoid one on baseball, football, or even soccer, sad to say.

And then, when they were forced to choose from the Tango category, they could answer so few of the questions. I could answer only two. The questions were a big disappointment, betraying a sort of cultural (or cult) bias and lack of understanding of tango. Given that they were a flop, I don’t think we’ll be seeing a tango category again any time soon on Jeopardy.

The first question to the answer (the format used on the game show) was Who is Marlon Brandon, the star of a Bertolucci film (Last Tango in Paris). OK, fair enough, I didn’t mind that one, although in the movie, tango enjoys all of a minute or less of air time. The next question flew by me, but was about some old TV show (sorry, TV is another category I’d avoid; I only happened to catch this show because I’m still hanging out with my 86-year-old Mom).

The next question was What is Argentina? The country of origin of the dance. OK, that was a giveaway. But a trickier question would be, the other country along the Rio de la Plata in which tango was born. And the answer is, What is . . . ? Write me if you don’t know—-or if you do know. You don’t have to belong to the club to know this.

The next question/answer pertained to the couple who reportedly brought tango to America. Nadie, not a one, could answer this, including yo. The couple were Vernon and Irene Castle. Who?

I perused Wikipedia and learned that they were America’s sweetheart ballroom dancers back in 1910. So, I’m wondering if they brought American tango, the staccato, leave-room-for-the-holy-spirit dance? Or did they bring the real deal? Anyone know for sure?

That same year, 1910, coincides with the time frame during which the high brow and well-bred were taking tango (sometimes surreptitiously) from the bordellos and immigrant ghettos of its origin to the City of Light and elsewhere in Europe and Argentina.

In sum, Alex, Judges, that was not a good question. Nor was the final one, for non-tango folks: Tango is danced in 2/4 and this beat also . . . The question to the answer is What is 4/4? Sorry, I didn’t know that, nor did any contestant. (I always associated 4/4 with disco music, que se yo?)

Here are a few tango-related questions that I’d like to see in a future Tango category. They would be framed for mainstream people, not for the likes of us in the cult or club or whatever it is you consider us tango-apasionados. Please feel free to suggest some of your own. We can get our own Tango Jeopardy game going and it will be fun (maybe a pair of Comme Il Faut or Fattoamano shoes to the winner?):

1. I think any contestant who qualifies for Jeopardy should be familiar with the name, Carlos Gardel. I call him the patron saint of tango. He’s sort of the Buddy Holly of tango, in that he died in a plane crash in 1935 in Medellin, Columbia, a tragedy that enhances his immortality. The question could mention that he had the voice of a zorzal, a thrush, and the famous saying that “everyday he sings better.”

2. Forever Tango the Broadway smash hit certainly has mainstream recognition. I wouldn’t expect the casual observer to know any of the stars. Although, some older contestants might know the names of the famous duet of another tango show, Juan Carlos Copes and Maria Nieve since they appeared on the Ed Sullivan show.

3. It seems like famous trivia, that Rudolf Valentino starred in the film, The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Please indulge me as I quote from my upcoming book, Tango, an Argentine Love Story:

“Gauchos didn’t dance tango in the 1920s, but that didn’t stop Hollywood from dressing Rudolph Valentino in chaps and bombachas to perform the dance in The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse in 1921. Tango fever was not only turned up a few notches worldwide after the release of that film, but the luxurious scene on the pampas (“The Scent of a Cowboy,” it might have been titled if it were released today) solidified the anachronism, generating even more movies with tango-dancing gauchos.” (excerpted from a chapter called Even Cowboys Dance Tango).

4. A giveaway question would most certainly be one on Al Pacino and his famous tango scene in Scent of a Woman.

5. I didn’t see the film, Addams Family, but I’ve heard it has a very sensual Angelica Huston dancing tango with Raul Julia.

It’s impressive to think that if Jeopardy were shown in Argentina, whether the viewers danced tango or not, they would know questions/answers regarding such names as Carlos di Sarli, Osvaldo Pugliese, Astor Piazzola, Rodolfo Biaggi, Anibal Troilo, Juan D’Arienzo, and so many other composers, singers, and songs. One doesn’t expect that in the U.S.

But here in the U.S., although tango is gaining in popularity, it is still of cult status. It’s hard to believe that it is so, when one’s waking hours are so consumed with the dance, the music, the steps, the culture, the lingo-the whole empanada.

Any other questions for the non-tango Jeopardy contestant? I have a Double Jeopardy one: What great American jazz trumpeter showed up at an Osvaldo Fresedo concert in 1956 and began to play with him—leading to a famous landmark recording?

If you can’t wait to hear the answer, go to this wonderful all-things-tango site:

http://www.totango.net/fresedo.html.

Final Jeopardy: When you find yourself getting so frustrated because you can’t answer all those Jeopardy questions, at least not as quickly as the contestants, remember that an accumulation of facts, does not necessarily lead to useful wisdom, just as knowing the steps in tango does not a great dancer make. Wisdom in life and skill in the dance come with  observation honed in the stillness between facts, in the silent space between sky-high file shelves of knowledge. And yet, the knuggets of knowledge and the silence are both necessary.