El Beso: Part I

That night, we made our way to El Beso at Riobamba 416.

El Beso’s entrance and stairway is an immediately reminder of its name. Coated not in vermillion or burgundy, but in a shade of true red.

It was a Tuesday night milonga at El Beso, Un Morton de Tango, organized by Osvaldo Natucci and Osvaldo Buglione. The room was not filled to capacity, as June is typically a quieter month off the peak tourist seasons in Buenos Aires. Later I also found out that like myself, the portenos are not fans of the cold (de sangre caliente! one milonguero said to me tongue in cheek) and some responded to the onset of a surprisingly cold winter this early June by staying home.

I was intent on observing the dancers at El Beso, to identify good dancers and also those who would not suit my dancing preferences. In general, I prefer to dance in close embrace. I find it distressing in particular if the leader choose to open up the frame in mid-dance to do open figures, so I am always keen to avoid such experiences.

Loretta, Colin and I chatted to catch up while we watched the dancing. We had a good vintage point with front row seats. Regardlessly, I kept losing track of milongueros who I particularly enjoyed watching once the tanda finished and the crowd return to their seats en masse. My eyes furtively scoured the room, skittishly shunning any accidental eye contacts. Oh dear, what did he looked like? Was it him? Or him? Or..was it him?

After a while, I received verbal invitations from a couple of the younger men in the room. Again like my opening dance at Salon Canning, the first question that I was asked both times – do you not dance? The first invitation I declined with apologies, and felt embarrassed immediately. Because El Beso is a relatively small setting, unlike Salon Canning, it is very obvious for the leader when he has been turned away. Even though it was the men's choice to risk a verbal invitation, my rejection will result in a public loss of face for the man, and it didn’t feel good to do so. The cabaceo originated in the milongas of Buenos Aires for a good reason. The code of inviting and accepting dances via cabaceo serves a very necessary function while preserving social conviviality. I find it a graceful and effective system, and it works to the advantage of both men and women.

Not wanting to go through causing more public rejections, I accepted the 2nd invitation. To my relief, the dance turned out well.

I was keen to put a stop to any further verbal invitations. The only logical conclusion and solution is for me to actively accept some dances via cabaceo. Even more than ever, I felt my eyes to be dangerous weapons which I lack control over. There were no safe directions where they can rest unmolested. Special protective visors required, por favour. With a feeling of desperation like a punter with a last roll of the dice at the roulette tables, I simply casted my eyes in the general direction of the row of tables on the adjacent end of the room where the men sat.

My eyes fell directly onto the path of a milonguero gentleman. In all honesty, I don’t know who was more surprised, him or me. This time I forced myself to hold the locked glance. The milonguero gentleman paused, then asked silently, “bailemos?” Yes, I nodded. There was a hint of disbelief in his expression. We got up to dance but he didn’t appear all that enthusiastic. I knew then that likely he had followed up with the invitation out of politeness, since a younger lady asked and he happened to be caught in an unguarded moment.

My milonguero partner has a precise way of leading with tiny marcas which was yet comfortable. The tanda playing was a mellow one. He danced calmly and very smoothly to the music, and shortly, I relaxed into peaceful, melodic contentment with the music and into my partner’s embrace. By the end of the 2nd song, my partner was also smiling and nodding as we attempted conversation. By the 3rd song, it seemed he has completely forgiven me for any transgression. We parted at the end of the tanda. The feeling of warmth and contentment stayed with me.

“So! How was it??” Colin asked when I returned to the table. “You know, I have not seen him dance with tourist women!” I found out that my partner is a regular milonguero at El Beso. Not only does he dance only selected tandas for the night, he is selective about his partners. It is then that I understood that I had “invited” one of the more exclusive milongueros to dance with me.

Later, from one of the tango mangazines, I found out that the milonguero gentleman’s name is Abel. Always elegantly dressed, in a slightly raffish way. With Rat Pack cool, like an Italiano Frank Sinatra or Sammy Davies Junior.

He is one of my favourite milongueros to watch, I enjoy seeing his style on and off the dance floor. In particular, I am always fascinated by how he does amazingly supertight hiros on the spot, one after another, smoothly, calmly in control. I see Milonguero Abel often at the traditional milongas. He never has a shortage of older, but always pretty and sexy women to dance with. He does not often dance with young women, even the Argentine ones. At least as far as I can tell, unlike some other milongueros, I have not seen him dance with young tourist women.

The tanda with Milonguero Abel was a fortuitous accident on my part. But it would seem I have some ways to go with the cabaceo yet…

Con Amigos

Serendipity and friendship appeared hand in hand the next day after my first milonga outing in Buenos Aires.

An email from a good friend, the vivacious and charming Loretta, came out of the blue. Loretta and her community in Hong Kong have just finished orchestrating an exhilarating round of workshops and milongas for the visit by young maestros Javier Rodriguez & Andrea Misse. This year in May, Javier & Andrea made their first stop for their Asia tour in my own community (see here), followed by the cities Hong Kong, and then Seoul. Not surprisingly, the response to Javier & Andrea was overwhelming in all 3 countries. Classes were sold-out; legions of fans in each community turned up in full force for the milongas held for Javier & Andrea’s visit.

News from Loretta filled me with delight. Loretta, together with Colin from Australia, have arrived in Buenos Aires for more dancing in the aftermath of Javier & Andrea’s workshop! I first met Loretta and Colin when they visited Singapore a couple of years ago, and we have remained friends ever since.

I couldn't believe the spot-on timing for their visit to Buenos Aires, since I didn't tell them I was coming here. It couldn't have worked more beautifully. Tango and friendship comes naturally. Being surrounded by friends in the shared enjoyment of a milonga is like having your extended family around you. A decent dance floor, great music, good dancers and good friends. What more can one ask for?

La Primera Vez

Early June, 2007

The first few days after I arrived in Buenos Aires were clouded with jet-lag. Lamely, I would dozed off before 9.00pm. On the 5th day, I was resolute tonight I shall venture out to the milongas in Buenos Aires!

So on Monday night, I took out a gold and lace top and dressed with some care. I decided to head out to Lo De Celia as my first milonga in Buenos Aires, since the down to earth atmosphere may be a good place to initiate my entry. I was filled with some trepidation on the way there. Will I be able to communicate at the basic level? Get a table, order drinks, ask questions?

Finally, I reached Humberto 1° 1462 and rang the doorbell. There was no response. I suddenly noticed the 1st floor of the building was dark. With dismay I realize that there is no Monday milonga at Lo De Celia. The information I found on the internet was outdated. Newly arrived, I hadn’t manage to get hold of any of the popular milonga guides such as El Tangauta, La Milonga Argentina, Buenos Aires Tango or even the myriad smaller publications like Diostango, the tango pocket guide Punto Tango etc.

I hailed a cab to go back home, with a sense of anticlimax. On the way back, the cab driver convinced me that instead of heading home, the place to be on Mondays nights should either be Salon Canning or Club Gricel.

Slowly, I walked through the doorway of Salon Canning on the other side of town in Palermo, just before the midnight hour. Despite my trepidations about the inability to communicate, I was shown to a seat in the front row without much ado. As I walked pass the tables to my seat, it must be my overactive imagination; it felt as if many pairs of eyes are looking in my general direction. After a furtive scan of the room, I saw a couple of other Asian faces. 2 guys in their twenties or thirties. No other Asian females. Perplexed, I thought to myself, aren’t the milongas in Buenos Aires filled with tourists? So why am I the only Asian female at this popular milonga…

I watch the dancers with fascination. So many good dancers! A mixture of all ages and a smaller proportion of milongueros. A face in the crowd popped out – I spotted Osvaldo Natucci. The distinctive way that he danced was unmistakable. With a “tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick-tick” energy that seem to have an almost compulsive edge. As if the world moves at twice the speed for him than for everybody else.

It was a pleasure to watch how the dancers are dancing to the music. Like a lost traveler upon sighting an oasis in the desert, I was so eager to observe and absorb everything on the dance floor. Since I had no great intentions of dancing, I did not change into my shoes. Well aware that the invitation to dance was conducted via cabaceo in Buenos Aires, I was careful not to look at anyone directly in case I inadvertently solicit or accept a dance. Occasionally I stole glances around the room and my eyes slided immediately away from any men that made eye contact with mine. To those who initiated verbal invitations, I declined gently and excused myself on the grounds that I shall change shoes later.

A friendly English girl who has been in Buenos Aires for the last 4 months struck up a conversation with me. We enjoyed an entertaining chat about her experiences at the milongas since her arrival.

3 odd hours passed in a flash. An Argentine who knew my new English friend came up to our table. He was middle-aged, dressed in a black jacket with modern cutting and style and spotted an earring in his ear. Even I did not understand the words, it was clear from his gesticulations and expression that he was aware I have not dance the whole night - does she not dance? Yes, I do. So! He was insistent that I must not spent the night without dancing. My excuse of the shoes failed to work this time. I was nonplussed. My friend whispered that perhaps I should entertain this invitation just once to give face to this particular gentleman. Feeling somewhat at a loss, I changed into my shoes and danced a Pugliese tanda.

Immediately after, another dancer more casually dressed struck an invitation and I was on the dance floor again. It was clear from the beginning that I was dancing with a salon-nuevo style dancer. Of course he must be equally aware that I dance milonguero-style. He turned out to be an excellent leader, with very clear lead with full contact of his chest. I felt secure in his embrace, I could feel he waited for my full transfer of weight and firm contact with the ground from one step to the next. I enjoyed a figure-intensive tanda, fairly exhilarating in view that it is out of my usual repertoire of dance.


This was how I ended my first milonga in Buenos Aires at Salon Canning in the wee hours of Buenos Aires. In a good mood but somewhat confounded. One can’t just sit out the night and watch the dancing in the milongas of Buenos Aires, no?

Shoe-Fleur: a footwear fantasty!

Besides tango, my passions have always been elements of renaissance beauty and intellect. What I refer to is the co-existence of art, intelligence and creativity in various combinations. Such was the magnificence of the Renaissance period. It is also the source of my love of oriental art, from Song furniture to peachbloom ceramics of Kangxi era.

Witness the existence of beauty. Beauty without the additional element of intellect is still undeniably beautiful of course. Beauty inspired by the creative spark, is to imagine the statue of Venus de Milo awaken with the kiss of life. Imagine the warmth of her milky skin, the supple strength in the column of her legs, her soft breath perfuming the air as Venus speaks...!

Day to day, I hope for such moments. To become hyper animated. When it happens, I am in the gripe of excitment beyond control. Captivated in wonderment. My mind is stimulated by the concoction of chemicals rushing through the bloodstream. It comes to life in a frenzy, the neurons in my brain firing in ten thousand million tiny gun salutes. The rush of emotions and the senses. Mmm, yes.



Today, it was an article on the work of photographer Michel Tcherevkoff which delighted me: "Shoe-Fleur: a footwear fantasty".



Using flowers and leaves as raw materials, Michel Tcherevkoff fashioned them into a collection of shoes, transporting them from the relms of fantasy into book form "Shoe-Fleur".

He decided to craft each invented shoe from a single variety of flower or plant:

“I decided early on that I wouldn’t mix different types,” he says. “Every shoe and handbag [most of the shoes in the book have matching purses] would be made from one particular plant or flower.”


The delicate beauty of the shoes and whimsical delight of his creativity is entirely wondrous. The whimsicality makes the girl in me smile with great glee. While the sheer wit of his creations appeals to my intellect and femininity.

From September 6, the collection of prints from the book will be exhibited at the Museum of Art and Design in New York.


It makes me wish for a moment I had relocated to New York instead of Buenos Aires :D

El Sur: Meanderings on the Southern Passage. Part II.

Inside the plane, the hours stretch ahead and merged together with an unwavering indeterminacy.

To this traveler crossing the great expanse of continents, an article "Save the Last Dance" in the onboard flight magazine “Going Places” heralds the impeding arrival of Buenos Aires like a shimmering mirage of the promised land of milk and honey. The article highlighted the tango revival and renaissance in Buenos Aires, the reason for transporting myself along the southern passage to the other side of the world.

I found an interesting tidbit in the article about Carlos Gardel, a name synonymous with tango music. Carlos Gardel is THE Tango Superstar of mythical proportions - Elvis Presley, Beatles and Frank Sinatra all rolled into one. Gardel perished in a plane crash when his plane caught fire in Medellin, Colombia in 1935. He occupies an unassailable place in the hearts of Argentines, together with Evita Peron, Diego Maradona and myriad patron saints adopted by the people.












Gardel’s tomb is at the Chacarita Cemetery in Buenos Aires, buried next to his mother. His tomb is a shrine that is to this day covered with flowers and offerings.

The article says among the many plaques that decorate the place, there was an inscription dated 1984 “From Medellin, Columbia, Gustavo Gaviria Jaramillo brings you this message of admiration”. Gustavo Gaviria of the Columbian Medellin Cartel, used to be number two in cocaine trafficking with his cousin Pablo Escobar until he was killed by police on 11 August 1990.

My thoughts hopscotched back to my Papa & Mama, close kin and friends once again left behind. The sentiments are contained in the above card “The Journey of a Thousand Miles…”, handmade by a close friend. Enclosed inside are the 2nd half of the saying and well-wishes by her and another friend. It is symbolic of a friendship spanning over twenty years and 6 different countries between the three of us at different stages of our lives. It is symbolic of all friends in my life, past and present.


To my family and friends, I am sharing this part of my life with tango for now. But with you remain where my heart is.

El Sur: Meanderings on the Southern Passage. Part I.

The plane drifts endlessly above the blue and white expanse on my southern crossing to the other side of the world. As it takes me further away from family and friends and my life for the last 9 years, memories of another great southern continent began to resurface. Memories of friends in Sydney where I spent 6 years of my life.

Looking back, my first “contact” with Argentina was in my first year of University. Her name is Marcela O. A tall girl with a ready grin, with dark brown ringlets bouncing as she talks animatedly. She was Aussie born. Marcela and Anna Nyugen, a Vietnamese girl, were benchmates next to us in Chemistry 101 class. My own partner was the coolest 5’8 blonde chick with brains, Sally D’Zwan, who has an Australian mum and a Dutch dad.

One day, Marcela mentioned in passing that her parents are not from Australia. They came from Argentina. She told me her parents were students who fled their country in the 1970s, because of their protestations against the government. This was my first knowledge of Argentina’s military regime during that period. Latter when tango entered my life, I learnt more of Argentina’s dark years and the scars that the horrors of the “Desaparecidos”, or disappeared ones, left on the psyche of its people till the present day. Every Thursday afternoon at the Plaza de Mayo in Buenos Aires, the “Madres de la Plaza de Mayo” hold a march in remembrance. Their symbolic white headscarf denoting universal motherhood and anguish at the loss of their children and grandchildren who disappeared during the junta years.

Recently someone told me that the Argentine law has always favoured women in this country. For example, women are entitled to half of her husband’s assets in a divorce. Her assets prior to the marriage remains in her ownership. Suddenly, I recalled that the tragedy of Ada Falcon (see Música del Alma, Jan06 posting) came about because Francisco Canaro was unwilling to part with half of his fortune if he divorced his wife to be with Alda. This was back in the late 1930s. Canaro was fabulously wealthy.

Marcela, I am finally in the capital city of the country that your parents left many years ago. I don’t know if they were from Buenos Aires or another part of Argentina. I wonder if I have walked past someone related to you on the streets of Corrientes…

Intermission: Tres Esquinas (Three Corners)

In May 2007’s issue of tango magazine El Tangauta, I finally found the last piece of the puzzle of a song that has special meaning for me.

In an article on Page 40, Tres Esquinas is translated as “Three Corners’. What does the name means? I found out that Tres Esquinas was the name of a station of a train line that no longer exists today in Buenos Aires.

The song Tres Esquinas first came upon me in the tango documentary “Tango, Baile Nuestro” by Jorge Zanada. I have been dancing tango only a few months then, and have no idea what was the name of the song. The grand orquesta of Angel D’Agnostino y Angel Vargas meant nothing for a while yet. Those marvelous revelations came later. What I knew was that the song was beautiful and echoingly evocative. It occupies a special place in my heart. Until today it never fails to struck a deep chord within me.

I watched “Tango, Baile Nuestro” over and over, rewinding continuously to the scenes with clips of social dancing in Buenos Aires circa early 1980s. That is a story for another time perhaps. In one of the scenes, Tres Esquinas was the song playing when the veteran portenos danced around a big dance floor resembling a basketball court. This is of course Club Sunderland, the milonga located in the barrio of Villa Equiza in Buenos Aires. Music and its associations with our memories have great evocative powers. At any time, no sooner do I hear the melodic opening of Tres Esquinas, am I transported to another time and era.

      “Yo soy del barrio de Tres Esquinas, Viejo baluarte del arrbal…”
  (I am from the neighborhood of Tres Esquinas, old bulwark of the suburbs…”)

El Tangauta

The sweet, sweet soaring strains of violins playing the refrain followed by the echoingly notes of the piano brings an upwelling of emotions and moisture to the eyes. The tears do not fall because this song is redolent of nostalgia and not heartache. Nostalgia is a quality of longing for those times past, often tinged with regret, yes, but with the air of acceptance. Who else has any other choice but to accept the past? We look back at the past as if watching images flashing silently past on the surface of an old mirror, the fleeting images indistinct and yellow with age. The pang will always be there. The rest has dissolved into a million shimmering pieces, long since seeped away with time.


Before the turn of the twentieth century, the last train left from the Tres Esquinas station and by middle of the century, the station was demolished.

El Tangauta’s article put it well. The tango remained.


Footnote: Tres Esquinas station was located at Paseo Colon y Venezuela in today’s area of Monserrat in Buenos Aires.