Yes, this takes me back a few years to pre-COVID days, but then, memories are more precious than ever. Also, it is Easter, and Easter never gets old, especially when mixed with travel and Tango.
Let the games begin!
For some strange reason, I always end up in Buenos Aires on Easter weekend, which is really dumb because there is next to nothing happening (except church): no shopping, banks closed for 5 days, maybe a Milonga – if we are lucky. This year, 2018, there is an extra layer of downtime, with the weekend bracketed by a national holiday commemorating the Malvinas War.
Nonetheless, the day unfolded with more magic than we could have imagined.
My daughter Sara and I begin the day by renting bamboo bikes (from Northern Argentina. Very cool), and cycling through the heart of San Telmo. Hardly a car on the road so we straddle the centre line all the way down to La Boca. Do the typical touristy thing – pictures taken in front of the colourful wall murals with tango dancers draped over us, ice cream, museums, drinking beer at a cafe watching more Tango (actually the gaucho folk dance with scarves was fascinating).
La Boca is also home of Bombonera Stadium and La Boca Juniors. Gameday apparently, as the enthusiasm builds, noise mostly, the rising din of banner-waving, Quilmes drinking soccer fans ratcheting up their team spirit. A clunker of a bus rumbles down the main street with drunken fans hanging out the window, shouting profundities like “Go team go.” In Spanish, so we can only presume.
San Telmo is Tango
We return the bikes, try again in vain to shop and then down to Plaza Dorrego square for supper and the traditional Sunday evening milonga. Sara and I are in our walking shoes so we are not anticipating dancing. However, never one to waste a tanda, as soon as the music starts we take to the tile patio. First ones up – only ones up – stumbling about self-consciously. We exit quickly and the crowd applauds politely, presumably for the music. The floor fills shortly after and our moment in the spotlight fades.
Mid-evening, performers entertain with some performance tango. The hat is passed out. From the non-committal response, it is apparent they dance for love, not money. The dance floor then quickly fills with 150 tangueros of all skill levels and another hundred or so cheering them on. Then quickly again, Tango is usurped by folk music and everyone is up doing the chacarera folk dance. Good-natured fun, nobody taking themselves too seriously.
Candombe Intensity
Before they can cut back to Tango, the music is drowned out by the frenetic drumming of Candombe musicians parading down the street to commemorate the Malvinas War. It is said that the tango is born of three sorrows: the opportunity-seeking immigrants from Europe, the displaced gauchos from the pampas, and the rhythmic laments of the slaves from Africa and Cuba. Candombe with its wild rhythms, freely improvised steps, energetic, semi-athletic movements and intricate drum beats was one of the birth mothers.
The rhythm is intriguing enough to entice us to throw back our Quilmes, abandon San Telmo Square and follow the troupe down narrow, dimly lit cobblestone streets. Young, black muscular drummers parade through the middle of traffic, intentionally upsetting the motorists, the honking swallowed up by the Gatling gun drumming. A totally captivating grove.
Sirens
It’s close to midnight when we start to make our way back to our residence. As we attempt to cross a Paseo Colon, a cavalcade of eight police cars, sirens blaring, lights flashing, blast through at break-neck speed, ushering two luxury, double-decker buses. This is such a contrast to our evening’s entertainment of low-budget, street-level, artistic talent that we are dumbstruck trying to make sense of it. Of course! The soccer game. This is the visiting team being ushered out of town before violence is incited.
Easter Hope
An evening of contrasts. Tango in Plaza Dorrego square peopled by mild-mannered oldtimers and curious tourists, young black candombe drummers throwing their testosterone into the windshields of honking motorists, and super-cama coaches ushering soccer players out o the city at 80 km per hour with police escort. All within three blocks of each other, all simultaneous, a chaotic, discordant cacophony.
Two years ago. Not today. Perhaps Covid has been an equalizer, a stabilizer, a needed break in the action. Nobody dances, nobody parades down streets or celebrates Easter or wars. Nobody plays soccer. I like the old world better.
Maybe it is a reset button. Maybe when it is all over we will recognize, worldwide, how important the arts are in binding society together and support them accordingly. Maybe we will have grown and learned something from this experience.
It’s Easter. ‘Tis the season for hope and new beginnings.
“The light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not consumed it.” (The Gospel according to John)