Is what our taxi driver urged Stella. She slammed the door once and the cabbie said something I didn't pay attention to. So I told her to slam the door again and make sure it shut. Then he yelled at us -- "Slow, SLOW!" which was the opposite of what I told Stella to do. He was not pleased.
Yesterday we went back to tango class. No Augustin, so I won't be bringing home a little porteno like I wanted. Because things are never as good after the first time, class was only fine. I did manage to severely wound some fellow students with my heels, among whom was a 7 year-old boy (who hopped away trying not to cry...I felt bad, okay?!) and Stella. My heel punctured her big toe. I feel really bad about that one, too. Especially when she keeps showing it to me.
We met Pablo, a friend of Stuart's, for drinks in Palermo Soho after. He was lovely and we had some interesting movie and political discussions. The area was hip without being dressy, and the menu was still all in Spanish which has become the line I draw as far as places I won't eat. More on that later.
The next morning we woke up to another beautiful day. Beautiful doesn't describe it - each day has gotten progressively warmer and perfect. I spent an hour soaking it up in the park before Stella and I conquered the bus system and went to San Telmo for the regular Sunday Feria. It's a flea market packed with people and street performers. We got there late enough to enjoy the spectacle without having to shove our way through the masses, but early enough to catch an outdoor tango show. We each took about 200 pictures, thank God for digital.
San Telmo which was the first place that didn't remind Stella of New York at all. This part of town, while still touristy with its opportunistic restaurants and dime-a-dozen trinket sellers, was old world beautiful and way more European. We walked around craving pasta and could not find an open restaurant once we wandered out of San Telmo into the financial district. SUPER European influences here. We found the last stop of our Subte line and decided to try our luck further up the line. We bypassed our neighborhood and found ourselves back in Palermo Soho because the stop was named Plaza Italia and I was dying for spaghetti by this point. We strolled a part of Soho we hadn't been to yet and found ANOTHER fair. We ended up at a restaurant based solely on their antipasti set up. It was beee-you-ti-ful!
And it went downhill from there. The menu had English subtitles. And no spaghetti. Despite my cheat sheet, I ordered the most offensive salad ever created. Thank God for the flan with dulce de leche. It cleaned the taste of the half pound of smoked salmon that had covered my greens out of my mouth.
Miraculously, Stella and I met Aubry out for salsa dancing. I say it was a miracle based on our ability to overcome the odds: Stella's toe, my dinner, extreme yawning, Stella doesn't salsa, etc. Turns out Aubry is a salsa queen from North Carolina and simply watching her dance all night would have been fun enough. The club wasn't too crowded and there were more men than women so before you knew it Stell and I were dancing. I love salsa but rarely get the opportunity to dance with a partner, so it was REALLY fun to have great leaders. Before I knew it, I had a boyfriend. Stella wants to tell the story from her vantage point, so I'll let her take over from here:
Well, to say I don't salsa is an understatement. Tango is way more up my alley because it is like fancy walking. Salsa is a hip moving extranvanganza with twirls and fancy footwork, all of which is a difficult for me, if not strictly impossible. We arrived at the club (after I made Bianca promise we could leave if it was lame) and discovered Aubry on the dance floor. She was amazing. We later found out she performs in a salsa troupe and watching her dance was a treat. Watching the hordes of men wait their turn to dance with her was no surprise. Bianca and I went to the bar to order but before we could decide what we wanted, a man came to ask Bianca to dance. It was a club where everyone was a good dancer. Not just good, but incredible. And Bianca fell right into the mix. I stood and watched until I was approached by a gentlemen to dance. Women were in the minority and men were plenty. Good odds. I tried to explain, in my broken Spanish, that I was not a good salsa dancer but he didn't care. He was very patient and very supportive. And I had a blast. And I continued to dance all night with different, very patient, charming dancers who, no doubt, observed my lack of salsa magic but asked me to dance none the less. I had a great time!! Towards the end of the night, Bianca had formed a friendship with a nice young man, Julian, who had traveled the world, spoke English and German, and had coveted Bianca for the entire evening. At some point I thought that if she needed to be rescued she would give me a sign of some sort. A look, a nod, fervent waving of arms over her head? ...but nothing. At a late hour I decided I was done and I was pretty sure I had danced with a majority of the men in the room, so I was happy. Bianca was giving her friend, Julian, a hug goodbye, when he did the patented guy move from cheek to lips, and it was then i saw it. The look she should have given much earlier in the evening. That pained look a child gives when they don't want to take medicine. Eyes squinty, mouth shut tight, shoulders hunched, hands braced against him to initiate the shove off if the kiss lasted beyond a millisecond. It didn't. Some things need no translation. We said our goodbyes and hopped in our cab home. All in all, a fantastic night. By the time we crawled into bed it was 5 am and we had accomplished another experience off our wish list. Dancing salsa in Buenos Aires. And even with all my hesitation with trying something new, I have discovered something wonderful in the process. I love salsa dancing... and I'm not as bad a dancer as I thought...oh, and Bianca is terrible at signaling for help.
All good things to know in the future!!
Some winner shots from the tango show...
Yesterday we went back to tango class. No Augustin, so I won't be bringing home a little porteno like I wanted. Because things are never as good after the first time, class was only fine. I did manage to severely wound some fellow students with my heels, among whom was a 7 year-old boy (who hopped away trying not to cry...I felt bad, okay?!) and Stella. My heel punctured her big toe. I feel really bad about that one, too. Especially when she keeps showing it to me.
We met Pablo, a friend of Stuart's, for drinks in Palermo Soho after. He was lovely and we had some interesting movie and political discussions. The area was hip without being dressy, and the menu was still all in Spanish which has become the line I draw as far as places I won't eat. More on that later.
The next morning we woke up to another beautiful day. Beautiful doesn't describe it - each day has gotten progressively warmer and perfect. I spent an hour soaking it up in the park before Stella and I conquered the bus system and went to San Telmo for the regular Sunday Feria. It's a flea market packed with people and street performers. We got there late enough to enjoy the spectacle without having to shove our way through the masses, but early enough to catch an outdoor tango show. We each took about 200 pictures, thank God for digital.
San Telmo which was the first place that didn't remind Stella of New York at all. This part of town, while still touristy with its opportunistic restaurants and dime-a-dozen trinket sellers, was old world beautiful and way more European. We walked around craving pasta and could not find an open restaurant once we wandered out of San Telmo into the financial district. SUPER European influences here. We found the last stop of our Subte line and decided to try our luck further up the line. We bypassed our neighborhood and found ourselves back in Palermo Soho because the stop was named Plaza Italia and I was dying for spaghetti by this point. We strolled a part of Soho we hadn't been to yet and found ANOTHER fair. We ended up at a restaurant based solely on their antipasti set up. It was beee-you-ti-ful!
And it went downhill from there. The menu had English subtitles. And no spaghetti. Despite my cheat sheet, I ordered the most offensive salad ever created. Thank God for the flan with dulce de leche. It cleaned the taste of the half pound of smoked salmon that had covered my greens out of my mouth.
Miraculously, Stella and I met Aubry out for salsa dancing. I say it was a miracle based on our ability to overcome the odds: Stella's toe, my dinner, extreme yawning, Stella doesn't salsa, etc. Turns out Aubry is a salsa queen from North Carolina and simply watching her dance all night would have been fun enough. The club wasn't too crowded and there were more men than women so before you knew it Stell and I were dancing. I love salsa but rarely get the opportunity to dance with a partner, so it was REALLY fun to have great leaders. Before I knew it, I had a boyfriend. Stella wants to tell the story from her vantage point, so I'll let her take over from here:
Well, to say I don't salsa is an understatement. Tango is way more up my alley because it is like fancy walking. Salsa is a hip moving extranvanganza with twirls and fancy footwork, all of which is a difficult for me, if not strictly impossible. We arrived at the club (after I made Bianca promise we could leave if it was lame) and discovered Aubry on the dance floor. She was amazing. We later found out she performs in a salsa troupe and watching her dance was a treat. Watching the hordes of men wait their turn to dance with her was no surprise. Bianca and I went to the bar to order but before we could decide what we wanted, a man came to ask Bianca to dance. It was a club where everyone was a good dancer. Not just good, but incredible. And Bianca fell right into the mix. I stood and watched until I was approached by a gentlemen to dance. Women were in the minority and men were plenty. Good odds. I tried to explain, in my broken Spanish, that I was not a good salsa dancer but he didn't care. He was very patient and very supportive. And I had a blast. And I continued to dance all night with different, very patient, charming dancers who, no doubt, observed my lack of salsa magic but asked me to dance none the less. I had a great time!! Towards the end of the night, Bianca had formed a friendship with a nice young man, Julian, who had traveled the world, spoke English and German, and had coveted Bianca for the entire evening. At some point I thought that if she needed to be rescued she would give me a sign of some sort. A look, a nod, fervent waving of arms over her head? ...but nothing. At a late hour I decided I was done and I was pretty sure I had danced with a majority of the men in the room, so I was happy. Bianca was giving her friend, Julian, a hug goodbye, when he did the patented guy move from cheek to lips, and it was then i saw it. The look she should have given much earlier in the evening. That pained look a child gives when they don't want to take medicine. Eyes squinty, mouth shut tight, shoulders hunched, hands braced against him to initiate the shove off if the kiss lasted beyond a millisecond. It didn't. Some things need no translation. We said our goodbyes and hopped in our cab home. All in all, a fantastic night. By the time we crawled into bed it was 5 am and we had accomplished another experience off our wish list. Dancing salsa in Buenos Aires. And even with all my hesitation with trying something new, I have discovered something wonderful in the process. I love salsa dancing... and I'm not as bad a dancer as I thought...oh, and Bianca is terrible at signaling for help.
All good things to know in the future!!
Some winner shots from the tango show...
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