La Vida Tango E-zine

LONDON AND HIS MAJESTY…. EL TANGO!

From London . . .

After 15 days of a working tour to Spain and the last 4 days and nights of workshops and milongas in Malaga, those 3 hours to London seemed to be more than convenient to repair a little bit my energies. I'm a good “travelling sleeper” so I prepared myself not only for a 3 hours flight but for a 3 hours of swift sleep. That day “Gatwick”Airport was real busy and the famous "unarmed" London police were everywhere… this time very well armed with machine guns. Like every time I got out of a airport in Paris or Rome I refused to be one more tourist and I wanted to feel in my skin how it would be to be a part of this beautiful City. So instead of taking one of those famous black and expensive taxis I went to terminal “B” in a shuttle train, exchange some dollars for pounds and boarded with my luggage the “Gatwick Express” that wiould take me directly to “Victoria Station” preparing myself to tour London up and down during the day and dance in all and every one of its milongas during the night… a task a little hard to accomplish in only 3 days and 2 nights that I was going to stay there!

I checked in the hotel, left my baggage and went back to Victoria Station to take one of those typical 2 story red busses. Started to rain and the temperature had fallen remarkably, my shirt made to stand Texas weather was not enough and, since we were driving along Regent Street I got out of the bus, bought a light jacket and promised myself while walking down to “Picadilly Circus”, not to forget that I was in London next time. “Piccadilly” like everyone here calls it, has a beautiful water fountain with sculptural motives in a middle and is the point of reunion for tourists and city office people looking for a spot to eat lunch, kill some time or just feed the great deal of pigeons looking for their lunch too. The busy intersection where Regent Street, Piccadilly Street, Warwick Street, Jermyn Street, Brenner Street and Haymarket Street meet from different places of the City, is close to the “Theater District” and “Coven Garden” another landmark that used to be a fruit and vegetable market and is now, like “El Abasto” in Buenos Aires, an important commercial and cultural center.

Well, after this introductory tour to the City of the Queen I was more than ready to Tango (and I'm sure you too) since I found myself standing in front of the “SQUARE PIG” at 30-32 Procter Street where there are classes every Monday and, according to my sources, nice milongas after. I was getting in when I saw Pablo Alonso a milonguero friend that I happen to know from the club “Gricel” in Buenos Aires when he danced with Natalya Buccarini,

after the usual greetings and welcomes he showed me the place and introduced me to the friendly and nice people, good music, a very elegant spot with wood floor all over, pictures hanging at the walls, a line of columns cutting the floor right in the middle and a very low lighting makes this place very attractive and a real good choice to dance tango and to spend the time there!

The following day, after putting to the test my understanding of the Anglo language trying to follow the explanations of the guides in a tour to the “Buckingam Palace” in the morning and another “torture to my ears” guided tour to the “Tower of London” in the afternoon, I was more than ready and happy to immerse myself to the expression that does not need words to communicate and to be eloquent. So once I had finished my investigations on how to get there. I walked back to Victoria Station and took the Metro... excuse me THE TUBE (because here is not the Subway like it in U.S.A. or Metro like in Paris or Subterraneo like in Buenos Aires... in London it is “The Tube”) to Warren Street hopping off to get to my next and last milonga in London “BAR ANDALUCIA" in time”. Once I got inside, the place was very noisy, all the men were seated one next to the other on benches along the walls on both sides of the dance floor, it looked like where were no ladies there. Arches along the white walls, several pictures hanging and a big banner of “El Che Guevara” in the middle made me to hesitate on leaving or staying when somebody said: Let the ladies come in! ...and then the floor was inundated with ladies eager to dance. I was seated at the bar when a beautiful women got to my side, smiled like a Queen and asked me to dance. The DJ was playing “Yo me emborracho por ella” and... believe me... after a couple of dances I almost did!. Nice ambience with another column right in the middle of the dance floor, the bar in one of the sides and dancers all over, Ladies very elegant and well dressed, some men wearing coats, some others in what we call in Buenos Aires “elegant sport”. Carola, the girl that danced with me introduced me to some dancers, teachers and organizers when one of them, Argentinean, long hear combed like a lady started to demonstrate a left enrosque with estrange exercises that had nothing to do with the step, later on the same guy danced in exhibition a tango to Piazzola with a very nice girl. She was good, He was not exactly my best image of a real Argentine milonguero.

London was like other Cities of Europe, a lot of new tango teachers that have learned all the Tango Steps... many of them unfortunately ... are still looking for the Spirit!

It was 2 o’clock in the morning, the London night was clean and beautiful, Refusing to leave that enchanted City I started to walk along the River with the sounds of a tango still in my mind... These were my first Tangos in London but they will not be my last ones!

OTHER PLACES WHERE TO DANCE TANGO IN LONDON:

“The Room” 33 Holcombe Rd. (Victoria Lane TUBE)

“The White Hart” 185 Kensington Lane (Coven Garden TUBE)

“Imperial Colleague” Exhibition Road (South Kensington TUBE)

“Virgen Active Regents Park” Regents Place (Waren Street TUBE)

“Polish hearth Club” every Sunday “La Milonga de la Luna”

......and the latest tango venue in London opened while I was there downstairs from the “Casa Nostra” Restaurant at 125 Gt. Richfield Street (Corner of of Clipstone Street).

"THE SQUARE PIG" MILONGA, ONE OF THE BEST MILONGAS IN LONDON

THE MEPHISTOPHELEAN TANGO

Part 2: The Fortune-teller

by Robert Osburne

email Robert at roberto@lavidatango.com

Read part one, archives/9_2_07.htm

The beaux-arts students have transformed the cavernous ballroom of L'école des Beaux Arts into a credible Eighteenth Century palace. A pervasive, sparkling gaiety envelopes the Beaux Arts dancers, who have come together tonight with a common purpose....the celebration of life....to laugh, to dance, to embrace the incomparable, delirious charm of Paris. The intoxication and excitement of bohemian abandon are reflected in the eyes of the handsome men and on the champagne flavored lips of the the beautiful women.

Jacques had warned us that nudity was a long established practice at the Bal des Quatr’z Arts. Many women, in fact, arrived braless beneath their superbly crafted, diaphanous costumes. And both male and female beaux-arts models are naked beneath their revealing costumes. This exigency, of course, met with the complete approval of Natasha.

Natasha and Anne-Marie head directly for the gypsy fortuneteller's booth, talking excitedly about what she might tell them of the future. Natasha hopes to hear she is destined to ascend the throne of Première Danseuse of the Paris Corps de Ballet...la creme de la creme des danseuses de Paris. Du Monde! This prize has become an obsession, for which she is prepared to sacrifice all. But the competition is fierce. And the youthful Mademoiselle Christine, who presently holds the place of Danseuse Supreme, is a superb ballerina without equal, and she shows no sign of vacating her throne.

In her quest for perfection, Natasha spends interminable days at The Opera Garnier salon de ballet , bent over the bars in agonizing contortions, submitting to the uncompromising tyranny of the white haired ballet master, whose long, silver headed cane strikes the rough wooden planks with a THUNK, THUNK that makes even the hardiest ballerina cringe. The hours slip by as she strives to meet his unforgiving drive for perfection---*perfection, perfection, mes enfants, et s’il vous plait, pas de larmes, tears will not make you better dancers."

Anne-Marie's hopes are even more chimerical. She would like to hear The Fortune-teller say the car accident that left her terribly disfigured is only a bad dream from which she will soon waken. But neither doctors nor her quotidian climb up the stone steps of her Paris church have, so far, provided any help.

The gypsy fortuneteller has set up shop in the East corner of the ballroom. Her shop is an enclosure consisting of black drapes imprinted with blue, five-pointed-stars and yellow crescent-moons. Behind the beaded curtain at the entrance, the fortuneteller sits at a small, round table covered by a dark-blue cloth imprinted with the sign of infinity. With slender fingers covered with rings of gold and long nails painted purple, she caresses a crystal sphere at the center of the table. A long, black robe of spider-silk hangs loosely from her shoulders, and her long black, silky hair, adorned with tiny diamonds, sparkles like celestial fireflies. The reflection of her gold earrings, as large as the rings of Saturn, rebounds from the surface of her crystal sphere. Facing the fortuneteller, the exquisite Lady Faustus stares into the crystal ball and watches as the veil of time lifts and the future is revealed. Behind the Countess , noble courtesans and cavaliers wait their turn to gaze into the future. "The fortuneteller is busy," I tell Jacques. "Let's come back when she's less occupied."

Natasha and Anne-Marie have hooked up with a couple of beaux-arts dance partners and agree to meet with us after they dance a tango or two. With a broad sweep of pointed toes, they merge with the crowd on the dance floor.

Jacques and I turn toward the banquet room, where I see Cupid standing by the bar. But, with her tiny wings and tiny breasts, she looks more like tinker bell. She holds a champagne glass in her hand. "I thought Cupid was a guy," I tell her. "Yes," she answers, "but the Gods have granted me favors," she says. "I choose whatever form pleases me. However, at the moment, I’m on vacation."

I ask cupid to dance a tango with me, and she tells me…."I’ve been working so hard lately, I’m exhausted. And I’m so happy springtime is here at last," she says. "You know, Robert, after the sun melts winter’s long shadow and gardens begin to fill with the happy buzz of bees, high on pollen; and everything turns leafy-green and sticky-ripe-for-love; and sleepy rosebuds wake and stretch; and sinfully scarlet cosmetic cases spring open; and a thousand shades of rouge made ready; and a thousand perfumes prepared; well, you can understand why I start to fade a little."

Cupid takes a deep breath and exhales. Then she raises her champagne glass to her lips and drinks, while her tiny wings flutter briefly. "But that’s not all, Robert," she goes on. "I’ve now got to serve my fabled rose wine in buttercups and make the heads of yellow banded bumble bees buzz with delirium. After that, you must understand, Robert, why Cupid has got to rest awhile. Sorry, Robert," she says, holding her hand over her mouth to cover a cavernous yawn.

"I think Cupid is a little drunk," I tell Jacques, "and I’m surprised she remembers my name." Jacques takes a sip from his amber colored drink, sets his glass on the bar and wipes his mustache with the back of his hand.

"What are you drinking?" I ask him.

"Absinthe," he answers.

"I thought that was illegal."

"Well, yes. It is illegal," he says. "But this is 18th Century Paris....the age of Mozart. And I also know the bartender. You know, Robert, I don’t really believe anyone can foretell the future. The key to the secret of time exists only in the imagination of astrologers, poets and priests. The world does not consist of little preformed pieces of a nicely organized picture-puzzle that fit together according to the predetermined plan of its designer and about which you can get privileged information if you know the right people. What I see is a cosmic billiard table, on which a game of billiards is played with flaming, yellow-tailed comets trapped in the embrace of blazing suns; and madly spinning, quark-heavy, neutron stars, sucked-up by quark-hungry black holes; and galaxies, whirling like windmills, swallowed-up in fateful collisions. All ruled by Chaos....the master billiard player. And on an infinitely small speck of blue dust floating aimlessly on the cosmic wind, we are the billiard balls….interfering, colliding, whirling about in our own chaotic orbits, over which we have little if any control."

"Jacques, you are quite the wild-eyed romantique," I tell him. "Well, then tell me....what is the meaning of life?"

"I can’t tell you, Robert, I‘m sorry to say. They didn’t teach us that at L’école Polytechnique. The answer to that question rests in the hands of great composers, great poets and great novelists. But for me, what’s important is the business of life. In other words...how to live….how to stare straight-eyed into the gaping abyss of oblivion and laugh; to dance in the rain; and to fly across the sun, and…."

The orchestra is going wild, and the lubricious feet of bleary, bare-breasted dancers are driven to daring extremes, with well lubricated baroque notes that glide from the musician's instruments. The Mozart minuet the orchestra is playing ends, and in a final flash of pink lace, the dancers disperse. Natasha and Anne-Marie disentangle themselves from their dance partners. They curtsy in response to their cavalier’s bow, and, laughing gaily, they walk our way. "Come," they say, laughing and taking Jacques and me by the hand, "let's have our fortunes told."

As we step through the beaded curtain, the Fortune-teller looks up from her crystal ball, and, with lips painted dark red, she smiles as we enter the booth. Her eyelids are tinted blue, and from beneath her half-closed, upward curving lashes, two brilliant, black hemispheres stare out at the world, pondering the eternal questions of life and beyond. She appears to be about 25 years old, but she has the voice and manner of a much older woman. "Gracious ladies and Honorable Gentleman, welcome. I’ve been expecting you," she says with a nod of her head. And without hesitating an instant, she launches into the first of her prophecies…"You shall travel parallel pathways that meet at infinity," she tells us. Well, what the hell does that mean? I ask myself…anyway, Euclid says parallel lines never meet. Or do they?

"Who will be first to look into the future?" The fortuneteller asks. "Robert, you go first," Anne Marie says. "Oh, no," I answer, stepping behind Natasha. "Natasha, you go first," I tell her. "Yes, Natasha. You must go first," Anne Marie says, taking hold of Natasha's hand and guiding her to a chair facing the fortuneteller. "Oh, all right," Natasha says, in a tone of resignation. She sits down and folds her hands on top of the table. She stares into the eyes of the fortuneteller and then lowers her gaze to the crystal ball.

The Fortune-teller caresses the crystal ball lightly with the tips of her fingers, as one might caress the smooth contours of a lover’s face. Breathing deeply from the smoldering incense rising from the brass cup by her crystal ball, she closes her eyes.

"An image before me rises from the labyrinth, brighter than the flame-white disc of a thousand suns, hot on waxen wings freed by presumptuous pride. Your Daedalus, by another name, will guide your sun centered quest. But beware.....for malignant fate ye by the hand shall take at the river's edge. And there shall ye yield to the boatman his precious coin."

"Do you have any idea what the hell she's talking about," I ask Jacques. "Or is she just high, like some some retarded Delphian Oracle, from all that incense she's breathing? I still can't believe Alexander the Great was mentored by some stupid Oracle and then managed to conquer the world."

"Well," Jacques says, "the Delphi oracle had a priest by her side to interpret her gibberish. And I ain't no Greek priest. But look, Robert. She's writing something down and handing it to Natasha."

Natasha thanks the Fortuneteller, and, with note in hand, rises from her chair. "What's in the note? I ask her. Natasha unfolds the note. The only thing written on the paper is a name and an address....La Countess Mephisto at 24 Rue des Quartre Vents. "The Fortuneteller says there's someone at this address who can help me," Natasha says. "I know that street," Jacques says. "It's located in le Quartier de Saint Germain des Pres...the heart of existential Paris. It's near le Cafe des Deux Maggots, where Jean Paul Sartre used to hold court."

The fortuneteller lights a cigarette, inhales deeply and blows a cloud of blue smoke across the table. With her chin cradled in her palm and her elbow resting on the table, she looks up from under dark lashes and asks, "who will be next to know the future?" She regards us silently while her left hand idly plays with a deck of cards. "You! The handsome one," she calls out. "Come. Sit by me and hear the future." Jacques and I look at one another. "She’s talking to you, Jacques," I say to him. "Yes," Jacques replies, "but you know, for me the future is the now. Seize the moment. Carpe diem…that’s where I’m coming from. That’s where I’ll always be, and that’s where I choose to live…in the present. Go over there, Robert, and let her make you happy."

"Right!" I tell him. "She’ll probably lay a death trip on me, just for laughs." An unconvincing laugh rises from my throat as I step over to the table and sit down.

The fortuneteller stares into her crystal ball and says nothing. An uncomfortable silence falls upon us. "What do you see?" I ask her. She doesn’t answer. Finally, she looks up. Our eyes meet. "What do you see?" I ask again. "I’ve got to have proof, you know, for whatever you may see."

"In time, you shall have your proof," she says. "Is it Death?" I ask.

"I see," says the fortuneteller, "lying in wait with infinite patience, a predator, whose stealth makes it invisible to its vulnerable prey. Oblivious to its immanent, fateful encounter, an unsuspecting victim drifts peacefully towards the unseen predator and into the jaws of inexorable destiny. As it is with predator and prey, so it will it be with you, dear sir." She places her deck of cards in front of me. "Cut the cards, and tell me what you see," she says. I hesitate and then run my thumb and forefinger along the edge of the deck, stopping a third of the way down. I cut the cards and turn them over. The ace of spades sits on top. Death!

I begin to laugh uncontrollably and turn towards Jacques, who is not laughing. "You laugh?" The fortuneteller says. "Why? Do you think I am foolish? You cannot escape fate. Fate will follow you like a dog that never loses the scent. What will happen in the future is ordained in the stars and in the eye of God. You are a blasphemer and an iconoclast, who will be punished at the end of time."

"Do you have any idea how long that will be?" I ask her. The fortuneteller grinds her cigarette into the ashtray. She is upset with me. She picks up the deck of cards and begins laying them out in some sort of mystical pattern on the tabletop. "Come on," Jacques says, "Let’s see how Natasha and Anne-Marie are doing."

"OK," I tell him. As we step through the beaded curtain leading to the ballroom, I turn to the fortuneteller. "Que les étoiles nous protégent," I tell her. "Adieu, Monsieur," she replies. (To be continued)

Notes:
Bal des Quatr’z Arts: The Ball of The Four Arts....during the time this story takes place, Le Bal des Quatr’z Arts was held annually by the students of the prestigious École Nationale Supérieure des Beaux-Arts (The Superior National School of Fine Arts). The principle building of L’école des Beaux Arts is located in the Latin Quarter on the left Bank of Paris at 14 Rue Bonaparte and was founded in 1648. At that time, the school’s curriculum centered about the four major fields of art: architecture, painting, sculpture and music; hence ‘Les quatr’z arts’…the preferred pronunciation of beaux-arts students. A number of famous artists began their careers as students at L’école des Beaux Arts. Among them were Ingres, Delacroix, Degas, Monet, Renoir and Sisely. The Bal des Quatr’z Arts originally centered on students' artistic genius in creating spectacularly beautiful and colorful costumes and themes. However, over the years, elements of nudity and deviate behavior became an increasingly popular aspect of the ball.

Glossary :
Beaux-arts: Fine Arts.
Première Danseuse: First (best) dancer
La creme de la creme des danseuses de Paris: Top notch Paris dancers.
Du Monde : of (or in) the world
Danseuse Supreme: Supreme dancer
Perfection, perfection, mes enfants, et s’il vous plait, pas de larmes: perfection, perfectionmy children, and please, no tears.
Rue des Quartre Vents: Street of the four winds...located in The Latin Quarter of Paris.
le Cafe des Deux Maggots: The Two Maggots Cafe: Located in the St. Germain des pres quarter, on the left bank of Paris, it was the center of the popular existential, philosophical movement in the 1950's.
L’école Polytechnique: A pretigious school of science in Paris.
Carpe diem: Seize the moment.
Que les étoiles nous protégent: May the stars protect us.

Dear Tango Friends in San Antonio:

Friday and Saturday nights, the 28^th and 29 of September, Color Tango Orchestra, best in the whole wide world still living today, played at a concert and a milonga. There was a sizable contingent of our San Antonio crowd present and some of their antics are captured herein. First Norma, Dell and Margie were escorted to Dallas by Arthur where they lost no time in “getting into the mood” for the festivities.

No well-mannered person would ever report the flash of a tequila flask (which might fit into a purse) BUT photos don’t lie about the good times that were to be had. Norma was, of course, the instigator shown in usual form here.

The organizational results are shown in the overall appearance and also in the shoes which demonstrate they are “Ready to Party”

The concert was a great performance and well attended, but afterwards, the Color Tango group was entertained in their turn at The Cape restaurant.

Naturally, the SAT group wasted no time making personal acquaintances of the entire band. Of course from a Tanguero’s perspective, the piano player, Analia Goldberg was the most interesting as may be deduced from this picture. She is in the blue dress on the left. The Tangueras however were in total awe over Roberto Decarre, the new vocalist addition to the Color Tango family. I overheard one of the Tangueras describe him as a divine 27 year old. It was an early evening (by Buenos Aires standards) and the party broke up at about 2:00 AM.

On Saturday night all of the stops were pulled and the three tangueras were ready to TANGO!

Not being from Dallas, they soon began calling themselves Los Perdidos and ended up at Del Frisco’s steak house to fortify themselves for the night to come.

Both food and company were great, the tangueras were dressed like movie stars while Arthur was their immaculately dressed escort.

The bottom line for the evening was the orchestra was great, in a magnificent ballroom setting that was packed, and the food, wine and company were great. Here is another couple from SAT that knew how to properly present a tango image!

The end of the story is it was a fine night and everyone is looking forward to next year’s performance!