El Pasion Del Tango: Dancing Tango in Buenos Aires

In the brothels of Argentina, the portenos have a dance.

But the Tango is more than a dance. The Tango is a consuming passion, a love that borders on obsession. The dance has spread to every corner of the world, from Los Angelos to Hong Kong; but the heart of the Tango, the true Milonga, is rooted in Buenos Aires, in Argentina.

The lighting is dim and smoky, a dreamlike blend of grit and beauty. Slit skirts reveal lengths of pale thigh, elongated by the six-inch stilettos that swirl and tap against the hardwood. All is tango, from the wailing strands of the violin to the mingled scent of smoke and perfume.
And then I see the dancers.

The partners are glued together, melded at the chest or the cheek or the arms. They move like liquid across the floor, smooth and low and fluid. I catch my breath as one partner spins into her partner, landing a sharp goncho between his legs. It takes precision and practice to lead a move like that; in Buenos Aires, a tango dancer with four or five years experience is still very much a beginner. This is no high school dance, no awkward search for moments of movement. The Tango is seamless, passionate, overwhelming; once truly felt, it is not easy to forget.

I watch the dancers as they move, the women with their eyes shut, varied expressions of concentration and bliss passing over their faces as they dance. The men are completely focused, lost in the subtleties of the music and the warm, flowing motion of their partners.

The room throbs with sultry beauty, velvet dresses with slitted sides, long flowing pants and tight strappy tops. Scarlet silk wraps around a tiny waist, clinging to a silhouette; dark jackets and heavy-lidded eyes drip mystery and sensuality. My eyes trace the figure of a dancer across the room, following her long flowing hair as it unfurls down her back, moving down over her graceful hips, to the porcelain leg ended in a high silver stiletto.