It's All About The Chest

Not gonna lie, finally coming into the city, the ladies and I could almost not believe it.  Especially since we went on a mostly sketchy, unbeknownst to us van ride into the darkness surrounding Buenos Aires.  Right about the time that we were seriously concerned for our tired selves, we arrived at Pampas del Sur and were treated to five course meals primarily consisting of meat.  Loooots of meat.

It was beautiful, perfect chilled weather, and a day full of information, fixed gear brakeless bikes, cows, sheep and an alarming immediate comfort with each other in the whole group.

Coming into the city was exactly the experience you would assume.  Muchos autos y muchas personas.  And lots of pizza places.  Argentina has a lot of Italian influences from the massive immigration that took place before and during the World Wars, hence, la pizza.

Our one evening in the hotel, and last evening together as a group, consisted of our first subte (subway) ride, a Spanish placement test and the most fun, and disgusting, adventure yet.  We went to a restaurante for a large meal and our very first TANGO lesson!  Yes, you heard it, Tango Tango.

But first, after the lesson we finally got to eat (it was about 10:30 pm or so) and it was quite an...interesting... meal.  Three of us shared a bottle of Malbec, a very popular Argentine red wine, and waited for whatever they were going to bring us.  In a group that large, unless you're a vegetarian, you don't order, you wait.  The first appetizers were incredibly delicious.  I don't know if this was because we were all starving or because they actually were that good.  However, the three next to us had something quite odd on their cutting board.  Something that looked like meat but had an untraceable smell to it.  Something that when you put it in your mouth, you wanted to spit it out again within a few seconds.  Not because it was necessarily bad, just incredibly awkward.  The texture, the taste, the smell.  All strange.

It was tongue.

Awesome.

Next, when they brought out the sizzling skillet holding pounds of meat, we only knew what two of the seven types of meat were on it: pollo y carne asada.  Pier and I decided to try a few of the other things as well.  A small, round, worm-esque thing was probably the most awful one we tried.  You bit into it and it was normal for about 3 seconds, and then something gooey took over the taste and texture.  When asked what it was...

It was intestine.  Kind of like a really bad chitlin' but worse.

We then tried blood sausage, which, for those who don't know, is coagulated blood. (Sorry, Dorothy)  And finally, I tried a bite of Eliza's mystery meat that she couldn't place the strangeness of.  This is the only one I couldn't swallow. It was kidney.  And it was gross.

I think I've met my quota for trying comida rara for at least a month and a half by now.  I wouldn't recommend eating any of that so listed, ever.

But back to Tango.

The couple who taught us were incredible.  It is not a dance like I've ever done or seen before.  The emotion between you and your partner is what makes it work.  Not the steps, but the connection.  And watching them dance, not even touching, everyone could feel the passion within them, bursting out and moving them around the floor.  When they started teaching us, they didn't focus on a specific step or a way to dance, but on how to move and connect.  "It's all about the chest!" he said.  "El Pecho es el mas importante!"

Ok, ok, let's try it.

So as we moved awkwardly around the small space cleared of tables, all of us tried to create some kind of "passion" in our couple.  However, this proved quite difficult, since we only have four guys in a group of 25 students.  BUT, Marc and I got to dance in front of everyone at the end, and I must say we were pretty good at it, muy suave.  He's going to be my partner with the next lessons, we've decided.  (Well, I told him, anyway.)

Actually, since this post has taken me over a week to finally finish, I can catch you wonderfully patient readers up with our subsequent start of proper Tango lessons in a studio.  A noche, we found our way to the studio and got to meet the other SIT group in Buenos Aires.  (They're studying Regional Integration and Development...ours is way better.)  It was MUCH different than the first lesson.  No talks about connection, no intense passion between the teaching couple (two women, so, you know) and nothing about el pecho.  Que triste.

As I tried to help Chris along the floor, I was reminded of my old folk dancing days, before I knew how to let the man lead me.  Tango is a very traditional and oddly conservative dance.  Not conservative in a fashion or way of dancing, but in the tango clubs you will go to, in the relationship between the partners.  It is always a man and woman.  The man always asks and the woman can or cannot give consent to dance.  He always leads and she always follows.  When dancing at a proper club, you must consent to four dances with the partner before sitting down and before changing.  Somewhat like Pride & Prejudice, no?

Needless to say, I'm going to continue lessons and hopefully be able to connect with some handsome and tall Argentine men.


I apologize for the lateness and lack of posting since arrival.  There are going to be many subsequent posts this weekend to catch you up on the unreal events of daily Argentine life.