I’m a Buenos Aires tourist attraction! Kinda. I’ve gone to swing classes here four times now and gone to two dances, so I’ve met some people and was invited to meet them for dancing in the street to a local band, Las Cuerdas de San Telmo. We danced on Defensa street on Sunday when it is closed to autos and filled with the standard street fair, of course here with a bit of an Argentine flavor: a puppeteer handling a puppet on a small faux street corner stage while Tango music played the puppet dragged 
himself along the street drunkenly, a man dressed in a ‘20’s pin stripped suit and hat, a woman in fishnet stockings, a short dress and tango heels standing as statues, a stand piled with oranges and a juicing machine, artists sketching portraits for anyone who would pay, and a man weaving cornstalks into, strangely enough, the shape of a cornstalk…puzzling.
Venders selling: carved mate cups, whistles that sound like birds, sandals with long straps of leather to wrap up the foot and ankle, 10,000 paintings of tango, leather purses, giant jewelry made of polished rocks, leather necklaces, silver rings, dangly earrings, flipflops, belts, knitted shawls, macramé shawls, woven shawls, fabric shawls, aprons with “eat more chicken”, t-shirts of Homer and Marge tangoing, a selection of flattened Argentine beer bottles, more chotchke than anyone could ever want.
And, of course, there was tango music and dancing. I think that Defensa is probably the street all the guidebooks are referring to when they say things like “In Buenos Aires, tango is everywhere. They even tango in the street for change.” To me, Defensa feels like the equivalent to Times Square – one street onto which is compressed all of the stereotypes of the city, conveniently packaged into a snack sized 
purchasable portion… but it’s not real life.
I did watch one of the Tango groups. They were surrounded by a throng of us tourists blocking the street, the required kid or two bouncing in the center of the circle while the women gave the “awww, isn’t that adorable” look, and the dozens of digital cameras held above the heads of the crowd. But, there was one woman there who was real. An old Argentine woman in black old-lady heels, a yellow flower print skirt, and gray sweater standing with her hands clasped at the front of the crowd next to her friend leaning on a cane. As the band leader sang with big sweeping gestures, strong chest-thrust-forward posture, dramatic facial expressions especially emphasized for a TV camera that was on site, the old woman also sang. I couldn’t hear her. I could just see her mouthing all of the words. Maybe she wasn’t even singing aloud, but she looked completely content. Even when the songs were sad, she looked content to have the music playing, to have a cool afternoon, to stand and sing all the 
old songs.
Afterwards, I met the swing dancers on the corner and we danced mostly balboa to crazy fast gypsy style swing and tourists gathered around and took our photos and clapped. The band knew the other dancers but me so they asked my name so they could announce us after each song. They butchered my name every time and we laughed. Afterwards, we all went for drinks and I rode in the back of a tiny white pickup truck with a handful of other people. Everyone spoke a little English and had basic conversation with me and I listened to the Spanish of their conversation. For me, the conversation went something like: “ house…
beer…
street….
go…
dance….
beer…
music…
each…
when…
beer…
where.. well, you get the idea. But, by the end of the night my Spanish had certainly improved and I did have one extended conversation with one of the serious dancers who didn’t speak much English at all. There are some words that are always the same: Frankie Manning, Skye, Frieda, Charleston, etc.
Next, we went to the bar Pasaje San Lorenzo where the same band was playing and we danced to more super fast music and I talked with a local in English for a long time about life here, growing up, Peron, hope, jobs, politics, religion, the poor economy. 
He said to me, “Here, most people all they hope for is breathing, but that is not life. Plants even are breathing.” For me, this was a thousand times better than Defensa. I haven’t seen any museums or cathedrals and sure maybe I’m doing too much swing dancing, but what interests me in Buenos Aires ..or anywhere… is the people. The real ones. Not the paintings on Defensa. Or the hordes of tango shows. Honestly, I don’t know what I’m doing in Buenos Aires, or anywhere really, but there are small moments where I think, “ah, that’s right, that’s what it’s about.” And, of course, there was dancing.
At the end of the night my new friend said to me, “But here I am talking talking talking. And you are not talking. It is like I am in …como se dice… therapy.” Well, I was asking for something familiar. That line certainly is.
