In Buenos Aires, there are many tango bars that are not for the faint of heart. These dance halls are located in some of the rougher neighborhoods, Nueva Pompeya, La Boca and Avellaneda. But once you’ve braved your way through these tough areas, you’ll find the true soul of tango. Thanks to their shady locations, these underground tango joints haven’t made it to the tourist maps. In fact, these places have nothing to do with tourism. The faces of the singers are weathered, and when they sing it’s from soles of their feet.
Every Friday night at my favorite underground tango bar, the dining room lights up with the energy of the whole gang. Starting with a kiss on the cheek, the rest of my hectic work week ceases to matter.
La Calandria is my favorite singer. She is a tiny, wrinkled lady who always wears heels. She sits patiently and taps her feet to the beat. Around 1am, she takes the mic and kindly declines a fellow who offers her a chair. Wiggling around, she shares a few words with the musicians and begins. Half the room clutches their hearts unconsciously as she evokes the specific street drama that inspired the music and lyrics of the tango.
The owner is cool, and remains seated in the back, smoking. Sometimes he can be bothered to bestow small trinkets upon important (or cranky) visitors in an effort to win their hearts. Otherwise, that back corner is where he remains.
The waiter is a tall old man who always dresses in a suit and is attentive, never disrespectful, and always professional. He brings traditional porteño fare like a seafood casserole, bife de lomo and great little desserts. Wine and water siphons are set at each table and everyone angles their chair to see the stage.
All the characters are there. La Calandria, the mustached Romeo, the latino edition Burt Reynolds, the crazy bleach-blond 40-year-old woman in a prohibitively tight mini dress and the Italian man with a sexy dancer wife. The musicians sit like a band of brothers and almost disappear behind the voice of La Calandria and the liminal curtain of music.
There’s El Gordo, the fat mafia type, whose words a gringo will never be able to understand. And don’t forget the young studs, who soak in the place, the feeling and the meaning behind it all. They are incredibly talented and, when present, are invited to play on the stage. Their young energy changes the ambiance, but only for a second. Their desire to feel the original tango vibe finds equilibrium.
These are images and understandings that are powerful and interesting. Travelers should experience these bars, but there is a “parental advisory” label. For those who dare, be sure to hire a trusted remis and dress nicely, yet simply. Lock the doors to the car and make sure you get dropped off right at the door.
To preserve these bars we’ll skip the exact names of these underground tango halls, but they do exist. We suggest starting at some of the more well known, accessible joints and asking around for the posta (real deal). Best of luck and feel free to share…but would you?
