Saying "Good morning" to the morning

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There was a storm last weekend, in Buenos Aires. It lasted all weekend. I didn't know it was happening until it past. Angel storm. Dropping chubby little angels from the feathered clouds. Those little angels giggled and wiggled their toes. They came in all different shapes and sizes. Plop! Plop! Plop! They tumbled down.

I found my first angel tender and new on Friday night. I was feeling sorry for myself. Then I realized a docu/fiction movie El Ultimo Bandoneón (a bandoneón is the accordian like instrument in a tango orquestra) was playing at the ritzy theater in Recoleta. I put on my new bra, tanktop, pants, and shoes and wondered on over to the movie theater.

"The movie is in Spanish" the ticket seller told me. I just laughed. One comes to expect these things when in a Spanish speaking country... What neither of us knew was that there was more then just Spanish in the movie. There was music....oh was there music. There was the deep gasping breaths of the bandoneon when it closes. The clack of the buttons. The music expressed the wild and hungry passion of tango. Of longing for sweet scented skin. The smooth swoosh of high heels effortlessly slipping across the milonga floor. There was also the sadness and desperation of maintaining the art of the bandoneon. There are people who play the bandoneon but few who make or repair them. And of course.......the need to be filled with the music and the necessity to release what burns inside of the musician through tango......

I understood all I needed to.

Saturday night took me across town to Devenir, a Brazilian bar, in Palermo. All the friends were there and so was the music. Oh the music the music. Samba music does something to your body. Possesses your heart and like a puppetier plucks your body to and fro. Brian pointed out that each song in Brazil has a special dance and magicaly Brazilians know the moves. I don't need to know how to dance samba..."just shake your bunda" (bunda is butt) And shake we did.

At one point I found myself dancing in the arms of a tall Brazilian man named Miguel. He leaned in at one point and asked "esta bien?" Surprisingly, yes, it was ok. Have I gotten over my fear of dancing with men? Maybe. I hope so. There was nothing creepy about dancing with this fellow. Just two bodies taken by the rythem.

Tango is the music of longing for love, drugs, food, a better life. Samba is the music of escape and utter joy.

After hours of the wiggle of the hip, words and laughter Brian, Quinn and I got to San Telmo in a taxi. The taxi driver asked if we had a good night. "Of course!!!" I piped. "Estoy con dos hombres lindos." He corrected me. I wasn't with two beautiful men. I was with three. We said good night as the midnight sky's eyes fluttered awake and the morning birds stretched their wings. I went to my room at 5:45 leaned out my window and said a cheerful good morning to the morning.

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Comments

[Scott]

!
Beautiful!

[mama]

Good Morning Sleeping Beauty... you are my angel. : )