February 14, 2009
Buenos Aires, the birthplace of the most sensual dance on earth . . . you would expect Valentine’s Day to offer a major opportunity for commercial exploitation of eros. But the holiday, which comes during the heat of summer in the southern hemisphere, is barely given a nod. Argentine friends explained to me, this is to spare those without a spouse or lover the pain of feeling left out. Such sensitivity toward their fellow citizens comes as no surprise. Argentines have collectively suffered under brutal military dictatorships, through a Dirty War whose culprits are still being brought to justice, and from a financial crisis that bankrupted and punished the best of citizens.
The country has enjoyed democracy only since 1983 and has an endearing—and more democratic—substitute for Valentine’s Day: Dia del Amigo or Friends Day. It is celebrated on July 20. Argentines, who routinely hug where we handshake, save their cuddly and heartfelt recognition of love in all its forms-familial, platonic, and romantic-for this winter holiday. Then, the commercial pressure to celebrate reaches critical mass with flurries of cards, gifts, phone calls, emails, text messages, candies, and flowers. In 2005, the numerous electronic remembrances to old and new friends and lovers crashed mobile phone networks in Buenos Aires. Oh, those expressive Latins.
So here it’s February 14th, I’m living in Buenos Aires, knowing that none of my beloved tango partners will make any gesture of recognition of our love—even if it is platonic. But, don’t cry for me, America. In the milongas, as we call the venues where tango is danced, come this July, I am guaranteed to leave with fresh roses. OK, so they’ll be from men who are wise enough to hand out roses to the six or so other women I share his dance skills with. Hey, if I wanted better male odds, I’d’ve moved to another country on my A-list: A-laska (yes, it is a country, just ask Sarah). But, on Friends Day, there is nothing like this dedicated moment in milongas when, in a fit of what I call “restorative therapy,” the single men rise, cross the dance floor, and deliver their flowers to us single women, all of us glancing sideways to see who’s in our “harem” . . .
But hey, it’s most Democratic. And I will tell you this in no uncertain terms. When I dance tango with any one of the Argentine men in my “harem,” pressing our torsos that contain our beating hearts together, there is no one else in the whole world but us two. For three timeless, super-cala-fragilistic-expi-alidocious minutes.
So, you up there in North America, whether you celebrate the exclusive Valentine’s Day, or the inclusive Dia del Amigo, I recommend a tango lesson with your loved ones. It’s cheaper, or at least longer lasting than chocolate and flowers. It’s great for any one or any country in need of restorative therapy.