The last evening

A friend emailed that she returned from BsAs with five pairs of shoes. I'm returning with one – and 20 CDs, but that's 20 CD boxes, and a lot of the boxes contain double CDs, perhaps 12 pairs of CDs. &, well I did buy a pair of sneakers, as well as the shoes... Thanks to Darcos and Artesanal I have footwear that has been comfortable since day one.

I watched Dido and Aeneas from Les Arts Florissants on cable TV before I went to La Calesita last night, which was kind of amazing. Is cable TV that good in the UK? Probably, but here it's included in the rent. & the main theatre where contemporary dance is performed, Teatro San Martin, put on two evenings of mixed contemporary dance, including work by Merce Cunningham, just before Christmas, for free. Anyone could go along. Amazing.

Thinking back, what a long time it seems since I came here. Also a long time since I first went out to Nunez to visit ESMA. Passing by on the way in to La Calesita last night, it seems fanciful to say that even the trees there look tortured, the beautiful natural park of the campus looks dark and terrifying. Places where there have been horrific events regularly get demolished, and there was a plan in the 90s to flatten the whole campus. No doubt property developers would have been delighted, but the plan was opposed by human rights groups, and the site, or at least some buildings on the site, was turned over to the “nunca mas” organisation as a site of memory, including the building I visited, which was the officer's quarters. The officers inhabited three floors: the extensive loft was where they kept the prisoners. It is said that one of the prisoners' strategies for survival (though I guess it was more of a basic reaction) was laughter, laughter and kindness to each other. Few of them survived.

My last night at Porteno y Bailarin: I talk to Carlos Stasi who has invited Alberto Podesta to sing on Tuesday. "You must change your flight" he says. "People cry to hear him sing. He's the only one still alive from the old generation." I explain that I know him from Pedro Laurenz recordings, my favourite tangos, Recien and Paisaje -- and that I can't change my ticket. I'd have to buy another one...

Portenas seem in a minority as, quite by chance, I dance with French, Italian, and German partners. Sometimes there's a wonderful spontaneous connection, sometimes it just doesn't quite work, like this evening. I'm tired, I've had a cold all week. So why do I ask a tall woman sitting nearby, although the floor is crowded? Tall and strongly built, which I know isn't easy on a crowded floor. I have to stand very upright and lead strongly and positively. & it worked really well. She turns out to be portena (at last, a local partner!) and speaks only castellano. I sense that portena dancers (the few I've danced with) have a slightly challenging air: you ask me to dance, so make me dance, as it should be, no anticipation, no helpful moving around. Except that it wasn't quite like that: what evolved during the tanda was that I started everything, and perhaps suggested when a phrase should end, and she would take over the ending of the phrase and resolve it, with a step or steps that were never less than precisely on the beat. There was a playful element to it: sometimes, if it was in the music, she would prolong the phrase with foot movements that couldn't be called 'decorations', any more than the steps of a giro are decorations, they were part of the dance. Sometimes she'd cut short a phrase and leave me to find a continuation in the music. It was really a dialogue, wonderful. A different kind of tango.

It was the only dialogue we could have. I can usually get a rough idea of the sense of castellano, but not this evening. & if I can't get the gist I've been known to fake it and say 'Si, si' as if I understood, but I actually wanted to understand what she said and kept asking her to repeat, so it got a bit wearisome and I felt foolish. I just couldn't focus on the words. Without exception I've liked the sound of women's voices here: a rich flow of sound with a slight edge to it, even if I can hardly understand a word of it. A good reason to do some work on language.

When I leave there's a steady cold wind blowing. The weather is surprisingly changeable here: this afternoon it was very hot, heavy and windless. I have a cold, I'm sneezing and coughing and could do without a cold gale at 2pm after dancing indoors. I walk fast to try and keep warm.

I leave tomorrow, and here are two tangos from a band I love. They look young, and play a kind of Pugliese tango with wonderful intensity: not an easy kind of music to play. I admire them for playing out of doors without amplification: they are forced to work harder to make a noise, and I'm sure it will make them stronger players. They play every Sunday on the street in San Telmo (unless it's raining) and perform on Buenos Aires tango radio (La 2x4, available online) too. I've been very happy to sit and listen to them. Here's Ciudad Baigon Orquesta Tipica.