Tango 'Taxis' for Hire

The Salon Canning is an authentic milonga, an unassuming hall in the old Palermo district of Buenos Aires where the entwined bodies of dancers gyrate into the wee hours to the tune of Argentina's signature musical style, the tango. At one of the tables, a tall, dark-haired man scans the room with an alert gaze, his attention resting on the foreign women who sit alone at tables waiting patiently to be asked to dance. He is not a tango instructor nor a gigolo or low-lifer eyeing the house for easy prey. Eduardo Amarillo is a "tango taxi dancer," and his aim is to ensure that no tango-loving foreigner leaves Argentina without having twirled at least once around the floor.

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"I learned the tango from my grandmother in the 1970s," says 39-year-old Amarillo. "I was a young boy dancing with my head crushed between her breasts back then." Like many Argentines of his generation, Amarillo forgot about the tango as he grew older and the milongas went out of fashion.

But the dance made a comeback when the new century rolled in and young Argentines went looking for their roots. "I hadn't danced since my grandmother died," says Amarillo, but he started frequenting the milongas. There, he noticed how many women from abroad were left on the sidelines. "About 80% of them are young, single, independent professionals who are only a few days in Buenos Aires," he says. The milongas observe a strict code under which a man can invite a woman to dance, but not vice-versa. Two years ago, Amarillo launched a business providing a hassle-free dancing service for tourists, and today he heads a group of 25 male and female "tango taxi dancers" who charge $20 dollars an hour.

The decor at the Canning is austere. Bare walls surround square tables and plastic chairs. No one comes here expecting luxury; this place is all about dancing. An American woman who works as an executive in New York but preferred that her name be withheld sits at Amarillo's table, eager to test the results of her tango lessons. "When I booked the service I was nervous I might be inadvertently employing an escort service," she confides. "But if you don't know anybody and are staying for a short time at least you are guaranteed that you will get to dance." She has no interest in the sexual promise packaged in one of the world's most sensuous dance forms. "It's not about sex, it's about intimacy, a chance to be 'there' with another person for an incredibly intimate three minutes. It's more a metaphysical than physical experience."

Still, with so much sensual energy exuding from the tightly entwined bodies on the dance floor, temperatures inevitably rise. "It is difficult to separate the sex from the dance; it is a shared experience where a woman surrenders control to the man, and that is sensual for anyone," says Marina Palmer, the Greek-American author of Kiss and Tango, an autobiographical account of her steamy experiences at the milongas of Buenos Aires. "The tango can be more intimate than sex, sometimes it is better than sex. There is also something of the Don Juan syndrome in it, the reliably recurrent novelty of dancing with a different partner each night. Just like sex, each partner is unique, and just like sex, sometimes it can be good for one partner but not the other."

But before any such body-to-body contact can be established, a woman needs to get invited on the floor. "Good male tango dancers can be merciless," says Mariana Lopez, a 40-year-old psychologist and tango aficionado. "They won't ask you to dance unless they've seen you dancing already. Only some of the older dancers have patience with novices."

Amarillo has therefore started coaching tourists how to ascend above wallflower status. "Being asked and accepting is a complex ritual," he explains. "It demands a certain posture. Women must show themselves available. If you are staring at your shoes, you don't stand a chance. "

At La Catedral, another milonga in the nearby district of Almagro that attracts a younger, more relaxed crowd, 38-year-old tango instructor and owner Federico Prado believes the tango provides a politically correct haven from the blurring of gender roles. "The tango can make a man feel good, it gives him a role to play, and it provides a human contact that is lacking elsewhere," Prado says. "Plus, anyone can do it, anybody who can walk can tango."

Amarillo agrees. "You have to be careful not to confuse masculinity and machismo," he says. "The tango is about limits, just like love is about limits, the man embracing the woman, directing and imposing limits on her movements. He has to guide even while he is being guided."

Whether the tango is about sex or simply the intimate delight of gliding across the floor in a tight embrace, Amarillo can be grateful for one pearl of wisdom imparted to him during his childhood tango lessons: "I always remember what my grandmother used to say to me about the tango: 'Eduardo, just always be sure to make the woman smile.' "