The Search for the Missing Milonga

There's an episode of TV (title withheld to protect my dignity) in which the characters spend all night following obscure clues in the hopes of finding a legendary annual party hidden in the desert; hijinks ensue. Considering how famous Buenos Aires is for tango, finding a place to actually dance resembled this plot a lot more than I expected.

Our hostel was located one door down from a well-known confitería (translates more or less as cafeteria, but think hardwood and old-world charm rather than hair nets). Confitería Ideal boasted good coffee and lunch downstairs, and dancing upstairs. 

Confiteria Ideal

Inside, no mystery meat in sight

Classy coffee

Even the sidewalk outside could dance

We had read much of the Argentine milonga, a regular tango gathering with dancers of many skill levels. It's like a good old-fashioned dance hall in the US, if ballroom-dancing Americans stayed out until 3 or 4 in the morning several times a week.

Wednesday: dresses on and new shoes buckled, we headed next door for the advertised beginners class. Well, there were a couple instructors there who offered quick lessons in the basics, but not a full class, and the "afternoon" milonga (until 8:30 p.m.) in progress was wrapping up. It seemed that Wednesday was a quiet day for milongas, because that was the one day that none of the locations we knew about offered anything after 8 or 9.

Thursday night: all dressed up again, this time with our shoes in bags as we walked to a few options further away. We found the place only to find a totally different schedule on the door than on their website, and of course there was nothing happening Thursday night. Option #2 wasn't too far away, supposedly, but the address in the guidebook led us to nothing but a street full of locked gates and not even a potential former site. Back to the hostel. 

Friday was our last night in Buenos Aires, which lent a now-or-never air to our efforts. Confitería Ideal again had lessons around 6, so we tried to level up our skills just a bit. 

Afterwards the instructor told us about a milonga that evening, and hey, she should know. Even though the source was more reliable, we were getting a little tired of literally getting all dressed with nowhere to go, so we stuck with jeans and tango shoes this time. 

As we approached the address she gave us, apparently some kind of Italian Society, we heard muffled tango music from beyond an open door. Promising... Up two flights of stairs and through double doors we found this:

At last! You see dancing, I see the Holy Grail

La Nacional: This was in fact the milonga we were looking for the other
night (totally different address )

There were dancers of all ages on the floor or watching from the sidelines. Some were more experienced than others, but they were all a LOT better than us. A few gents were kind enough to dance with us throughout the evening, even though we really were bad. Despite our teacher's assurances that we were ready for a milonga, the basic beginner's steps we learned did very little to prepare us for actual tango with experienced dancers. I think I actually stepped on a foot once or twice-- really bad. Also, we wished we had worn our cute dresses after all, but it was fun to step out and try anyway.

For the rest of the time we got to see all sorts of good dancing, including a few performances by pros, we chatted with folks, and we finally got to try the local favorite drink of fernet con cola, which has something of a unique taste. I liked it, Kat not as much. To top it off, I won the door prize of a seat at a special table featuring a meat and cheese plate and champagne (sorry, Kat...).

Nothing says "Winner!" like champagne and ham rolls

Some kind of traditional folk dance everyone (but us) knew

We should have eaten dinner first since all the available food options were wheat-based (except my meat platter...again, sorry, Kat!), but besides that, it felt like the perfect ending to our week in Buenos Aires.