Piropos and Chamuyo

What was the word for those sweet, casual things that José and other Argentinians in Buenos Aires sometimes said, in the pause between the three or four tracks we danced together?  Those compliments said by either partner are one of the lovely things about dancing tango.  In so many ways dancing in the milongas can reveal our better natures.  But when I dance in swapped roles with a man or a woman and we exchange compliments, it is entirely different to how it is when a guy in the guy's role compliments a woman in the woman's role. 

I enquired about this word in one of those forums that I had at first ignored and then been warned about long before, perhaps for the frivolity or the showiness.  If only our teachers, even the ones we make our teachers, especially those, knew the awful extent of their influence. If I weren't now so nervous of that word I might say the trick, there, is to limit one's chat.  It can be a trick of sorts I suppose if one merely uses the forums rather than participating in them more fully.  But questioning people's motives for doing entirely legal things is an unprofitable enquiry.

What was that word?  Piropo they reminded me, helpfully.  Piropos were compliments, made to the opposite sex.  But somebody said that in Spain a piropo was not a compliment, or not necessarily.  In Spain apparently, they could be street catcalls with connotations not wholly benign.  Was that because this urban 'tribute' to women is now not viewed the same way that it might have been in the past? The fact of the scare quotes suggests the problematic nature of the word.   Had language also evolved to reflect that change? Did piropo mean something different now? Or only in Spain? Only two decades ago being whistled at in the street could be a compliment of sorts, or vulgar, depending on age, temperament, upbringing.  Passing building sites in the UK wolf whistles used to be practically customary.   Did piropo today have two meanings on the  Spanish peninsula or just one? And where did that leave chamuyo? Could you sweet talk a woman with chamuyo?  The word had that feeling about it, in the sounds.  Or did it just mean chat? I was fairly sure that Janis's blog Tango Chamuyo, intended: chat.  I asked her.  She said:  It's a lunfardo word meaning "conversation" although the verb "chamuyar" means "to chat." A tango teacher in San Francisco used the word for her tango festival chat sessions, and I liked it so much that I used it for the blog. 

I wanted to find out more about the ambiguity surrounding piropo so I decided to wait until I went to Murcia for the weekend to get more of the Spanish perspective.

First I asked an Argentinian I know.  I have a question... I said, tentatively.  

- Yes?  he said, smiling.  And, attentively, Tell me!  I told him.
Oh, piropos.  His face melted.  They were nice. He liked them. He enjoyed giving them. Like many Argentines he is tactile.  I could just see him reaching for the girl's hand as he said his piropo.  Piropos were sweet. Yes, they were genuine - although I wasn't sure whether genuine meant entirely the same thing to an Argentine as to a Brit. 

- And chamuyo?  I said, mispronouncing it, probably in spanish and castellano.  

- What are you? he said, with a grin.  A journalist?  I was relieved that the history we have on this topic seemed to flow peacefully under that bridge.  Chamuyo - he pronounced it with the soft 'j' sound in the last syllable. No, that is not so nice. It is like a lie.

- You can 'chamullar' about anything, added his wife, who had appeared.  

- Yes, he continued, if I wanted to sell you this phone, I might tell you it was an iPhone even if it wasn't.  That's chamullar.  But yes, you can 'chamullar' a woman too.  It's a seduction, but a bad one.

And what about piropo - did it mean something different in Spain?

- Well, he said, with a mischieveous glint. His wife was not there. There are lots of things that are not the same in Spain. Mercurial, he continued in a serious tone: You know what 'coger' is in Spanish?
- To take, I said, using the same, sensible tone.

- Exactly he said, as I played in to his hands. We say how lucky they are in Spanish, always taking a woman here, taking them there.

- Oh yes?

- We say how lucky they are because in Argentina 'coger' means... and here this born performer changed his tone to a mock stage whisper, "...the act of love", and he pulled a face that indicated it was high time I caught up.

Amused, I wondered what the Argentine word was for what had just happened.