After the non-starter in Montparnasse, I moved on to a milonga in a nice space in the eleventh arrondissement. A great milonga tanda was playing as I walked in. The DJ / barman / host was pleasant and showed me a place to charge my phone. The venue had its own traditional milonga sign on the door and seemed long-established for tango. I noticed lots of tango-related drawing and decoration on the wall and was surprised that a small afternoon milonga on a weekday in the holidays could have a space dedicated to it such that it could decorate it as it wished. I was thinking exactly this as I went to buy a drink and idly, making friendly small talk, asked the host if the place had been there a long time. Seven years, he replied. Because of our passion for tango. Looking back now I felt in that remark something being set up - competition? defences? - but didn't quite recognise it at the time.
So I, naturally and in complete innocence asked if he was the owner. He told me sternly the question was indiscreet. It was such an unexpected answer that I didn't understand at first: Comment? I tried to say that the question was not personal but he wouldn't budge - you know that forceful type in dance. He said he doesn't go around asking people how much tax they pay which I thought entirely misrelated. Eventually he said no-one can buy a venue in paris, which I took then to be a No. Still, I had never imagined anyone would make such a big deal of a casual question. The guy seemed deeply suspicious. I sensed I was not far from being thrown out if I'd tried to insist about the question not being personal and certainly was not intended as such. It was going to make no difference, the guy had a bee in his bonnet and I walked away, more wounded I suspected, than he and almost certainly just as he intended. I ignored him thereafter but could feel his eyes on me as I danced, quietly, like everyone else there.
I might have expected either a proud Yes, we've been here for years or a laughing No, it's impossible to buy a place here or No, but still we can decorate it as we like. Instead, he had said We can talk about tango as much as you like but no personal questions. Unsubtly, he had pointed out a very young Troilo drawn on the wall. That's Troilo, he said.
He is right in that, according to some of the milongueros viejos in Buenos Aires, tango was, years ago traditionally, the only thing discussed between tracks, if one is being correct. I saw very little of that correctness in practice even in the most traditional milongas there. More normally, more friendly, the men said ¿De donde sos? ¿Primera vez en Buenos Aires? ¿Te gusta Buenos Aires?
If that was "incorrect" I saw even less in "correctness" and good manners from that host. Poor manners are shocking and the correct response is to change the subject or withdraw. Only teacher types try to correct.
The guy reminded me of a teacher who turned up quite late to the dance I co-hosted recently. I greeted her and introduced myself by my first name while she introduced herself as a dance class teacher. The first thing she said to me was that the lights were too bright. An attendee I had been chatting to had actually had a conversation about this earlier, but T had won, saying he thought the lights were OK. I mentioned, conversationally, to the new arrival that the bright young things didn't seem to mind while the older people, myself include preferred subtler lighting. Well all I can tell you, she began pompously, from 20 years of running events is that more people get up when the lights are down. Interesting information but I reckoned the main thing that would get more women up was more leaders. But we did try to adjust the lighting. The things you do when harassed.
The truly well mannered have more grace than to be indiscreet themselves. You can read about discretion here and what happened the last time I was asked straight out, on the floor, by a stranger, what my job was.
Anyway, I danced all the tandas I was there with three different women, all pleasant people, one timid, older lady from the banlieu who has been going for years, who asked if her arm wasn't too heavy on me. I wondered how many aggressive men had berated her about this. Another woman was from La Reunion visiting a local relative with whom I also danced. I considered this progress. Instead of shrinking and cowering from an upsetting emotional experience, as I might have just a few years back, I was able from my seat to successfully invite stranger after stranger across the room by look to consecutive tandas with a confidence which is probably what allowed them to accept me. Dancing generally was average, i.e. poor, age: retirement, music: more classic than not.
I had to leave after 45 mins to catch my flight but it was more than enough. The guy had soured the place and the day and it was an effort to put him out of my mind; another touchy, overreactive straight Parisian. I nearly didn't take a picture because although I covered it up, he had set my nerves on edge. Still, I nabbed one by the door swiftly as I left.
One of the women said that she had been before on a Saturday when it was packed and she had enjoyed it. She thought the DJ had been different. Later, I realised the place is probably like one of those venues in BsAs hosting different tango events on different evenings. Wild horses wouldn't drag my back there with that guy hosting. I might go on another day but only when well protected within a group of friends. I had had an inkling of the unfriendliness of mainstream Parisian milongas that the queer tango dancers felt, described by a friend thus: what do you mean you're a human being? That's no reason to acknowledge your presence
When I got to the consigne-bagages at Garde du Nord I had trouble getting my case.
I apologised to the baggage handler for being so stupid as to not realise where to put my ticket.
- Je suis quand même un peu stressée.
- Don't worry about it he said. Paris is a stressful city, don't you think?
- C'est agréable pour faire du tourisme.
- Bof, le tourisme, he said clearly signalling that the stress of Paris life wasn't worth the tourism.
I'm originally from Morocco he said. I've lived here twenty-something years and I would move if I could. You've seen what it's like. Apparently he could tell that I had.
I enjoyed my short three days in Paris. The famous Parisian elegance was evident in the women, though not as standard. Some older white women in particular dressed with a strikingly attractive simplicity although their clothes looked expensive. Many women worse long dresses in the heat which added to the air of femininity. The woman I most remember though was on the metro. She was dark skinned and in that summer heat wore a white gown to her feet that draped attractively. She had a white turban, large, glamorous rectangular graduated shades and sandals encrusted with tiny diamanté stones. Her phone, into which she talked non-stop had the same tiny diamanté. She was a study in a different kind of elegance.
I remember though my friend and the baggage handler who both said Parisians were always upset about something. I wouldn't want to handle day in, day out, the kind of uptight, resentful touchiness I had found in those last two milongas but it wasn't everywhere. A lot of the people I met were relaxed and calm.
If you do go to Paris, the mobilis public transport ticket per day is worthwhile if you travel more than 4 journeys in a day. The Paris visite ticket (zones 1-3) is unnecessary if you only want to visit central Paris (zone 1) but it includes some museum discounts. If you have a paper ticket keep it separate from your phone, bank card or change. If it does demagnetise you can get it exchanged for free at an RATP ticket office.
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