Making Eye Contact in Buenos Aires

After two years studying tango in the US, I finally made my pilgrimage to Buenos Aires, the mecca of tango. When I imagined finally getting to dance authentic tango in Buenos Aires, I was giddy and anxious to dance my first “real tango” but terrified that I’d do something wrong and be exposed as an inexperienced amateur. What I didn’t anticipate was that the hardest part wouldn’t be the dancing, but the getting asked. It’s not that Argentine men didn’t want to dance with me, it’s that they don’t ask—at least not the way I am used to, with an actual verbal request such as, “Would you like to dance?”

Back in the states someone had tried to describe how Argentine men ask for a dance with a gesture known as the cabeceo (Spanish for “nod”). More than a regular old nod, it is a combination of intense eye contact and a slight nodding of the head. It’s not entirely different from an American’s head tilt that conveys, “What’s up?,” but it is accompanied by a distinct, inquisitive opening of the eyes, as if to say, “Yes or no?” It’s not a smoldering, “come hither” look, just an invitation that can be issued without a word from clear across a crowded dance floor. I’d heard about it but had never seen it in action and it sounded complicated.

On the first night that I mustered up the courage to go out to a milonga, the general term for tango clubs, I was by myself and worried that nobody would ask me to dance and equally worried that someone would ask me to dance and I would fumble through the whole thing. Could I hold my own in the birthplace of tango? The worst embarrassment would be if my partner ditched me in the middle of a tanda. A tanda is a set of four songs which are set apart by curtinas, literally a “curtain” of music which is a different style so as to obviously mark the division between tandas. Dancers clear the floor during the curtina as the men bring the women back to their seats and start looking for a new partner for the next tanda. It is extremely rude to stop dancing with your partner before the completion of the tanda; a dancer’s slap in the face. These rules hold true in the U.S. (except for uninitiated beginners) so I would feel the full insult if someone ditched me in the middle of a tanda.

So there I was, nervously awaiting my first dance at my first milonga in Buenos Aires. I had heard about this whole cabeceo thing, but it seemed like an urban myth. Did I really have to look strangers in the eye? I sat, by myself, at my own little table, wondering if I would ever get asked to dance. I sat, and I sat, and I sat, for over an hour. I found a tango magazine and started looking at that, trying to seem engaged and totally nonchalant about the fact that I was in Buenos Aires, by myself, ALL ALONE, for five weeks, with no one to dance with. What was I thinking? Why did I plan such a long trip by myself!? I even ordered a drink a friend had told me about—a classic in Argentina called Fernet Cola.
Fernet Branca is an Italian, bitter digestive that remains popular in Argentina even though it is considered old-fashioned in Italy. The Argentines drink it with Coke, thus the name Fernet Cola. When I took my first sip, my first reaction was, “There must be some mistake…this is poison.” With all my best effort, I drank about one inch from the tall, skinny glass. Every sip was accompanied by a wincing expression as I adjusted to the strong medicinal (i.e. venomous) flavor. But somewhere in that one inch of the bitter, herbal concoction, it dawned on me that I would never get asked to dance if I kept trying so hard to appear completely content by myself, at my own table. I needed to scope the crowd, open my eyes to potential invitations, and possibly stare someone down. I needed to solicit the infamous cabeceo.

I sat up tall, positioned my legs to display that I had on tango shoes which convey that I’m at least moderately experienced, and scanned the room. There was a cute guy my age sitting across from me on the opposite side of the dance floor. This particular place had a lot of tourists and I could tell he was not one of them. Why not try him? He seemed like a good choice. It took all my courage to look right at him without averting my gaze. To my Anglo sensibilities it felt like I was staring him down with no shame. What must have been ten seconds seemed like a ten minute staring contest. I was so ready to go back to sticking my nose in tango magazine. But then…a meeting of the eyes, a nod of the head…was this the mythical cabeceo? After sitting nearly an hour and a half, was ten seconds of staring all it took to be asked to dance? I smiled a little smile, nodded my head, and hoped for the best. Did that mean “yes?” Is he going to come over here, or was he just nodding his head to the music? This was way more complicated than averting my gaze and making slight bowing motions while traveling in Japan. That came naturally to me, this was so… I don’t know, assertive. But, it worked. There he was, coming across the dance floor to collect me from my seat and take me to the floor. When he heard me speak, he was surprised to find out I wasn’t Argentine. Goodbye wall flower, hello master of eye contact!

So I had finally been asked to dance, but I still had to get through the dancing part. My heart was beating fast because I was so nervous, and I started to feel self-conscious that he could feel my heart racing and would wonder what was wrong with me. That was not me being paranoid. The chest is the main point of contact in tango, and you can sometimes feel someone’s heart beat. In any case, I explained that it was my first time tangoing in Argentina, and he was a gracious partner. I was thrilled that I was both able to follow and that I was experiencing new moves I’d never done before. He did not lead the dramatic moves you may have seen on TV with heads thrashing, legs whirling, and roses flying—it was much more restrained and subtle—but it felt beautiful and exquisitely angular. There was the quick, staccato step to the side; and then a pause, the anti-movement which needed to be savored as much as movement itself. Each step, weight change, and pause was part of the magic. Everything was so close…one false step and somebody would get banged in the knee or stomped on the foot—but miraculously it worked. Everything went smoothly, like two parts engineered to work in sync. For every action a reaction. We talked between songs and he told me that he was impressed that a foreigner danced so well, and even more impressed that I had come by myself. That seemed to be the most daring thing he had ever heard of. It’s silly, but it was gratifying to feel that I had attempted and accomplished something great. A tango adventure. From there on out, it was easy to get dances. The cabeceo was my new friend.

In addition to the head nod, there are other rules of etiquette, like never say “thank you” before the tanda is over because it is basically interpreted as “That will be all, thank you. We’re done here.” It’s not polite to keep the embrace or touch your partner during the few seconds between songs. Once the music starts, however, it’s perfectly normal to resume your position of being glued together at the chest. Perhaps most important, the men are responsible for being alert on the dance floor and protecting their partners from getting stepped on or crashed into. In Buenos Aires the dance floors are packed – until 5 AM – and navigation is a serious issue. American tango dancers seem to stop dead in their tracks when their moves are thwarted by another couple on the floor, or worse they don’t notice and somebody gets kicked. By contrast, Argentine men find creative ways to move around the obstacles on the dance floor. In fact, the way in which they can weave in and out of spontaneous traffic jams is part of what makes them great dancers. I think this skill might be closely related to their addiction to soccer. That being said, I was elbowed in the head at one famously crowded milonga in Buenos Aires—but it was a soft blow and to my partner’s credit it was the other man’s fault because he was carelessly going against the line of dance. In general, everyone is so aware of the crowded floor, that accidents are less likely to happen even though the dance floors are ten times as crowded as in the US. Firstly, the men don’t lead crazy gancho kicks or other moves you might have seen on “Dancing With the Stars” because there isn’t enough space. Secondly, people have a smooth, calm reaction to bumping into people. It’s as if they are so perfectly poised that upon contact with a foreign body, they can easily transfer their weight, averting a potential bruise and leaving only a tango love tap. As far as dance floor collisions go, a woman does have some control over her fate. If she manages to keep her eyes open while dancing (which is difficult depending on how much you are swept away by the dance), she can alert the man’s attention to impending danger with the slightest bit of pressure on his back, and he adjusts his footwork accordingly and ahh…oh so seamlessly. One thing I had to adjust to while there, was not to give a “danger” notice unless another couple was less than five inches away, compared to the two feet notice I would give in the states. Two feet distance is an impossible luxury on the sardine-like floors in Buenos Aires, and any decent leader would be offended that I warned him of such a far-off threat.

In the final days of my trip, after observing and mastering the dos and don’ts of tango, I was only a little nervous going to milongas by myself. After going out dancing every night for several weeks, I knew several of the regulars and I could rest assured that my dance card would not go empty, so to speak. I even had a few friends I could sit with and exchange tango pleasantries, such as the quality of the music being played or the condition of the floor that night. (If the floor is too sticky the solution is baby powder. If it’s too slippery the solution is water…or wine, whatever liquid is handy.) I knew which dancers to avoid, which ones I wanted to dance with again, and which ones not to waste my time staring at until I had at least five more years experience under my belt. Sure, I had had a few cabeceo catastrophes—such as when I stood up to accept a dance with someone approaching me, only to realize he had set his sights on someone sitting directly behind me. I made some lame gesture to act as if I had stood up for some other reason. I think I may have adjusted the tablecloth or re-buckled my shoe. Probably no one noticed, who knows, but I vowed to be more careful in decoding the exact target of cabeceos in the future. And as a back-up, never to get out of my chair until the guy was standing right in front of me waiting….even if a bit impatiently. For the most part I had mastered the cabeceo—both the instigation and the acceptance of it. My proudest moments were when I received cabeceos from clear across the room, amidst couples dodging in and out of our line of site. At these moments I would take a calm sip of Fernet Coke, whose herbal taste I had come to appreciate and even like, preparing myself to step on the dance floor, and knowing that I had mastered the art of making eye contact in Buenos Aires.