This is What Happened on Friday.

(We’d been here a week already!)

On Friday after class, a group of twenty or so of us headed over to the omnibus office in order to buy tickets to get us to Iguazú falls next weekend (for which I’m very excited, though less so about the magnitude of the group). We had to wait around for forever, because he had to do each of us individually, and it … well, it took a long time. Still though, I’m going to Iguazú next weekend! Once there, I may meet up with Elizabeth (a member of 667 Dark Avenue, a Lemony Snicket fansite and message board which, yes, I frequent), who is doing an exchange program in Paraguay, near Iguazú.

Friday night we had a group tango class - well, not just us; it was at this tango place / club with tons of people boasting varying levels of proficiency. We were supposed to be there by 10. I got there at 10:30 (tally number two). We only started at 11. That worked out, I suppose.

Anyway, they taught us the what, seven simple steps. Right, left back, right back, left cross, right back, left, close. It was not complicated - much more do-able than the flamenco that they tried to teach us in Spain, which was impossible. This was basic. It did not involve twirly hand motions or anything of the sort, for example. It was just, you know, more or less walking a specific pattern to a beat. Like marching band. I’m sorry, I just compared the tango to marching band; I’ll stop now.

But yeah, we just hung around there afterwards. It was cool, I guess. Other people were dancing. I was not. The music was, at one point, (I kid you not) a tango version of Every Breath You Take by the Police, and then after that of Bohemian Rhapsody. Remember that cultural imperialism rant I told you was coming up? Well, it just got a little closer. (Although I don’t think those bands are American, I’m not sure where they’re from, maybe England? So close enough.)

A live band eventually arrived. It was mesmerizing to watch the fingers of the bandoneón player. Unfortunately, they arrived pretty darn late, and we left soon afterwards. I don’t think I’m going to have time while I’m here to learn to play it. It’s an amazing instrument, though. Maybe one day. (I’m also not practicing the flute at all - argh!)

I bought a four-peso water so I could get a peso coin back after paying with a five-peso note, so that I could take the bus back, but I ended up just sharing a taxi with Cornelia, who also lives on Santa Fe avenue (though farther down it. On the handy, amazing map booklet they gave us at orientation, I live on Plano 16, and she on 17.)