Post by Grubb
When we joined the throng wandering the streets of San Telmo on Easter, it was hard not to catch a glimpse of tango dancing couples entwining themselves with their studied movements. In the doorways of cafés, on the tree shaded flagstones in the corner of a park, the pavement of a driveway, anywhere there was space enough to allow a crowd to gather. First we’d come across a thickening in the flow of people. Then ba-dum-dum-dumming of a tango beat coming from a small speaker. A swirl of a slit dress. The tight grasp of dark suited arms. And finally the back-and-forth march of a determined sexual pas de deux.
It was interesting. In the midst of holiday revelers, a stately, almost metronomic sexual standoff clocking the festival beat. It was like clothing store manikins had stepped out of their window display cases to perform a mating dance. So formal, so clutchingly stiff. It was simultaneously antiquated and sci-fi.
