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21st March 1999

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Living history to the rhythm of the tango

The mothers of the Plaza de Mayo still demonstrate regularly in the square of that name before the Presidential Palace (Casa Rosada) demanding to know what happened to their "disappeared" young. It is a reminder that Buenos Aires, however civilised and cosmopolitan it seems, has a dark and unhappy recent past.

Poignant reminders of the disappeared in the Plaza de Mayo outside the Presidential PlaceThe palace was off-limits during the military dictatorship of 1976-83, but now it boasts a museum open to the public. It is the focal point of the Plaza de Mayo. Opposite are the arches of the Cabildo (town hall) which has also become a museum. On the square's other side is the Metropolitan Cathedral. They are just a few of the fine buildings that give Buenos Aires its belle epoque image.

It is a city to discover by walking; the wide boulevards have pavements designed for agile pedestrians and are not clogged by determined crowds or patrolled by pestering beggars and hawkers. I walked with a guide slung round my neck. This was a rented tape recorder with a cassette describing all the sights.

The district called Monserrat is where the city started. There, 400 years ago, the pampa grass waved in the fresh breezes off the Rio de la Plata, blowing as they do now, and Indians dwelled under the shadeless sun. It was there that Don Juan de Garay drove in a stake and founded Santa Maria de los Buenos Aires ("Good Air").

In the carnivals of the 18th century, the blacks then inhabiting Monserrat beat their drums to the rhythm of the "candombe". Music like theirs played on the tape as I walked the district where the invading English were defeated in 1807. Statues of heroes stand at street corners.

The tape, as I paused outside the Presidential Palace and gazed up at its famous balcony, played extracts of speeches by Juan and Evita Peron. It was history come alive. Then the voice of Carlos Gardel, the songbird of Buenos Aires, flirting with the lyrics of a riotous tango, added soul to the city tour.

The tango is to Buenos Aires what the waltz is to Vienna. Distorted by modern dance troupes to a performance where a female dancer in a tight, slit skirt, finishes with her fishnet-covered knee high up between her partner's legs, it was originally danced only by men.

The raucous rhythms and vulgar lyrics with which the tango began in 1880 in working class areas of Buenos Aires, are reproduced in many night clubs. The one with the most authentic dances, where the hour-long show traces the history of tango, is called El Querandi. The Querandi Indians were the original inhabitants of the plains (the pampa).

A pianist pounds the life out of the bass keys of an upright piano, an accordionist races to finish first while a wise old violinist echoes the soulful tones of a baritone singing grandfather. His period suit is complete with an antique watch chain across its waistcoat. The club's display of the development of the tango from its origins to the slick dance of today, ranges from the time it was danced by a trio of men locked in close embrace, to the sensuous dance of rival couples in dance competitions in the 1920s.

The tango is everywhereThe tango is everywhere in Buenos Aires. A couple I met in a hotel lift gave me their card. It read: "Cristiany Virginia; tango danza" and carried their photo in a tango stance. In the district of brightly painted houses and open air art galleries known as the Caminito, cardboard cut outs of tango dancers are used as background for tourists to pose for photographs.

Politics, and talking about the world's problems, are major pastimes for the people of Buenos Aires. The favourite place to engage in conversation with friends and strangers is a cafe. These are an essential part of city life, serving black coffee (cortado), drinks and snacks throughout the day.

The most famous is the Cafe Tortoni, founded in 1858, and which has occupied its present site in the Avenue de Mayo for 106 years. It is the oldest in Argentina. With pillars painted chocolate brown, dark wooden walls hung with Victorian mirrors, art deco glass ceilings and shuffling waiters complete with long aprons, black waistcoats and long sleeved white shirts, it has an atmosphere of grander days.

Its dozens of round, marble-topped tables are always packed, not just with tourists but also by teenagers listening to retired or aspiring politicians. A menu specialty is a huge chrome platter with a dozen compartments set in it. These are filled with chunks of smoked meat, sausage, cheese, olives, and a few crackers.

It's a fitting snack before returning to the streets to gaze at more colonial edifices, or to look for a partner to dance a passionate tango. The city, like its currency now on a par with the US dollar, has recovered from its traumatic past.

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