Cachirulo of Buenos Aires – according to the rules of the milonga

Interview by Ute Neumaier, Buenos Aires, published in the German magazine Tangodanza 39, July 2009

Cachirulo is a tango by Troilo and the name chosen by Héctor Pellozo and Norma Zugasti for their traditional milonga, held on Saturdays in downtown Buenos Aires. Cachirulo is liked by young and old, locals and foreigners. As you turn off Corrientes Avenue into Maipu Street you can already hear the first beats of the two by four.

A steep and narrow staircase leads up and into a world with laws of its own making. Marta, a friendly doorperson, charges 15 pesos to each person as they arrive and gives them an entry ticket in return. A heavy curtain hides a room in which, although it can’t yet be seen, activity can be perceived. Curiosity mounts with the wait, until at last the curtain is drawn, and Norma warmly invites the visitor to enter. She exchanges the entry ticket for a numbered ticket – a ritual explained later with the drawing of prizes. The light is harsh and cruel; the sound, which is reverberating from the speakers, is something to which the sensitive ear of foreigners must become accustomed with time. Héctor, organizer of the milonga and charming host, leads the recently arrived to a table. The scene is something out of a Fellini movie: along one wall, women of 17 to 70 are seated in a row below a long mirror, some superbly made-up, some casually dressed – every one of them, without exception, wearing enormously high heels – and strictly separated from the men, who are seated against the opposite wall. Eager to dance, men and women eye each other – openly or covertly – from their respective side of the dance floor. A woman who wants to dance must seek out her partner of choice quickly; so they begin eyeing up candidates even before the tanda ends. The air conditioning, or in its absence the fans – with their humming – can cause the unaccustomed foreign dancer to feel the cold. The music and the spectacular charm of Cachirulo are so contagious that before long you want to be dancing. They dance well here, the atmosphere is jovial; you soon succumb to this eagerness to revel that so characterizes the Argentineans.

The DJ, Carlos Rey, plays traditional tangos. Héctor says, “I want to lift the milonga with the tangos of Tanturi, Vargas, Di Sarli with Rufino, D’Arienzo… I won’t let Carlitos play Pugliese until late.” After 11pm there are also tandas of folk music, of rock ‘n’ roll, of merengue, and of swing. The “Cachirulo Tanda” is, for some, a special moment in the night: with each tango the lights are dimmed a little more until the couples end up dancing in the dark. It brings to mind the tandas of boleros for lovers, which, in times past, existed because men had so few opportunities to be close to a woman, recounts Norma.

In that line, at “El Cachi” – as its regulars fondly call it – traditions are respected and maintained, always with humor and kindness. The El Cachi trademark is the presence of laminated pages listing the golden rules of the milonga, translated into 10 languages. Another curiosity is the red and yellow cards that Héctor uses, always discreetly and amusingly, in cases where dancers have broken the rules. “There were more and more young dancers and foreigners who didn’t know the rules of the traditional milonga. We wanted to let them know in a subtle way, like a joke. Dancers of ours from all over the world each translated them into their own language. We don’t want to reprimand anyone, but to ensure that a good number of milongueros and milongueras can dance on a relatively small floor without any trouble or collisions,” explains Héctor. Even the young, who turn up late to El Cachi and who, in other places, dance a more modern and open tango, respect Héctor’s rules as they should.

For Héctor, seating people is the most difficult challenge of the night. “All of our most loyal regulars have their own table. When new people come early wanting to be seated in the front, often I can’t fulfil that wish. Unfortunately, they become angry with me. But in my role as organizer, I don’t have the freedom to do as I like,” he says. Also, the fact that Héctor seats in the last row the couples who attend together is not arbitrary, but in accord with the unwritten rules of the traditional milonga. In those rules, couples dance together, and therefore do not need to be in the front row, the best place from which to invite someone to dance or to be invited. The front row is reserved for those who come alone – men and women seated apart. “Another country, another custom,” as the saying goes.

Late into the night, there is a prize draw of two bottles of sparkling wine, a platter of finger food and, twice a month, a pair of shoes. Then begin the rounds of frenetic applause. Everyone important in the world of tango is applauded with such exertion that those unaccustomed soon find themselves with tired arms. The shoemaker who gifted the shoes for the prize is applauded; the tango teachers; the organizers; and all the people present who are well known. For me, the climax is the moment in which we all begin to applaud ourselves. I love it, and invariably I think to myself: “Only in Argentina!”

Translation: Antoinette Wilson