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

Our meeting takes place in the ideal place, literally and due to its significance: the three milongueras, Nely (Nélida Fernando), Ofelia Rosito and Pocha (Elvira Vargas), are waiting for me at Confitería Ideal, a place rich in tradition and history. The interior reflects a time when tango was at its height; it is marvelous and offers an insight into Argentina’s golden age. The plastered ceilings, the crystal chandelier, the marble – all seemingly past their use-by date – smell of mothballs; even the waiters seem to be from last century. Films have been made here, and famous personalities have passed through – Robert Duvall, Maurice Chevalier, and Vittorio Gassman. It is the perfect place to talk with these unique tango ladies, milongueras through and through, who make up, between the three of them, nearly 200 years of experience on the dance floor. Individuals each one, but with equally fascinating lives. Nely and Ofelia still go out many nights a week to milongas. Pocha goes out accompanied by her student José Luis, 23 years old, who also teaches tango. The three milongueras know each other, like each other and express great joy at seeing each other.

When did you start to dance?

Ofelia, lively and happy, begins to talk. As she speaks, Nely and Pocha nod their heads. It seems they all have much in common.

Ofelia: I turn 79 in October (she laughs without hiding her pride). My father played the bandoneon in the orchestra of José Luis Padula. I was born into tango. In those days, babies weren’t born in hospitals, but at home; so in my case the first thing I saw was a bandoneon. What else would I have danced but tango? Everyone in my family danced: my mother and father danced the orillero style. You can’t imagine how elegant my parents looked when they went out dressed up and with their shoes made to measure!

Nely: I’m 73 years old. Like in Ofelia’s family, in mine dance and music were very important. There were always parties at my house. My mother danced throughout her pregnancy, so I heard my first bars of tango in her stomach.

Pocha: (she elegantly skips mention of her age, but José Luis tells me she is the eldest of the three milongueras) I began to dance when I was 14.

How did you learn to dance?

Pocha: There was a space for children at the milongas. I went accompanied by my older sister, I sat with the adults, I watched them, and sometimes I practiced on the children’s dance floor. My eyes were my most important teacher.

Nely: We girls didn’t have a place to practice, since we were always at home. But there we danced everything: conga, rumba, tango, the real salon tango.

Ofelia: My mother and father taught; I watched them, seated. When my uncle wanted to practice a few steps, my father said to him: “Take the girl and try with her.” I was five years old then. I never took classes. To dance has always been the most natural thing in the world; I drank it up like I drank the milk at my mother’s breast.

When did you go dancing for the first time officially?

Nely: When I was 13, I went to La Argentina dancehall with my mother. At first, I was a little nervous; I watched and listened to the music. But when I finally went out and danced, I relaxed and it felt completely natural.

Ofelia: I was 11 and looked 15 when my brother took me dancing. I was wearing a beautiful dress, sewn by my mother. We went to the Sans Souci hall along with 15 kids from my neighborhood and others we’d taught to dance. What fun we had! I even had my nails painted. The next day at school, the teacher asked me why and I had to explain myself.

Pocha: From 14 to 16 years old I went dancing with my sister, later with my mother. We went to the neighborhood clubs, which organized dances in the afternoon. My mother was passionate about dancing, she returned to it after my father died and she loved to take me along with her.

What was it like in those days to be a woman tango dancer? Wasn’t it looked down upon?

Ofelia: I was the only one at school who danced tango, so I was considered a little exotic. Of course, my school friends were keen to know everything about this prohibited underworld. Those were different times, you know.

Nely: Even though by the 1940s tango had already lost something of its indecency, there were still families who considered it to be of bad repute. Despite having the same good luck as Ofelia to be born into a family that loved tango, they didn’t allow me to go dancing on my own. After I turned 27, I started to go with my girlfriends; until then I always went accompanied by my mother. Only after I separated from my husband, when I was 36, did I start to go on my own.

Pocha: In the milongas they were very respectful of women. The men would never have considered approaching a woman to ask her to dance. The women were seated at one side of the room; and the men stood in the middle of the dance floor. They asked us to dance with a nod. If a man didn’t have the fortune to find a partner, he stayed standing in the middle until the end of the tanda, and then he tried again.

Ofelia, was dancing your only passion?

Ofelia: I sang as well, with my sister: tango, folklore, and jazz. We sang during the break at cinemas – it was something that you did in those days. When my brother was 16, we discovered the boogie. We would go to the cinema to see American films. He watched the men and I watched the girls. Later, at home, we practiced what we’d seen until finally we got it. We were invited to dance at many clubs.

Pocha: When I was 15, I won my first dance competitions with my brother at the Albariño Club and the Belgrano Club – rock, jazz, and tango. Everyone was talking about us. We were “Los Vargas”! Later I did a show on television, in a programme with Moira Casán.[1]

Whom were you most inspired by?

Ofelia: My mother, who came from a tango family. “La Flaca Martita” of Salón Caning also inspired me a lot; they called her “La Cucaracha” because she had such incredibly fast legs. María Nieves was my idol, both as dancer and as teacher.

Nely and Pocho both nod in agreement with Ofelia. It appears that they too were very inspired by their mothers.

Were there times during which you didn’t dance?

Nely: I didn’t dance for four months once. I had been very much in love, the love of my life, whom I always hoped to be with again. That’s why I married late, and only because my family were worried about me and insisted I do so. They presented me with a boy they thought would be suitable and we were married after four months. Another four months later, I left him, because we weren’t well suited, and I returned to tango.

Pocha: During the 14 years of my marriage, my husband and I would go dancing only every so often. He danced, but he wasn’t a milonguero. Other than that, the only thing that has kept me from dancing has been health problems. Even after three heart operations, I never lasted more than 10 days without dancing. My son says I must be from another planet; he thinks my energy levels can’t be normal. For the last two years, I’ve had problems with my legs. You can’t imagine how much it hurts me to hear tango and not be able to dance! But I haven’t given up. I’m determined to dance again and nothing will stop me. Next Sunday I’m going to Glorias Argentinas. I’m dying to get there.

Ofelia: Like Pocha, I married a man who danced, but not how I liked to dance. But that’s no reason not to accept a man! We were married for 15 years, we had three children, and during that time I hardly danced.

What happened to tango during the years of the last military dictatorship?

My question seems to surprise the milongueras. They hesitate, as though it’s difficult to recall.

Nely: Tango wasn’t prohibited, but it was dangerous to go out. Once, at a milonga, my papers were checked and they confused them with those of another woman. It was a disagreeable moment, but in the end it was sorted out. I never saw anyone detained at a milonga, but I did at my work as a seamstress in a factory. They took the son and the father-in-law of a supervisor. Nothing was ever heard of them again.

Ofelia: Nothing happened to me either, but I often saw the military turn up at dances, check people’s papers, and take people away. We never knew what was going on; it all happened quickly and soon the dance continued as if nothing had happened.

Pocha: You could still dance in those times. The salons and clubs stayed open and were frequented. Only when Eva Perón died, dancing was prohibited throughout Argentina. I remember that night as if it was today. It was Saturday, we wanted to go dancing, and the news was announced. The whole country went into mourning.

How would you describe your way of dancing?

Ofelia: I dance according to how the man leads me, I always have. A milonguera doesn’t have her own style. The man does: he leads and makes the decisions. The woman reacts and responds to the lead. Of course that’s the only time he takes the lead (she laughs impishly). I accompany the man. That’s how I see the woman’s role.

Nely: (nodding in accord) I agree with Ofelia. In tango it’s the man who makes the decisions, whichever way you look at it. He leads and indicates with his body, following something he feels inside; the milonguera pays careful attention to his lead. It’s the only way you can establish a connection between the man and woman, the only way you can truly feel the joy of dancing tango. Not having your own particular style means, to my mind, having the freedom and the luxury to dance many different styles.

Pocha: I don’t agree, I see it differently. I’ve always danced salon tango. It’s not always the woman who adapts; it can also be the reverse. José Luís, for example, adapts to my style. When he dances with Ofelia, he adapts to her. I love the way Nely and Pocha dance milonguero style, even though I dance a different style. The important thing is that it’s a pure tango, beautiful, and that it’s danced well. Nothing else.

At this point, a bit of an argument starts up between the three milongueras, in which each defends her point of view.

Do the three of you teach as well?

Pocha: I was for many years the partner of Lampazo (a milonguero very well known in Buenos Aires, who danced the Villa Urquiza style) and I taught with him for four years at the San Martín Theater. I also performed in shows with great milongueros, including “El Finito”, Antonito Todaro, “el Alemán”. I taught Miguel Ángel and Osvaldo Zotto, Jorge Firpo, Aurora Lúbiz, etc. I prepared Robert Duvall, the American actor, for the film Assassination Tango. Among my students are famous dancers like Geraldine Rojas, and currently Paludi. I taught steps from my repertoire to the Tango Argentino company.

She wants to know whether tango is danced in Germany because her greatest wish is that José Luís establish himself as a tango teacher beyond Argentina before she dies.

Nely: It was very difficult for me to convince “Pocho” to teach with me. Finally, I managed it six years ago, and since then we’ve been giving classes together. Last year we were invited to a tango festival in the United States. It was a fabulous experience.

Ofelia: I love teaching tango. I’ve taught since I was young. Above all, I like teaching women. I was the teacher for seven years in the Bamboche café in Flores. When I teach I offer everything I know, everything, that’s my way in all things. It’s the right of the student to learn the secrets of the teacher.

What characterizes an excellent dancer?

Ofelia: Good posture, elegant legwork and the capacity to let the man lead her are the core principles for a good dancer. The woman moves from the waist down, her chest stays with the man. To be able to dance and be relaxed at the same time is important; that relaxation is transmitted to the partner. It’s like this: you place your body in the correct posture, you feel the man and you give yourself to him and to the music. That’s dancing tango.

What makes a good male dancer?

Pocha: I apply the same criteria to men as Ofelia applies to women: good posture, the walk and the placement of the feet. Musicality is very important for the man, since he’s the one leading. You can’t dance Di Sarli in the same way you dance Troilo. It’s a completely different energy, a different beat, and that energy and beat must be carried through each movement.

Ofelia: Even today, men still tell me I’m as light as a feather, that they’ll never tire of dancing with me, and that to watch me dance is very different to the feeling of me in their embrace. Don’t you think that’s a lovely compliment? I don’t know whether it’s true, if that’s the way it really is… All I know is that I feel many wonderful things when I dance and I suppose those feelings transmit themselves to the man.

Nely, when you dance you seem to be floating. How do you do it?

Nely: I allow the music to guide me and to speak to me from the heart. The years of dancing have an influence, of course. Dancing is instinctive, spontaneous, and when I create new steps I do it unconsciously, they just come to me.

What do you feel when you dance?

Nely: I feel that the music transports me. Above all with Pocho. It’s 60 years since the first time we danced together. I like dancing with other men too, but that feeling of being one with someone I have only when I dance with Pocho.

Pocha: I’m happy when I dance, nothing more than happy, completely happy, because I’m doing something I love.

Ofelia: (with a slightly disconcerted sigh) How do you describe something that you feel from inside you? I’m told I have a certain expression on my face when I dance, a mixture of pleasure, love and satisfaction. That’s something that others see. I dance with my heart, not with my head, nor with my legs. I give myself over to the man and to the music, and then I lose myself in this, I unite myself with them. There could be 100 people watching me or no one, there’s no difference for me. It’s like love; you have to give yourself over to it.

The three ladies laugh as they recall this sense of happiness they feel when they dance. As I watch them, they seem like young girls to me.

You’re all so happy, so full of life. How do you manage it?

Ofelia: I start the day smiling and stay that way all day. I brought up my children singing and dancing. It’s tango that keeps me so young and so lively.

Pocha: Yes, it’s tango that gives us all this energy.

Tango songs are rather sad though, aren’t they? That sadness doesn’t bother you, when you’re all so happy?

Pocha: Tango songs aren’t sad, they’re sentimental, like we Argentineans. When I dance I don’t pay attention to the lyrics, but to the music.

Ofelia: Although there are tangos that express a certain melancholy, they make me happy and help me to enjoy my life and to feel good.

Where do you go to dance?

Nely: On Fridays Pocho and I go to Caning. I go to Sunderland and Sin Rumbo as well. When I go out on my own, I’m asked to dance a lot, even by young men. Once I was so popular that men asked me to dance before the music had begun.

Ofelia: The milonga I like most is Sunderland. For me, that’s where you see and dance the true tango. I know many people and I dance all night with young men and old. Age doesn’t exist in tango. A man of my age said to me once that he preferred to dance with 25-year-old girls. I looked at him and I said: “Have you ever looked at yourself in the mirror?” It’s ridiculous!

José Luís: When you go out dancing with Ofelia extraordinary things happen that leave you speechless. Last Saturday we were in Sunderland. An Italian man came up and asked me to dance. I danced as the woman with him. I was trembling with worry about how they would react in Sunderland, it being such a traditional milonga. But Ofelia saved me: she invited a woman to dance and danced with her as the man. Suddenly, all the milongueros got up, changed roles and danced. It was an incredible moment, amazing, and had a huge impact on me. There was a mixture of emotions, tension and magnificence, that was transmitted to everyone present. It was like the old days, like we’d gone back in time.

What does tango mean for you?

Nely: When I dance, I live. I dance for myself and for the man. I like dancing in public, for people, but I see nothing around me. If, as a woman, I don’t dance for myself and I don’t dance for love of the music, there’s no point.

Pocha: Tango is everything to me, happiness, joy, the centre of my life. I’m the happiest woman in the world when I dance. I like dancing more than I like eating. I want to die on the dance floor. Fall over one day in the milonga and be dead, that’s my dream. That way I’ll be remembered as a great dancer. What a marvelous death! But I’m still alive in this world, I exist, and I’m determined to dance again.

Why has tango had such success internationally?

Ofelia: Because it’s the only dance where you’re so together, body to body. Last week there was a performance at Sunderland by an extraordinary young couple. Later, I sat for a while at the table of Gloria and Eduardo Arquimbau and chatted with them. Eduardo said to me: “Ofelia, we can leave this world contentedly. The youth of today know how to dance, tango is not lost.” This makes us all very content.

What is the most lovely and the most sad about tango?

Nely: The most lovely is the music. I don’t like it when they play Piazzolla in the milongas. I also don’t like it when women are treated like dolls that can be twisted about and carried from here to there. When the woman has her legs in the air the whole time and when there’s no sentiment transmitted at all, only technique, it makes me a little sad.

Ofelia: I don’t like the men who disregard the older milongueras and prefer to dance with young girls. But that’s not the fault of tango, it’s to do with them. The most sublime is what you feel. Obviously, it depends as well on who we dance with, in terms of what they can transmit to us and what we can transmit to them. Some men say to me: “You make me dance.” I don’t make anyone dance, even though that’s what they feel. The most lovely thing is to feel something in your own heart and be able to communicate it to your partner without words.

Pocha: There’s nothing ugly in tango. It pains me that neither of my children dances and none of my five grandchildren either. But the youngest has a future; she could be a dancer: she has my talent.

What does it mean to you to be a milonguera?

Ofelia: Some people feel that the words “milonguero” and “milonguera” are insulting, something negative. It’s not the case, on the contrary: to be a milonguero is something that must be proved on the dance floor. I’m proud to be a milonguera. It’s not a disrespectful word. In times gone by perhaps, but today absolutely not.

José Luís, what’s it like for you to dance with the milongueras?

José Luís: They transmit to you an incredible energy and strength, the three equally so, even though each has her style. For me I prefer to dance tango with these ladies to any young girl. The milongueras from the old days dance for themselves, not for everyone else. The young girls place their feet well and do everything perfectly well, but often they’re too concerned about how they look from outside. The man feels that. The milongueras blow your mind when you dance with them. That’s why I’m such a great fan.