- See more at: http://blogtimenow.com/blogging/automatically-redirect-blogger-blog-another-blog-website/#sthash.ZOSg03mN.dpuf Katie Nugent Photography: The final days...


The final days...

For my last supper, Agustin, Morgan's charming other half, arranged for us to dine out in style at a local tango performance. The dining area was enormous and was, I'm told by Mr. Charming himself, one of the oldest restaurants in Buenos Aires. I think he said it used to be a coffee house and I'm pretty sure there was something about a christmas tree and his grandmother going there as a little girl, but I was so enraptured by the vintage romance of the building, with wrapping balcony, and ancient waiters in white dress shirts and slicked back hair, that I completely forgot to listen to the mini-history lesson. Forgive me Agu, you were by far the best tour guide of my trip!

The dancing, the music, the singing was sultry and soulful. And I wanted desperately to know how to dance like that. Apparently, the tango began as a form of presenting prostitutes, a little classier than forcing the poor girls to hang out in dark street alleys. The pimp and his harlot would begin a slow, seductive choreography, he moving her this way and that, revealing her curves and ability to move.
Emotion and lust and all things provocative were reflected in each step the dancers took, each melody played by the four-piece band, and each heart wrenching tune sang by the duo. There was one dance in particular, with a chair and one couple, that had me wondering whether the older women in the crowd might have heart attacks from the explicit moves, but then it's Buenos Aires and people don't seem fazed by sex like we northern bumpkins. 

When the show ended, it was past midnight, and I was amazed how quickly time seemed to pass in BA. Perhaps that's what happens when you're enraptured and not worried about bills and deadlines. We ended the night with a quick stroll through THIS amazing hotel, where I shall go stay if I ever win the lottery. Although I don't play so it might just remain a little fantasy. 

In the morning Morgie and I crawled out of bed and ventured to the neighbourhood of Palermo, home of the Palermo Market, which I did not experience, but am told is enormous and filled with beautiful art, designs and tinkery. 

Palermo via flickr
Palermo is to BA what Gastown is to Vancouver. It's all hip and happening, with so many wonderful stores you wonder how on earth you'll ever leave this place. But you will, and you do. Braced with a few more bags, and a few less Argentinean Pesos. We ate our enormous salads on a rooftop with all the other pretty people, and I was trapped somewhere between feeling spoiled to have such a lovely day, with a lovely friend, in a lovely city and feeling sad that this was my last lovely day, with my lovely friend in this very lovely city. As was always the case, the time crept up and soon it was time to say goodbye. I left BA the same way I arrived-- in a cab where neither I nor the cab driver spoke the other's language. 

It wasn't until I cleared customs and was sitting enjoying a final glass of bubbles-- to celebrate-- that I realized how much I missed my Mr. and how urgently I wanted to see him. The next time I visit South America I insist he must be with me, because the loveliest cities are lovelier when shared with your lover. 

{On Friday night, a few friends and  I went and saw Jill Barber, who's songs are currently playing. She was amazing and funny and all kinds of cute so if you have a chance go see her.  She is touring Canada as we speak and comes highly recommended by moi}

PS I wasn't allowed to take photos at the tango so here's a few I picked out from the many out there in the abyss. 

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