I didn’t wake until midday today. Last night I attended my second Tango lesson. Boudjaka, as six degrees of separation goes, made contacts in the Tango scene though his film. To give some background, I’ll explain the connections.

The day we were shooting the film at the Hotel Elevarge I moved from spectator to participant. Originally I was given boom mic duties. A sub plot had the ex lover of the Scandinavian guy in the Hotel bar with her current fling. This current fling’s character was a rich guy who was showering her with gifts she was happy to receive but her heart still lay with the Scandinavian guy, although he was too poor to satisfy her wants.

An Argentine guy was to play this part but the shoot ran over time and he had to leave. Enter Mick White. The scene changed from Spanish to English and we had to improvise the lines but it went well.

The lady acting as the ex lover, who is needless to say typically attractive, works for a non-profit organisation that places people who want to volunteer with organisations that require assistance. She manages the Scandinavian volunteers.

Her good friend, Felipe, is the Tango teacher and holds the lessons in his apartment in San Telmo, very close to the Hostel.

So taking into account these connections I arrive at the apartment to find, as if a wish list had been hand delivered by god, half the females, dark brooding Argentine beauties and the other half golden blonde Nordic goddesses.

Now, you may say, wait a minute it couldn’t have been that good. I can assure you it was better until, after going through the introductions I found out to my disappointment that 90% of the females had their partners there.

Holding the lesson in the apartment had the advantage of being intimate but it also meant there was no where to hide. Thankfully a young lady from Norway, Sandra, took pity on me and lead me to the floor when the teacher called us to begin. She spends four days of each week volunteering for a variety of welfare organisations. A kind person that must have a soft spot for those less fortunate. When it came to the tango I was as a deaf, dumb and blind beggar to her. As the class would prove, I may also have had a limb or two missing, in the least a missing right foot replaced by a left. The poor soul didn’t know what she was getting herself into.

To enhance the suspicion that she was the result of Mother Theresa’s Immaculate Conception, I again discovered after the event, her boyfriend was in attendance all night but, despite being a capable dancer herself, she laboured alongside my best impression of Frankenstein’s monster.  Sainthood would be her just reward.

After the class most of us had a meal not far from the hostel. My lack of Spanish put me on the periphery but it is comforting to sit back and just observe people interact.

Following the meal was the milonga. This time I was purely a spectator. I walked one of the Norwegian girls, Mui, to her apartment before reaching the Hostel at 4am.

I thoroughly enjoyed the whole night.

All this is not the main point of this post but a preamble to explain why I woke late but in a fantastic mood. Shortly this would change.

Showered then left for the café. Normally I can sit and read at the café without distraction. Today at the table next to me, two American men and an English women were sitting and talking, naturally, in English. Because I could follow the conversation part of my attention was diverted and I couldn’t fully immerse in the story. For twenty minutes their entire conversation was about how they were maximising their wealth here in Argentina, who their accountants were, which lawyer they were using etc.

An elderly lady approached their table offering for sale a strip of paper with small flower petals glued to the paper. While I thought the pieces were intrinsically beautiful, it was primarily used as a tool for begging without being so blatant. They waved her away.

My blood boiled instantly. She came to me next and I chose one and gave 5 pesos for it. Nothing for me but it would be lunch for her. I couldn’t concentrate afterwards so I went inside and paid for my coffee. All the while a tirade was building that I didn’t think I could hold back. I still held the paper in my hand when I came outside. Almost involuntarily I made straight for their table. One step away, when all three stopped talking and looked at me, a wave of calm washed over me. Instead of firing both barrels, I gently placed the paper in the middle of the table and slowly offered each, in turn, a look of pity I hoped they would feel. They said nothing and I went on my way.

I am no Saint. I am not about to cast the first stone for I have been trying to use the financial system for gain. But there is a difference between trying to build a home and buying a second summer house in Malibu.

I am still angry as I write this.