BUENOS AIRES -- Two to tango? Not quite. It takes four: you, that elusive perfect partner -- and a fantastic pair of tango shoes.
It is a rite of arrival in Buenos Aires to hit the shoe shops. First stop for the throngs of tango tourists, even before stepping out to the milongas (or dance soirees), is Calle Suipacha, smack in the Microcentro of the chaotic, smoggy, noisy city. At least four shops, each more eccentric and frustrating than the next, line the block: Darcos, Mahara, Suipacha Tango and, most compelling and infuriating of all, Flabella, where many a tango tourist has spent the better part of an afternoon, or several afternoons, or an entire week, waiting patiently, or not, for their pair of magic shoes.
What could be more stereotypical of the tango than the shoe? Fishnets, a slit skirt? But the shoe is paramount, the vehicle that drives the language of the dance -- in the slide of the foot on the floor, the caress as it brushes against a partner's foot or leg, the danger of the heel as it kicks back in the step called a boleo.
The Flabella experience goes like this: Two travellers just off the plane -- a couple from Holland, friends from France, Britons, Germans, Canadians -- enter and flop down on the grey, time-worn banquette, the meagre air-conditioning a relief from the heat and noise outdoors. The Italians are not here -- they go for the high-end exquisiteness of Comme Il Faut, which we will get to later.
There are shoes in the window, just a hint of what is available: basic black T-straps, purple giraffe prints, leopard prints, silver glitter sandals and red shoes -- my particular object of desire on this, and any, visit to Buenos Aires. Inside, hundreds of white boxes of shoes are stacked row upon row, shoulder high, their treasures hidden. Eventually, one or another of the laconic saleswomen will ask your size and preferred colour, then disappear to the backroom, perhaps to re-emerge some time later.
Then there's Eduardo. He fell upon me like a large unruly puppy, aiming for a kiss on the mouth, perhaps a full body tackle. He asked my size. Then he fell upon my feet, caressing, possibly kissing, his ardour undaunted by the sorry state of my pedicure. And he disappeared.
A wiry, handsome man of indeterminate age, Eduardo clearly lacks the shy, retiring nature of the stereotypical foot-fetishizing salesman. But this is the tango world, where the arch of the foot in a T-strap stiletto is worship-worthy.
The higher the heel, the sexier, and the more forward the posture as you lean into the dance. You can spot professional dancers by their posture in towering heels: taut from the ankles up and no wobbling.
"Aesthetically, there's absolutely no doubt that the higher you go, the better," said Mylene Pelletier, a Montreal dancer, teacher and importer of Comme Il Faut shoes.
It's not just the look of the shoe, although tango shoes have taken on all the fantasy of fashion -- lace, ruffles, vivid hues, leopard prints, metallics and more.
From Montreal to Buenos Aires and beyond, dancers obsess about the perfect fit, heel and comfort that will give them the performance edge. Check out any of Montreal's milongas, and you'll see dancers in heels low and high, many of which come straight from Argentina.
I had two requests for Eduardo. Shoes in red, preferably, with a low-ish heel, Size 8, maybe 9. Suede would be nice, I added. "Gamuza," he smooched at me, informing me of the Spanish word for suede. Also: Could he possibly repair my old pair of Flabellas -- black open-toe T-straps that had served me well for too many years, actually.
He emerged from the backroom, rather promptly, with the promise that he would repair the shoes and seek out new ones at the factory to fit my needs. We were to return the next day, which would make it the third of three visits to the shop in just over a week in Buenos Aires.
(Hey gals, guess what I did on my Christmas vacation? I went shoe shopping in Buenos Aires, just 9,000 kilometres and an 11-hour flight away.)
Flabella, and the other Calle Suipacha shops, is happily just a block from a great tango institution, the Confiteria Ideal. The grand but faded art-nouveau salon is home to afternoon milongas, where elderly gents -- many of dubious tango talent -- try out the traditional cabeceo, the nod of the head that signals an invitation to the dance, mostly to younger women.
It's like stepping back in time to another era, and a marvellous way to while away an afternoon.
But Eduardo had my shoes.
I had already checked out the neighbouring shops; at Darcos, there was a pretty pair of stilettos with Liberty floral front and lavender heels. A disinterested salesman said I could have those shoes for 200 pesos -- roughly $70, a real deal. However, he failed to produce the pair when he grudgingly went seeking shoes in my size. Besides, my last pair of Darcos tango shoes lost a heel on my way to, of all places, Cafe Cleopatre on the Lower Main (yes, another story). At Mahara, the salesman declared a T-strap with printed silver pattern "precioso." I passed.
Tango Brujo, on Calle Esmeralda several blocks away, had merited two visits. The shop and school for all things tango had an enchanting shoe of violet metallic leather with Velcro straps and low heel. Alas, by the second visit, it was decided I needed a custom pair: Size 9 last, Size 8 width, and while I was at it I might as well order the lowest heel, a kittenish 5.5 cm. Unfortunately, each shop measures its heels from a different angle, so comparisons from shop to shop are useless.
In the happening neighbourhood of Palermo Viejo, packed with designer shops and cool restaurants, I wandered off the beaten track to Greta Flora, whose shoes are adorned with romantic floral appliques. Gorgeous, but no luck.
It's a peculiar shop, the concierge at my hotel said of Delie, a shop just down our block in the cobblestoned historic district called San Telmo. Indeed, it was. I tried on elegant black suede shoes, 8 cm high with two straps, over the ankle and instep, making them remarkably stable. I felt wonderful. Too high for you, the owner decreed. Will you be here tomorrow? I asked. Maybe, maybe not was the reply.
A must on the tango shoe route: Comme Il Faut, in Recoleta, a neighbourhood so lovely it could be St. Germain des Pres in Paris. The line has gained widespread distribution, and renown for fine materials, craftsmanship and fantastic design. A visit to the shop produced just two pairs in my so-called low heel (here about 7.5 cm, or three inches) and the usual Europeans fawning over the high-end shoes that rival the creations of, say, a Blahnik or a Choo -- at a fraction of the cost.
I inquired about a new shop, Raquel, just a few blocks over on the same street. The clerk became incensed. The new shop was not only too close for comfort, but had seemingly taken the name of Raquel Coltrinari, one of the founders of Comme Il Faut, causing confusion. I passed on Raquel during that first visit, but finding myself without shoes on the afternoon of Eduardo, I hopped a cab for Recoleta. Sadly, I never found Raquel, even after slogging back and forth on two or three city blocks, asking at nearly every shop where Raquel could be. Nobody knew.
Instead, they sent me a mile away to the well-known Susana Artesanal, on busy Calle Riobamba, where I picked up a perfectly classic, perfect fit of a cross-ankle, open-toe black suede shoe with just the right heel.
Of course, they were sold out in red in my size.
efriedethegazette.canwest.com
Zapatos Finos, classic tango shoes made in Uruguay, are available at the website www.zapatos-finos.com
Buenos Aires addresses
Flabella, Suipacha 263,www.flabella.com
Comme Il Faut, Arenales 1239, www.commeilfaut.n
Darcos, Suipacha 259, www.darcostango.com
Delie, Piedras 843, www.delieshoes.com.ar
Susana Artesanal, 448 Riobamba, www.shoes-susanaartesanal.com
Neo Tango, Sarmiento 1938, www.neotangoshoes.com
Tango Brujo, Esmeralda 754, www.tangobrujo.com