When the taxi driver finds the address, we wonder if there's been a mistake. It's nearly midnight the time we were advised to come but the only thing visible through the smudged glass door panes is a half-filled ashtray on an old desk. When we step into the building, though, we hear the strains of tango music from up above.
My lady friend and I had come to Buenos Aires to immerse ourselves in the city's seductive, ubiquitous tango culture. Walking around, we heard the songs of Carlos Gardel tango's composer laureate waft out...
To continue reading:
or
Log-In
