Monday, January 18, 2016

Two to Tango

On our last night in Buenos Aires we took tango lessons.  Turns out we're naturals.  And with my naturally curly hair, unnaturally colored red, the instructor thought I looked like Nicole Kidman.   And with my husband's hair grown out he looked a bit like Keith Urban.  That must be why she saw some chemistry between us.  Or maybe it was because we were so passionate.  About our frustration of traveling with four kids for two and a half weeks.  Not to mention the curve ball that came our way in Buenos Aires.

The tango is elegance cavorting with intensity.  And I was pretty intense about the fact that the man leading the dance and the woman merely following is kinda sexist.  Perhaps it's the fake, feisty redhead in me, but I don't like the idea of anyone controlling me.   But, when I did finally submit, yielding to the tenets of tango, that's when the conditions were perfect.  And the timing was perfect.

Because, it takes two to tango.

We'd learned that the day before.  Before we even had a tango lesson in the bustling marketplace in Buenos Aires shopping for souvenirs.  Scoring one vintage soda bottle with Argentina in raised letters on it to remember our trip by.  Then we stopped for lunch.  And the timing was perfect.  Craig set his backpack down and it was unguarded for less than 30 seconds while the rest of us checked our phones.  And just like that it was gone.

Because, it takes two (or more) to tango. 

We took inventory immediately.  No kids were stolen.  Nor did they get the passports, the iPad or the iphone.  Just his new backpack, wallet and, as we'd remember later, the car keys to the minivan that was sitting at the Denver airport, an hour and a half from our home in Colorado Springs.  We spent the afternoon at the police station where there were three other tourists with the same exact story feeling just as stupid as we did.  Then we attempted to call collect to our credit card companies.  Which proves to be impossible.  (I tried when we lived in Germany and Morocco too and it never works.)  So we were left with one ATM card (with a cap on how much cash you can take out a day) and an American Express card (which is barely even accepted in the US, never mind overseas.)

Because it takes two (or more) to tango...

...the rest of the trip was an intricate dance timed exactly 24 hours apart so we could stow enough money to pay for the hotel, museums, lunch and any other incidentals.  Not to mention, inconveniencing Liz, my dog sitter, to find my keys and Heather, my friend, who I apologetically asked to drive my keys up to the airport to meet us.  It was a sloppy dance of shame.  One we'll take steps to avoid next time.  Taking care not to trip on each other's feet again.  

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