One night we went to see something called La Bomba del Tiempo, a happening we heard about. It’s a big collective drumming event, we were told. Something secret and cultish and special. Mmm. Anyway we showed up and the queue of excited gringos on day release from their Lonely Planets wound round and round blocks of the city. Not a culty secret anymore then. A whole neighbourhood industry had sprung up to serve the queuers – empanada shops and kiosks selling drinks and so on. We decided to sit it out and retired to an empty bar with huge paintings of tango players on the walls. Much to our delight a group of musicians turned up just as we were thinking about whether to join the queue or not and so we stayed in the painted bar. What type of music? I asked. Tango they replied. Of course. The bar filled up a little with a rag-bag partisan crowd who clapped and sung along and the handsome young men took to the stage and played sweet tunes beautifully.
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