The Tangamente Story
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In a momentous passing of the torch on the 4th of July weekend of 2022, Nora Olivera, the visionary behind 22 unforgettable years of Nora's Tango Week, has entrusted Ramada Salieri and Elaine Chiu, with the honor of carrying forward her remarkable legacy. Together, we stand ready to infuse this timeless tradition with fresh trends, invigorating visions, and a renewed commitment to excellence.
Stepping beyond the limitations of a traditional hotel setting, we have chosen a vibrant new venue for Tangamente -one that allows us to create a more immersive and connected experience. Free from restrictions that once prevented us from sharing food, drinks, and deeper moments of camaraderie, we are embracing a space where tango lovers from all walks of life can truly come together.
In addition to honoring this rich legacy, we aim to shape a gathering that reflects the evolving spirit of tango - inclusive, creative, and grounded in genuine connection. We envision a space where tradition and innovation meet, and where every dancer feels welcomed, inspired, and part of something meaningful - whether it's building new friendships, rekindling old ones, learning together, or finding fresh sparks of inspiration.​​​​​
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The Origins and Meaning Behind "Tangamente"
Long before Nora’s Tango Week ever came to life, Nora Olivera had already adopted the word Tangamente as her personal signature - a word she used to sign off every letter, message, and note. Inspired by the lyricism of Horacio Ferrer and the music of Astor Piazzolla and Raúl Lavié, Tangamente is not a dictionary word, but a poetic invention. It carries the feeling of tango itself - passionate and profoundly human. For Nora, it was more than a phrase. It was a gesture of connection, a way of saying goodbye with warmth, with love, and always with meaning of Tango within your soul.
One of the verses that moved her most comes from Ferrer’s poetry:
"Me pondré por los hombros de abrigo toda el alba,
mi penúltimo whisky quedará sin beber,
llegará Tangamente mi muerte enamorada,
yo estaré muerto en punto cuando sean las seis."
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"I will drape the dawn like a coat over my shoulders,
my second-to-last whisky will remain untouched,
my enamored death will arrive Tangamente,
and I will be dead precisely at six."
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Nora, not yet retired from Tango, still uses the term "Tangamente" to this day.
Today, we carry Tangamente forward not just as a name, but as a tribute to Nora's legacy. It reminds us of the power of language, the depth of music, and the legacy of those who live and give through tango.
The origins of Tangamente
Moriré en Buenos Aires,
será de madrugada,
guardaré mansamente las cosas de vivir,
mi pequeña poesía de adioses y de balas,
mi tabaco, mi tango, mi puñado de esplín.
Me pondré por los hombros, de abrigo, toda el alba,
mi penúltimo whisky quedará sin beber,
llegará, tangamente, mi muerte enamorada,
yo estaré muerto, en punto,
cuando sean las seis.
Hoy que Dios me deja de soñar,
a mi olvido iré por Santa Fe,
sé que en nuestra esquina vos ya estás
toda de tristeza, hasta los pies.
Abrazame fuerte que por dentro
me oigo muertes, viejas muertes,
agrediendo lo que amé.
Alma mía, vamos yendo,
llega el día, no llorés.
Moriré en Buenos Aires, será de madrugada,
que es la hora en que mueren los que saben morir.
Flotará en mi silencio la mufa perfumada
de aquel verso que nunca yo te supe decir.
Andaré tantas cuadras y allá en
la plaza Francia,
como sombras fugadas de un cansado ballet,
repitiendo tu nombre por una calle blanca,
se me irán los recuerdos en puntitas de pie.
Moriré en Buenos Aires, será de madrugada,
guardaré mansamente las cosas de vivir,
mi pequeña poesía de adioses y de balas,
mi tabaco, mi tango, mi puñado de esplín.
Me pondré por los hombros, de abrigo, toda el alba,
mi penúltimo whisky quedará sin beber,
llegará, tangamente, mi muerte enamorada,
yo estaré muerto, en punto,
cuando sean las seis,
cuando sean las seis,
¡cuando sean las seis!
I will die in Buenos Aires,
it will be at dawn,
I will meekly guard the things of life,
my small poetry of goodbyes and bullets,
my tobacco, my tango, my handful of melancholy
I will put the whole dawn over my shoulders,
as a coat,
my penultimate whiskey will remain undrank,
my death in love will arrive, Tangamente,
I will be dead, on the dot,
when it's six o'clock.
Today, when God stops me from dreaming,
I will go to Santa Fe to forget myself,
I know that on our corner you are already
all sad, up to your feet.
Hold me tight, because inside
I hear deaths, old deaths,
attacking what I loved.
My soul, we are going,
the day is coming, don't cry.
I will die in Buenos Aires, it will be at dawn,
which is the hour when those who know
how to die.
The perfumed curse of that verse I never knew how to tell you will float in my silence.
I'll walk so many blocks, and there in
Plaza Francia,
like shadows escaped from a tired ballet,
repeating your name along a white street,
my memories will tiptoe away.
I'll die in Buenos Aires, it will be dawn,
I'll meekly store the things of living,
my little poetry of goodbyes and bullets,
my tobacco, my tango, my handful of melancholy.
I'll put the whole dawn over my shoulders,
as a coat,
my penultimate whiskey will remain undrank,
my death in love will arrive, Tangamente,
​I'll be dead, sharp,
when it's six,
when it's six, when it's six!