As the tip of the sun creeps over the horizon, a sprawling checkerboard of life rises from slumber. Porteños open their doors and the city of good airs rushes in; a heady mix of heat and danger. The hands of the clock do their rounds and the sun rises in the sky – an orange flame, searing the vivid band of colours in La Boca, as notes of Tango melt into the heat and dancers float forwards. A tale unfurls: sagas of lovers lost and desires unfulfilled. The whisper of the good airs lingers in your midst as you dodge cracks and golden lamp-posts – opulence blending with struggle in a hauntingly beautiful melancholy. Proud Porteños parade the glittering streets of Palermo, commanding attention, while the sweeping white of Puerto Madero bridge lures us deeper into our tale of Tango. Evening creeps forward and rush-hour traffic careers down the pulsing artery of Avenida 9 de Julio at the heart of the city. Dusk approaches and the flame edges west, as the bell tolls in the Recoleta Cemetery and the Casa Rosada burns blood red in the evening light. The sun has called time on Buenos Aires but the night is young. The good airs reverberate with the hum of traffic, pulsing club beats and myriad tales hidden beyond walls and eyes. And all the while, the haunting tones of the Tango rise into the city, melting into the cracks and fusing with the hearts and minds of its people. And we watch in mesmerised silence as the dance glides to its conclusion, scenting the air with intrigue and loss.