In search of: The king of tango in Uruguay

Carlos Gardel brought South America's sexiest dance out of the brothels and made it infamous, It's no wonder three countries vie to claim him as their own

Even today, 67 years after he died in a plane crash, controversy surrounds the man who brought tango – that magnificently sad, bad and sexy music – from the banks of the River Plate to the world. Carlos Gardel started out singing for pesos on the poor streets of Buenos Aires and rose, via movies and gramophone records, to become the embodiment of romantic South American soul. That much is agreed: he was the prototype curtain-chewing latin crooner. But does the King of Tango belong to Argentina, France or Uruguay? What was his real name? And is it possible, as some say, that he could have been the son of his own grandfather?

Tango? Is that the twiddly one on Come Dancing where the blokes wear toreador pants and the chicks keep scraping their sequins on the parquet?

Well, yes, but the dance probably started out 100 years ago as a sort of dirty waltzing for the girls and their waiting clients in brothels along the mighty Rio de la Plata. Since then, of course, the dance has become much more sophisticated and romantic. But today's dancers still like to refer to tango's louche origins by a nostalgic dress code: slightly rumpled but sharp whistle-and-flute for him and something a little more raunchy – but subversively so – for her. There's been a big switch from the sequinned competition dance style to more original forms of the dance. And the good news is you don't have to be in the willowy years of youth to be a credible exponent. You can be, like all the best performers, getting on a bit.

You mean good tango dancers can be fat and old?

Actually, yes. And if you find that shocking it's your problem. However, in Argentina and in Uruguay – countries on opposite sides of the River Plate, both of which claim to have originated the dance – children learn the basic moves from about the age of six. "It's a matter of absorbing our own cultural identity," says Maria del Huerto Cusano, who runs the national tango school, Joventango, in Uruguay's capital, Montevideo. "Later in their lives, the kids from our school – wherever they may be in the world – will have this precious thing to remind them of their homeland." Maria herself was taught by her UN delegate father, when the family lived in New York. "At the time," says Maria, "I was much more interested in the Beatles. These days I've let rock 'n' roll go but tango – never."

This cultural stuff is all very well, but where does Carlos What's-his-name come in?

Without him, you would probably never have heard of tango. It might never have left the River Plate region. It could have remained a sort of expat version of the Habanera, of interest only to music anoraks. As it is, Carlos Gardel, with his macho-poetic looks and golden larynx – and let's not forget how lucky he was to be around at the time when sound recording and movies were both taking off – was the catalyst for one of the better world dance and music crazes of the 20th century. Carlos put Argentina and the River Plate region on the map even more than corned cow did.

So why the arguments?

That's down to conflicting claims by Argentina, Uruguay and France about where Carlos was born. It seems they all want to claim tango for their own.

Big deal!

It is a big deal, especially where Argentina and Uruguay are concerned. Down there, tango is political. You might not have noticed, but at the last Olympics a huge diplomatic row broke out when the Argentinian team paraded to that most famous of all tango tunes, "La Cumparsita".

Is that the one that starts off a bit like "Hernando's Hideaway"?

Not really ... anyway, Uruguay objected to Argentina marching out to a tune it says was composed in Montevideo in 1917 by a man called Rodrigues. It might not have been so sensitive in the matter if it were not for the fact that Uruguayans have for generations felt that their tiny country (a hour or two by ferry away but only one tenth the population of Argentina) has been somewhat passed over in the matter of world tango recognition.

Surely you can come up with something a tad heavier on the International Gripe Scale?

Well, there is the matter of which country our man Carlos – aka the Creole Songbird, the Sultan of Schmaltz, the Brylcreemed Torpedo of Twirl (all right, I made up the last two) – has the right to claim him as a native son. He is, after all, a cultural icon. He has a big following today. He should be someone's national treasure.

So put me out of my misery. Where did he come from?

That depends – on whom you ask. The websites (and they are legion) disagree, as do the books. His name might have been Romuald Gardes and it might not. Any Tomas, Ricardo and Harry, quizzed in any River Plate bar, will come up with three different certainties. But after much laborious research in the field (hey, there are more frivolous errands to fly halfway around the world on, believe me) I can only say that the baby Carlos might well have first seen the light in a place called Tacuarembo, smack bang in the rural heart of Uruguay. People there believe he came into the world as the result of spectacularly irregular liaison between a regional officer and the 14-year-old daughter born to the same officer by his wife's mother. I'm still trying to figure out if this scenario makes our Carlos both son and brother to the same woman. Anyway, this is what you will be told if you are ever in that neck of the pampa, and locals will point out that the relevant pages of the town's register of births were ripped out long ago.

What about France? Argentina?

It does seem that the young Carlos was taken to Paris as a baby by his (they say) adopted mother (whom, they also say, was yet another mistress of that Tacuarembo official) but moved soon afterwards to Buenos Aires. Carlos's mother was a washerwoman and Carlos grew up listening to the port's pavement singers and buskers. The rest, like the foregoing fable, is unreliable history. But it's all we've got.

Right. I've got my dancing shoes. Where do I go?

Return flights to Montevideo via Guarulhos cost from £551 with Varig and to Buenos Aires via Madrid cost £445 with Iberia (www.opodo.co.uk). A nine-night tango break to Montevideo, Buenos Aires and Estancia Gaucha costs from $980 (£653) per person, including accommodation, taxes, breakfasts, some meals, transfers, tango lessons, entrance fees and guided tours. Contact Cecilia Regules Viajes (00 598 2 916 3011; email: regulesv@adinet.com.uy). Dance Holidays (01293 527722; www.danceholidays.com), offers tango breaks worldwide. Four nights in Seville, departing 10 October, costs £299 per person, based on two sharing, including return flights, transfers, accommodation and lessons.