Buenos Aires markets

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One perfect Sunday

April 6, 2009 in Buenos Aires Information | 8 comments

Good enough to eat Somewhere, buried in a whirlwind fortnight of fruitless trips to Migraciones, buggered laptop hard drives and testing nicotine withdrawals, was a perfect Sunday: Me and C. keen to hit the streets; beautiful late summer Buenos Aires; the recommendations of a friend who at that point, I hadn’t actually met. Other people’s favourite places are always music to my ears, and especially when they converge with budding ideas or desires of my own. Sometimes I’ve been meaning to do something or go somewhere for ages (let’s call it X) and then finally a mate saying, Hey have you tried X yet? pushes me the last inch and I get walking.

I’ve ridden past Parque (Park) Lezama loads of times on the way to and from one of my favourite viewpoints in Buenos Aires: the La Boca rooftop of Museo de Bellas Artes de La Boca Benito Quinquela Martín – just as an aside, if you visit La Boca, this art gallery and the views from its sculpture terraces are an absolute must. Anyway if you take the 64 or the 152 to get there, you will skirt around the bottom of the Parque as you turn in or out of the ‘gateway’ to La Boca, which is marked by a border of faded corrugated metal facades, fake windows and charicature-manikins  mimicking the houses of Caminito. When you see that landmark, and the foot of a hill like park opposite, get off the bus. If it’s the weekend there’ll be a straggle of market stalls winding their way around and disappearing up under the trees: an extra bonus if you like bargain hunting, as I do.

As it turns out this park offers a few treats. For starters the gorgeous Art Nouveau cookie factory in the photo can be seen across the street: the biscuit colour of the walls made me hungry. Next, the park’s design offers tree covered strolls; glimpses of Roman style statues, urns and follies; a gentle climb towards the terracotta and white house which sits at the top of the hill, and which is home to the free to enter National History Museum (worth a look for the building’s interior and some well selected exhibits, plus it will be expanding soon to include a café). On our wander uphill we managed to encounter a huge slice of homemade pizza with a delicious crust ($4pesos a piece and one was big enough for two), buy a military button for the jeans a dear friend gifted me recently – perfect fit but missing a fastener, and splash out on a second hand hippy chic shirt… oh gosh, like I said I can’t resist local markets!

By the time we made  it to the top of the park and the corner of Defensa and Brasil, I realised that I was almost in Plaza Dorrego, San Telmo, on a Sunday, and thus just a couple of blocks from the crowds. The peace of Parque Lezama however, gave no hint of that crush just up the road, and brought home to me how few tourists ever walk even a few blocks off the most beaten tracks. I was glad that on the border of La Boca and San Telmo, I finally had.

‘En la esquina de Defensa y Brasil’, Bar Britanico (well I had to pop in there didn’t I?) served us great coffee in traditional  surroundings for a surprisingly low price. As we sipped our ‘dos cortados en jarrito’, it dawned on us we’d already been in there once before, on a winter’s dawn many moons ago, after spilling out of Parakultural at Peru 571 one Saturday – this is a cool 24/7 café that never closes its doors. Way back in those mists of my early days in Buenos Aires, as we waited for the bus after a 5am breakfast, it seemed to me that we stood in the middle of absolutely nowhere and definitely in a dodgy district. This time I knew where I was, noticed the stunning Italian style balcony next to the Art Deco apartment block opposite, spotted Torcato Tasso a stone’s throw away, couldn’t believe I hadn’t shared this particular corner of the city with my parents – next time for sure.

We checked our map, and I calculated that we were probably only half an hour’s walk from Barracas and the artistic haven that is Calle Lanín. So, fired up with enthusiasm for demonstrating my expert knowledge of Buenos Aires attractions, I dragged C. off up Avenida Caseros towards the tiny street Lanín. There he enthused about the ceramic art in a way that perhaps only plumbers who have seen the inside of far too many badly tiled bathrooms can, and promised me that he’d be knocking up something Calle Lanín style on our balcony pronto. I meanwhile, marvelled at the stillness of the place, and found myself wondering how many visitors to Buenos Aires just don’t bother or don’t know to make it to Barracas and this stunning pint-sized street with soul. Please promise me you’ll try.

We finished our afternoon and ourselves off by marching through back streets to Constitución Station (probably only wise in broad daylight, with a degree of purpose in your stride), where I snapped a few pics of the vast arches that remind me of the glory days of British Rail. Got to say that flashing big cameras (mine’s teeny tiny) might not be too smart in Constitución… just be aware and be discreet eh?

As we wound our way home towards Palermo on the Blue Subte Line C, and the Green Subte Line D my feet were throbbing, but I was chattering like a child about the treasures that had made up our perfect day. Whatever gave you the idea and the energy to do all that? said C. I didn’t even know you’d heard of Parque Lezama!

Well, I began, I confess I can’t take all the credit… and out of my bag I pulled the printed pages of the e-book I’d downloaded from the internet just a few days before:

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Really, this neat little e-book by Jeff Barry at SoroDesign is exactly my kind of thing because it actually does enable you to create your own perfect days or half days in Buenos Aires: Jeff sends you off to an area of the city and then helps you discover it as you walk… architecture, landmarks, museums, cafés, parks, galleries. To create our perfect Sunday I picked just one of the book’s San Telmo starting points: Parque Lezama, made sure I found and tried all Jeff’s tips for the locality, and went home with a big smile on my face. OK, I admit I’ve got a bit of local knowledge and so I was able to add in Calle Lanín, but in the day I’ve described to you, straight out of Jeff’s e-book came Parque Lezama, the cookie factory, The National Museum, Bar Britanico, and Avenida Caseros. Not bad for a couple of small paragraphs of a guide book in my opinion. Plus, another section tipped me off to check out the architecture of Constitución Station. I’m glad I did.

The title might mention four perfect days, but actually there’s probably enough treats in its well organised and illustrated pages to keep you busy in Buenos Aires for a whole lot longer.

Having tried it out for myself, I think the book offers a good selection of the more well known and the less discovered. Yes, Jeff leaves out a few of my personal favourites, but instead he includes places that I have yet to explore, and for me that is a RESULT! What use is a guide book that only tells me what I already know? Even after two years here, I can learn from Jeff’s super suggestions. If you’ve never been to Buenos Aires, then I think he will get you off to a great start. I think the e-book’s got a cool price tag too: at only USD$8.95, it probably isn’t going to break your bank.

Best part for me is that if you buy the e-book, and you do it via Sallycat’s Adventures, then Jeff has agreed to give me a little bonus, out of his profits, for the sale. Thus over time we can all win: you can follow in my footsteps and enjoy your own perfect days in Buenos Aires, I can treat myself to a few licuados, and Jeff sells his book: win, win, win! Perfecto.

So how can you get your hands on this little gem? Well, just click any of the photo links on my blog (more will appear soon) including the one above in this post. Or, use this link instead:

Click here to visit the SoroDesign Buenos Aires website and buy Jeff’s e-book!

Meanwhile, if you’re wishing you’d been with Me and C. on our perfect Sunday, why not head over to my One Perfect Sunday Flickr Photo Set where you can slideshow the gorgeous photos we took as we explored.

Sometimes, however well we think we know a place, it can be the fresh perspective of another soul that adds the possibility of new layers of discovery. If, on the other hand, we’re a first time visitor, aren’t we always after the inside track? If you like what you see in my photos, why not give Jeff’s ideas a try and treat yourself to the prospect of  ‘4 (or more) Perfect Days in Buenos Aires.’

Here’s to exploring and adventuring with a little help from our friends. Enjoy!

 

After the fact, one of you sent me the link to this all the way from Milan, and because I love the BBC and David Bowie’s voice and the brilliant use of this tune in Trainspotting I’m adding it to this post. Here’s to every day being a perfect one. We have it in our power to make it so!

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Meant to be

March 22, 2009 in Buenos Aires Information, Live your dreams | 2 comments

A patient man We have to go to Piedras 115 to get me a Certificate of Good Conduct to support my temporary residency visa renewal application. Actually the paper given to me by the lady at Migraciones has Piedras 130 written on it, but we work it out. We discover that we must lift a phone located to the left of the big reception desk in the main office area to be offered an appointment: it’s about 11am and we get one for 1.30pm – on the same day. Bingo.

Happy, we decide to seek a quiet space to wait. We are downtown on the edge of the hustle and bustle of the Centro, but we know of just the place: the courtyard of the Manzana de las Luces: hidden, spacious, has seats, completely free of charge to enter and rest a while. We walk the few blocks to its sanctuary.

To get to the courtyard we must pass through the indoor market stalls between the entrance on the corner of Alsina and Perú, and the quiet within. There’s bric-a-brac, polished rocks, a few crafts. I walk by without really looking. As I turn the corner to exit the market my eye lands on a document wallet hanging on the nearest display … it’s a bit like a slim briefcase in that it has handles, but it’s less bulky and boasts several zipped compartments. It isn’t made of leather, but it looks fine and functional enough. I catch sight of the price tag: $25pesos. I say to Carlos, ‘Mirá, mi amor.’

In November 2007 I wrote here about my desire to buy C. a posh new document satchel. At the time C. was carrying his work papers in a fairly grubby canvas wallet, as he had done since we met. He had no desire to replace it. I watched him make small repairs to the bag as months passed, and I stopped wanting to replace it too.

A few weeks ago an enormous hole developed in the fabric around the press stud fastener. We talked again about shopping for a solution, but C. was reluctant. I thought that he might lose his papers if the bag could not close. Yet, he had plans. One day I came home to find that he had sewn the most brilliant repair using a piece of tyre inner tube. We both marvelled at the handiwork. No need to replace anything when it’s loved that much I thought.

However, in the Manzana de las Luces market, C. stops and looks at the new document wallet. He pulls open the zips, tries the handles, weighs it in his hands. To my surprise he doesn’t hesitate. $25pesos slips through his fingers in a flash and the bag is in his arms. We emerge into the calm of the courtyard. He adopts businessman-like poses in front of one of the mirror-like full length windows. I’m laughing at his delight.

‘See,’ he says to me, ‘We didn’t need to go looking. It found us.’

We talk about how almost eighteen months have passed since I first mentioned the possibility of replacing the bag and we remark that if it wasn’t for the apparent trials over my visa renovation we wouldn’t even be in the Manzana de las Luces market at all. This particular moment of joy would not be ours.

‘When I saw it,’ he says, ‘I knew it wanted to be mine. It was waiting.’

‘I know,’ I say. And I do.

Since the purchase, the old bag has been washed and hung out to dry so that its white lettering gleams as new, and all traces of grubbiness have gone. It has a vital role to play. It’s to be used as a backup, in barrios where leather look document wallets might attract the wrong sort of attention. I’m glad it lives on.

Meanwhile, the new prize joins our strange little household of objects that have somehow, via various roundabout routes, made their way to us over the many months since we ourselves first found each other.

All this reminds me to trust, and not be tempted to force anything. Things will work out in their own time. They always do.

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Threads

August 5, 2008 in Buenos Aires Information, Live your dreams | 5 comments

threads November 2007 I never intended to collect colours on my arm.

Mongolia and a friend in England started the process. The craftsmen of Argentina ensure that it continues.  Time changes the colours. I ensure that they always make a rainbow.

Often as I walk into a tango embrace, and go to place my left arm around the body of my partner, I shake out my colours from my sleeve. In that moment I remember who I am, where I have travelled, and the friends who walk with me. I stand a little taller. I feel more grounded on my 4 inch heels. These comfortable colours can give me confidence and remind me that I am loved.

The turquoise stones began it all. I bought them for myself in a Mongolian ‘ger’ towards the end of my ‘Gobi desert adventure’. I’d just managed to speak to my sister in England from my cell phone as we had arrived in a camp with a signal (a rarity), and had cried a few tears. She had calmed me. The turquoise reminds me of my wet eyes and of the rush of the river that passed through our camp, but the cool touch of the stones carry the power of tranquility to this day.

Months later as I was about to fly to Argentina, a dear friend in England tied a thin string band of friendship around my wrist, and I tied an identical one around hers. We did this in the crush of a café in Marks and Spencer, Winchester. I remember the chatter of her little children, the racks of underwear surrounding us, the clatter of oversized cappuccino cups, trying to remember all the things we wanted to say before, ‘goodbye’. Today, black has turned to grey, orange to burnt dust, and I think the string may fray off my wrist at any moment, but it hasn’t yet. I believe this means that I still need my friend with me. Ten years ago she and I taught in a school in England together. In a difficult time of feeling stuck, we discovered and read the Susan Jeffers book, Feel the Fear and do it Anyway. I am now here, and my friend is a tri-athlete with four beautiful daughters. Seeing her thread on my wrist inspires me and reminds me that I can handle anything and I can create the life I want.

When I arrived in Argentina I began to discover the wonderful markets in Buenos Aires, and the pavement stalls that are everywhere: I was drawn to the coloured threads. For $2 or $3 pesos I could buy a memento of my day out, my trip away, a friend, Carlos. Sometimes I chose a design that brought the moment back: a bright yellow beaded flower to shine the sun of Tigre into cloudy days, traditional wooden to keep the street dancers of Feria de Mataderos with me. In other places I just picked the colour that shouted loudest. Some memories are hazy, but I know that in the mix on my arm are Avenida Cordoba where I used to get off the bus from my tango classes, Plaza Francia, San Telmo on a Sunday.

Colonia del Sacramento, Uruguay, just would not stay on my wrist: every time I tied it, it untied itself so I let it go… it and a few others along the way.

The latest band I added a week ago from a pavement in Juramento, Belgrano. My friend Jessica bought it for me. I chose it for her: shocking pink, orange, and violet, boldly and beautifully woven to remind me of her courage and laughter. She left Buenos Aires last night, but she stays on my wrist, bold and bright amongst the more faded shades.

IMGP0241 This weekend me and Carlos walked in the sun to Plaza Serrano, Palermo Soho. We ambled around the stalls there and I said to him, ‘I want to learn how to make those bands.’ The idea popped up unexpectedly, but it felt right. I said to myself, ‘Sal, that thought is a dream seed. Hold on to it and do something with it.’ Carlos started asking the stall holders about where I could learn, and I know that I will find the right place or the right person, if it is meant to be.

The stalls of these macrame artesans are mesmerising. The hundreds of coloured threads attract me. The craftsmen have my respect for their intricate work. My eyes scan the designs and eventually settle on the one I desire. Sometimes I let Carlos choose for me, sometimes I decide. Lately I have been noticing exquisite necklaces for $40 pesos with polished stones shown off by the woven threads, and wider bracelets with more complex weaves. They are beautiful, but I always seems to go back to the thinner inexpensive bands with their childish beads and bright colours: smiling, honest and strong.

And so I carry a rainbow on my arm. Parts of it get tatty and fall. Other parts sit comfortably and stay. It gets refreshed often with the new and the vivid. As some colours fade and disappear, others shine in their place.

threads August 2008 In Buenos Aires most of my friends come and go. It is a way of life for me now. But every person who is lent to me for a while, every experience we have together, every place we walk… these are the threads of my life. The colours brighten then weaken, knots get tied tight then loosen, the weave changes. But there is always beauty. And there will always be a rainbow, as long as I keep building it.

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How to stay warm in San Telmo

June 1, 2008 in Buenos Aires Information | 13 comments

IMGP9941 Wow it’s cold in Buenos Aires! It’s the first day of June and I want it to be the start of summer. I keep imagining the gardens of England verdant and full of my favourite blooms. But today for our latest walk in San Telmo I was wrapped up in thick sweater, padded jacket, and gloves: I felt chilled to the bone. Still, at least we got outside and made the most of the weakening sun.

I enjoyed exploring with Carlos. I always do. We walked from Catedral subte down Bolivar and after a few blocks crossed to Defensa to wander past the market stalls. I’ve done this a few times now and it all felt very familiar. Carlos walks very fast past these street stalls. I know they don’t interest him. He stopped maybe twice: once to look at some antique pens, and once to ask me what those weird head things are that are everywhere at the moment. They are like big silver spiders. I believe you wear them like a hat and the legs curve around and touch your head,  I think at pressure points. They look like something a dominatrix might have in her kit bag. I said I thought they were meant to be good for your health. He pulled a face and we walked on even faster.

There were fewer people than the last time I visited on a Sunday. It’s the ‘temporada baja’ for tourists, and I felt a bit sorry for the folks sitting on cold pavements behind stalls that were mostly empty of punters. I didn’t see anything I wanted to buy. I knew Carlos was wondering why on earth we’d made the trip. But I had a little plan up my sleeve, and as we approached Plaza Dorrego I took Carlos off the street and into a gem of a place that unbelievably I only found the other day. I’ve been researching where you can buy fresh food in San Telmo, for reasons that I won’t go into here, and as a result I’ve been walking the area quite a bit lately.  One day in my travels I stumbled upon ‘El mercado de San Telmo’. If you want to find it, it’s in the block between Defensa, Carlos Calvo, Bolivar and Estados Unidos, with an exit into every street. I like this place. OK it’s got loads of bric-a-brac and I’ve no idea if I’d ever buy any of that, BUT it also has fresh fruit (even on a Sunday), meat and bread(in the week), a little down to earth café where you can sit round the bar and get a great ‘cortado’ or a snack, and a lot of places selling hats which you definitely need if you are in Buenos Aires in this weather. But what I am drawn to most of all is the building: the roof is beautiful. I was busy taking pictures into the ceiling when Carlos disappeared.

When he found me again he virtually dragged me outside and I thought he had bumped into a friend, either that or something I absolutely must see was happening in Carlos Calvo. I wasn’t far wrong: more like something he must have, was being grilled just round the corner from the Carlos Calvo market exit… choripán! The place was tiny and reminded me of the salt beef sandwich shop that Shev took me to in Brick Lane when we went dancing in London. But here in San Telmo, Buenos Aires, the crucial ingredient was the big ‘parilla’ stacked with meats: the chorizo for the choripán of course, morcilla, pollo, vacio… all the Argentine favourites. There was a long queue which Carlos got to the front of remarkably quickly (I think there might have been a bit of cheating), and I was delighted to stand for a while just two feet from the red hot coals, the sparks almost reaching us, as the lady shovelled the glowing embers from the oven to their destination under the browning meats. I love to watch Carlos tucking into a choripán. That is one satisfying picture: happiness, joy, excitement all coming from something of an ugly sausage between two slabs of bread. Me, I can’t stand the taste, or the smell so I stuck to a chicken breast, succulent and very filling. Afterwards he was happy for me to pull him back into the market for a coffee at the bar. The best part was that the wooden stool on which I sat was almost hot from the buttocks of its previous resident: my hands wrapped around a steaming ‘cortado’, my icy thighs warmed by the bar stool… I could have stayed there all afternoon.

Carlos liked the market too. He said it was like the market in Shrewsbury where my mum and dad buy their fresh foods every Saturday morning. He’s right. There is something that resembles the old English market town about ‘El mercado de San Telmo’, and maybe that is why I am at peace under its intricate roof.

Later we wandered into another ‘arcade’ I hadn’t entered before. This one was farther on, past Plaza Dorrego.  The shops inside were fairly standard: tango memorabilia, more knick knacks, a few clothes, leather stuffs…  but the courtyard inside was beautiful with a chequered stone floor that I wanted to dance a tango on, and it was a pleasure to take a few minutes to climb the stairs, walk the terraces, soak up the place… yes, the sense of these places is what does it for me every time. We talked about whether we would like to live in San Telmo. We decided no. I always feel a slight sadness in those streets and I can’t explain it. I enjoy the occasional walk through, and in the week when the market isn’t on I like Defensa where it crosses Estados Unidos: there are some nice little shops and cafés around there. But I am always pleased to leave, and head towards the green D line, up through Plaza Italia and Palermo towards Belgrano, to ‘my’ daily Buenos Aires, my comfort zone, my home.

I often wonder how we come to choose a particular area over another in a new city. For me it was part chance. The hostel I first stayed in was near the top of Santa Fé in Palermo. I always loved to walk in Avenida Santa Fe’. For six months I lived just one block from it in Barrio Norte/Recoleta. I met Carlos in La Glorieta in Belgrano. I bought my place at the top of Santa Fé where it becomes Cabildo and heads off to Belgrano (one block from Las Cañitas). So I have ended up almost bang in the middle of where I started out here, and where I met Carlos. I am fairly near La Viruta, Canning, La Glorieta. I am 45 minutes in a bus from San Telmo and I hardly ever go there. In general the San Telmo Milongas  are not my personal favourites. People always ask me where to stay in Buenos Aires and I always say, near the D Subte line, near Santa Fé. I would never say San Telmo. But then again if they asked you, you might say exactly the opposite, or Recoleta, or Villa Crespo, or Boedo… or wherever you started out, discovered your Buenos Aires, fell in love! Isn’t it fascinating that we are all so different?

Anyway, San Telmo was freezing today and by the time I got home on the 152 bus, all traces of the warming moments had gone. I felt like I could be in Patagonia. Now, the heating is on and I am slowly thawing out with a Cachamai herb tea. Our takeaway dinner is ordered from the local panaderia. Carlos is asleep with a hot water bottle and my biggest Hubert. He says he feels sick. I sure do hope it wasn’t the choripán…

See pictures of our freezing 1 June in San Telmo

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Emptiness filled

January 29, 2008 in Buenos Aires Information | 7 comments

IMGP8793On Sunday Me and C. took two friends from England to Feria de Mataderos. Feria de Mataderos is one of my favourite Buenos Aires Sunday outings: delicious traditional take away foods; reasonably priced market stalls selling every possible Argentine craft and foodstuff; gauchos racing down the street in their quest to snag the tiny metal ring overhead; live music and folk dancing in the street. I am like a walking, talking advertisement for this place, always trying to arrange little outings there for anyone who happens to be in town. Yesterday was no exception. I was full of it all the way on the bus, “We’ll eat chico guaya and choripan. Yes you can buy all your souvenirs at fabulous prices. We’ll dance the Chacarera. Wait till you see the gauchos… You are going to LOVE it!”

The bus ride on the 55 takes nearly an hour, and we arrived about 2 o’clock… perfect timing for lunch. Full of anticipation, we walked quickly through the stalls that make up the outskirts of the market. This is where I buy my favourite tango trousers at $15 pesos a pair, except that now it is 2008 and so they are $18 pesos. I bought two more pairs. I was smiling. But, as we emerged from the far end of these stalls I had the weirdest sensation… something was not quite right, the street looked different, emptier. Something was definitely missing, and to my horror it was in fact the entire Feria de Mataderos.

“Que pasó?”

Carlos disappeared into a restaurant to get the low down. I stood in an empty street apologising profusely to my friends. Carlos returned. Then it was that we realised our mistake. In summer (this year from 26th January through February and March),  Feria de Mataderos is not during the day on Sundays, but it is instead on Saturday nights from 6pm… hot weather means that Argentines do not want to be dancing in the streets in the heat of the midday. And who can blame them? So all that was left in the square were the remains of the stage from the previous evening, and us: three English and one Argentine, starving hungry.

Determined to make the most of Mataderos, even without the Feria, we found a simple parilla restaurant and ate ‘vacio’ (flank steak), salad and ‘papas fritas’. This was not a place serving posh steaks of the ‘bife de lomo’ (tenderloin) or ‘bife de chorizo’ (sirloin rump) variety. Rather, all the other tables had a grill piled high with every possible more ‘intriguing’ cut of Argentine cow, various varieties of sausage and the Argentine equivalent of black pudding. Carlos, I know, was dying to order the same, but especially since one of our party was vegetarian I did not think it too great an idea and I stopped him. He made up for his disappointment by drinking a glass of red wine. He hardly ever drinks wine. It arrived in a tumbler style glass, full to the brim. My English friends laughed as he mixed it with coke to ‘improve’ the taste!  The food was simple but good: not in the same exciting homemade league as the normal Feria de Mataderos fare, but we chatted happily in the warmth of the street, and relaxed in the sun.

Afterwards, lured by the tango music drifting from a building further down the block, we decided to check out the local afternoon Milonga. Every time I have been to the fair I have walked past it, but never ventured inside. This time I am glad we did. It cost us $5 pesos to get in. Why did I love it? It was absolutely Argentine. It was full of Argentines, ordinary people who danced tango, tropical, chacarera, and zamba with a delight and enthusiasm that just shouted, “We WANT to dance!”  Some people were dressed up. One man danced in a pristine white Fedora style hat, another was in slick black from head to toe, including his sunglasses. Women danced with their female friends, or possibly with their sisters, mothers and grandmothers. There were no Comme il Faut or other posh varieties of tango shoes in sight. People were dancing in whatever shoes they had: court shoes, sandals, trainers. I had on platform street sandals with no backs at all, but that did not stop me. Carlos and I did a few rounds of the floor, which was smooth and not too busy.  My shoes had rubber soles but I found I could pivot perfectly and my sandals stayed on my feet. It was an afternoon I will always remember, the best of moments with friends: just joining in like everyone else. It was fun. Good, simple, Argentine fun. We drank coffee, Argentine herb tea, ate pancakes with ‘dulce de leche’ and watched people dance what looked like a rough approximation of milonga, to the ‘pase doble’! As we left, the man in the white hat came and kissed me and said, “Muy bonita.” I wanted to hug him.

We ambled back through the market stalls. We found one where a woman had the most beautiful bags, real one offs and made by her, on sale for $25 pesos. My friend couldn’t make up her mind which one she liked best, so we promised to return another day. Or maybe next Saturday night.

At the bus stop a little boy wanted to know where we were all from. Carlos chatted to his mother as we waited, and finally the bus came and we piled in, paying our $1 peso each for the long trip home. By then I was exhausted. I am finding that I get tired all too easily at the moment. When a seat came free Carlos and I shared it, me on his lap. I slept as we sped back through Flores, happy with how the day had turned out: perfectly.

If the market had been on, we would never have gone to the Milonga. I would never have danced tango in my sandals. I would never have been kissed by a man in a white hat. A Mataderos treasure would have remained undiscovered. Sometimes when things seem as if they have not worked out, it is true that the joy lies just around the corner. Lately I have been telling myself that quite often. Sunday was the proof that indeed I am right.

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Not quite the average life

November 17, 2007 in Buenos Aires Information, Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 7 comments

DSCF1863 What do you do in an average week? Here in Buenos Aires, my average weeks are rather peaceful. I take three tango classes with Ariel (one hour each), maybe go out dancing with Carlos three or four nights, go to one afternoon Milonga ’sola’ and maybe have a long day out at the weekend, or a few walks in the park… Life is tranquil: plenty of time for ‘cafe con leche’ and medialunas on street corners, plenty of time for Carlos to cook me yummy dinners, plenty of time to watch rented movies on my laptop in the dark (the latest was Infame and I loved it). But the last two weeks have no way been average. No way.

I’ve been playing tour guide. I’m showing off my new home city to my visiting friends and although I am exhausted as a result, I’m discovering why I love this place so much, all over again. I feel like I can give my friends the perfect gift day after day, but it costs me nothing, other than time and energy. But that I do have. And so I give it. In return, not only to I get to enjoy their company, but I get a shot of love in my arm for my life… the perfect present for me too.

So what have we been up to? Maybe you’ll want to try these experiences when you get to Buenos Aires, if I whet your appetite a little. Here are five of the things we’ve done that you could try:

  • Betting with the locals at the Argentine equivalent of the UK Derby.  The ‘caballos’  (horses) were beautiful, the jockeys were tiny, and we lost every peso we staked. But the Hipodromo Palermo was a stunning place to spend an afternoon. The blue and white balloons and flowers reminded me that I live in Argentina, and to hear the Argentines softly singing their national anthem before the big race: a privilege.
  • Tapping our feet to Otros Aires electronic Milonga Sentimental as they made a little piece of their own history: the group played in an Argentine theatre for the first time, in honour of launching their latest disc and before commencing their latest European Tour. Before now, although they have played in theatres around the world, in Buenos Aires they have only ever performed in the Milongas. Their lead singer announced this fact proudly, thanked the audience for sharing the experience and took videos of us waving back at him.
  • Eating ‘choripan’ (Argentine sausage sandwiches), ‘locro’ (bean and pig stew… well there was a pig’s trotter in it) and ‘chico guaya’ (a delicious cake of maize, sweetcorn, onion and cheese) in the packed square of the Feria de Mataderos. That was before watching the gauchos ride their horses at high speed down the street in their attempts to capture on a small stick, the tiny silver ring hanging high above their heads. And it was after buying trousers perfect for tango and yoga: the stall holder proudly demonstrated how the wrap around design could be worn in five different ways, and at only $15 pesos a pair they were the best bargain I have found since I got here. Going back on Sunday to buy up the stall…
  • Sinking into the velvet sofas in Comme il Faut. My mission was to choose a pair of their divine tango shoes for a tanguera in England and to advise my visiting friends. For about 30 minutes I stayed focused and successfully chose  the perfect pair for my English tanguera. I gave my opinions to my friends. They deliberated over their choices. I had time on my hands. Fatal. My eyes started wandering, rifling through the open boxes surrounding other women’s feet. Doubly fatal. How did I manage to leave the shop with a pair of metallic pink and acid yellow tango shoes, ‘for summer’? All too easily, girls. All too easily.
  • Sharing coffee and cakes and all sorts of other wicked food delights, with some much loved fellow writers, in the majestic surroundings of Las Violetas. While we were there, there was a crazy woman in an orange sweater, who looked like she was bursting with happiness, posing for photos on the balcony. Unbelievably I think it was me.

And I have not mentioned any of the Milongas with their live orchestras, any of the walks, any of the tango classes, any of the meals out, any of the sightseeing bus rides… We have packed our hours with activity and dancing. I have done things I might have done alone but also some things that I wouldn’t have done without my friends here. And at last I have relaxed. I have found out that I can enjoy the experience of sharing. I wrote some time ago that I was anxious about the arrival of the English, and how it might affect the status quo of my new life. Now I am in a position to look back and reflect on this part of my journey. I would be lying if I said it had been plain sailing. No it has not. Rather, I have been through a process:

Fear: that the arrival of people from my previous life would have a negative impact on my new one, upset Carlos, upset me, encourage my old behaviours to return, unsettle me in my quest to follow my dreams.

Anger (I am ashamed to say): that I have had to share my new life at all. At times I have wanted to keep it for myself.

Effort: when I have not felt like sharing, I have shared anyway and I have tried to do it with good grace and a smile. I have kept some time for myself, and some other time for Carlos and me, but I have tried to give other times and my experience, freely and with an open heart.

Learning: that it is impossible to leave a past life behind because the world is small; that I need to find a way to be comfortable with myself wherever I am and whoever is with me; that sharing my life doesn’t have to take anything away from me and my dreams, because my dreams are strong enough to sparkle, no matter what; that I can draw on the delight of others who share in my new way of life and so increase my own gratitude for it, and my determination to continue it; that to give really can be to receive.

A few days ago, we sat in La Ideal, after dancing with the immaculately turned out gentlemen who are always so delightful to me on a Monday afternoon. My girlfriend from England turned to me and said with excitement, ‘Oh Sal, this is so beautiful. It is exactly like I thought it would be. I am so happy to be here.’ I felt delight and pride that at least in part I am the reason that she came here at all at this point in time. In being open hearted and welcoming, I helped create this happy situation. I was smiling. And in that moment I remembered -  it hit me again, how very lucky I am. She is returning to England on Tuesday with her memories of this city. Me on the other hand… well, this is my dream, my new life, and it goes on. By sharing I have lost nothing, but I appreciate what I have far, far more.

See pictures of a ‘not quite the average’ life

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A fresh look at San Telmo

July 31, 2007 in Buenos Aires Information, Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires | 2 comments

IMGP7165This weekend I needed air and sunshine. Last week was a stressful one. My progress towards buying a more permanent home in Buenos Aires has not exactly been smooth. Weekends are a welcome respite from talking to banks: they are not open, so I can’t visit them, and I know they won’t be calling me with any more bad news.

The last time I visited San Telmo was back in March with Gabriella. The sun was hot that day. We sweated as we sought bargains among the many craft stalls. This time the sun was equally as beautiful, but the temperature was significantly lower. I have struggled to accept the fact that winter is really quite cold here - and it has been unusually so with snow falling in Buenos Aires this July for the first time in eighty years. I hate the idea that I have a wardrobe in England stuffed with wasted warm coats and jackets. I keep layering clothes more suitable for spring or autumn and resisting the temptation to splash cash on quality winter gear. I need to save the money for my tango lessons, the home I am trying to buy, and traveling to Uruguay to get a new visa.  I know that clothes are relatively cheap in BA and it is true that I have a bad cold to prove my insanity but spring must be round the corner, surely…

San Telmo is an interesting place to wander on a Sunday if, like me, you love window shopping crafts, antiques, clothes, music and all manner of accessories.  It’s also fun to watch the buskers who perform mind-boggling acts, or to listen to the live orchestras and bands. I love observing and searching for anything I have never seen before. And this Sunday I found a special treasure. To find it I walked for a couple of hours in the colourful streets that were packed with many tourists – why do so many of them insist on speaking loud English to Spanish speakers without so much as a ‘gracias’ or ‘por favor’? I know I might be classed as a tourist too, but honestly I can’t help wanting to distance myself from this type of behaviour.

On my walk I bought two tiny items and spent $7 pesos in total: $2 pesos on shoe laces for my Fabio practice shoes and $5 pesos on a hand woven macrame bracelet.  My Fabio shoes are well worn now, the laces have started to disintegrate, and I just fancied some pink for a change. The macrame bracelet I have added to the other five on my left wrist. I collect these from every place I visit here. They are only ever between $3 and $5 pesos and each is unique. I have one from Tigre, one from Feria de Mataderos, one from the market in Avenida Cordoba where I often get off the 109 or 106 bus, one from Plaza Francia. The final one was actually the first and it is not from Argentina at all. My best friend in England gave it to me before I left and unknowingly started this beautiful little collection of memories woven in thread.

I found my treasure in Plaza Dorrego. This plaza is at the heart of the San Telmo attraction. Its cafes and ‘tango show restaurants’ fringe the antique market which hides the ‘dance floor’.  On Sunday afternoon I negotiated the maze of stands to reach the centre and stopped for a while to watch the show. Indio was there doing a great job of entertaining the day trippers with tango and tales of the Argentine gauchos. As I wandered around the plaza I looked up. I always look up. I love the history and stories that sit above the shops and cafes: the beautiful architecture, the people watching the activity in the street, the sky, the sun, the trees. And on Sunday unexpectedly, it was a tree that caught my eye.

IMGP7187 This tree towered above me. Its structure strove to reach the clear sky. And on its branches, to my delight, were the freshest, tiniest leaves that unmistakably shouted SPRING!

I danced a little tango in my heart.

Of course I was happy to think that I might not be needing to ship those winter coats out here after all, but in truth the tree meant much more to me than a change in the weather. In the moment that I saw it I understood the depth of the fresh start I am making: a new country, a new people, a new language, a new home. I took this photograph of the tree to remind me that I have come far.

A year ago I had just returned from Mongolia to my English village home, single for the first time after many years of marriage, and the word tango had just been whispered into my ear. I had not taken a class. I had not danced a step. I had not even heard a single beat of tango music. And yet, here I am now in the tango capital of the world, with spring leaves opening in every area of my life.

What treasure I have found.

See pictures of what I saw this Sunday in San Telmo

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Sunday at Feria de Mataderos

July 3, 2007 in Buenos Aires Information, Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires | 1 comment

IMGP6933 By Sunday this past weekend, I desperately needed a day out in another world. Last week was exhausting – many late nights, countless tangos danced, plus several practical matters regarding my future to be dealt with. The Mataderos barrio (district) of the city offers something completely different. It is famed for its Sunday markets, folk music and street dancing. So, at 2pm on Sunday afternoon Gabriella, Jorges, Carlos and I were on the 180 bus from Abasto, making the 45 minute trip to Feria de Mataderos, at a cost of 80 centavos (less than 20 pence) each.

The hours we spent here were enchanting. We took a long time searching the many craft stalls for the perfect mate gourd for Gabriella to take back to the USA. In the end we found a craftsman who engraved a plain silver mate with a design of her choice for only $10 pesos all in. Perfect. Gabriella and I also bought ‘panuelos’. The ‘panuelo’ is the scarf used in the argentine folkloric dance, Zamba. After buying them we secreted them in our jacket pockets with a plan to impress the boys later if Zamba music was played…

Other artesans were selling foods such as cheeses, chorizos, breads, olive oil and of course every possible product on earth made with dulce de leche. A person could survive a day here on the countless free samples available, but to combat the cold we stopped at the hot food stands too. Later, Carlos bought Gabriella and I huge tubs of dulce de leche to bring home. If I eat it all I am going to be as fat as a big mate gourd! Ah well, maybe just a spoonful before a night’s dancing won’t hurt.

A highlight of the day for me was the horseback sport being played by the gauchos – old and extremely young alike. One street is turned into a track. The gaucho races down the track towards a target hanging above his head. In his hand he holds a  small stick. The target is a tiny ring, like a curtain ring, on a cord. The object of the sport is to hook the stick through the ring and remove the ring. I was mesmerised by the beauty of the horses, the speed of the approach and the skill of the game. The target was lowered for the children and some approached it more cautiously but these ‘chicos’ are gauchos in training and I was impressed by their ability. Seeing the horses reminded me that the last time I rode was months ago and I am now longing for a trip to an estancia (ranch) in the countryside.

As the light faded, we sat on boxes and crates behind the olive oil stall of a friend of a friend, drinking mate and chatting over our day. We listened to the folk music being played in the main square. Suitably refreshed we could wait no longer. We joined the groups of people dancing. I danced the Chacarera (which I now know) and by copying local people, other dances which I don’t know yet. Gabriella and I longed for Zamba, but it never came. However, nothing stops us girls. As we walked to the bus stop we launched our ‘panuelos’ and while we waited for the 180 to arrive, we danced. Jorges was our teacher. He sang the music and helped us with our steps. Carlos danced Zamba for the first time. Gabriella and I were trying hard because so far we have only taken one class. Jorges encouraged us on. Anywhere else we might have looked more than faintly ridiculous. But not here in Argentina, with the folk music drifting down the street. The truth is that I got my wish of a refreshing day in another world. By Sunday evening in Mataderos, nothing mattered to me, except to dance on the pavement in the dark with my friends, with my beautiful new pink ‘panuelo’ floating in the night air.

See pictures of my afternoon at Feria de Mataderos

Watch a gaucho try to hook the target. But does he succeed?

Watch a gaucho in training try to hook the target…

Watch El Puchu dance Zamba in La Ideal

Visit the website of Feria de Mataderos and check the latest programme of events

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Walking with the dead

April 30, 2007 in Buenos Aires Information, Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires | 4 comments

Picture of Sally in Recoleta It’s been quite a week for me in Buenos Aires. My laptop died on me and in the process managed to fry its USB ports. It did eventually wake up again but I’ve spent today organising a temporary fix by buying a USB card, so at least I can upload photos again and thus write my blog posts. At the same time, I managed to hurt my left foot and couldn’t dance for a few days. Now that my life depends on my feet, injuries are serious. I started to investigate hospitals, wonder about what I would do if the foot did not recover. A life of adventure may seem attractive but things still happen that I cannot control. Then, being alone in a strange country can feel quite difficult. This weekend I knew that all my tango friends in the UK were dancing together at the 14th Tango Tangk and I missed home, a little. I would not be human if I did not have tricky days. The thing is, I always know that they will pass. Tomorrow is a new start.

The sun shone at the weekend and I had a great day out in Recoleta, the barrio where I live. Gabriella and I walked to Plaza Francia behind the Buenos Aires Design Centre. There we found a huge colourful market packed with stalls selling traditional crafts, clothes, jewellery, bags, leather… you want it, they have it! It seemed the whole city was out sunbathing, shopping and eating at the many cafes and restaurants. We joined in like true BA chicas. ‘This is the life!’ we remarked as we sipped our banana licuados in the sunshine. It felt exciting to know that I can walk just a few blocks to this every weekend if I want to.

We walked back past the famous Recoleta Cemetery and decided to explore it in the perfect late afternoon light. It is impossible to describe the atmosphere of this place but I will try. No matter how many people are entering, the network of ‘tomb alleys’ absorbs the living. Cats live here and slink through the silence and the shadows, slip in and out of the ‘houses’ that hold the coffins and the memories. The dominant colours are monochrome: stone and marble, light and shadow, dust and cobweb. Occasionally there is stained glass and the sun’s rays splash through it and draw the attention. The dead are spelled out in text, symbolised by sculpture, celebrated with craftsmanship that becomes art in front of our eyes. We want to photograph every corner, every crumbling stone, every angel against the blue of the sky.  We walk in for a few minutes, stay over an hour, I say that I will walk here in the future: when I am sad, when I am joyful, when I want to remember how precious life is.

Walking with the dead reminded me of my purpose on this journey. No matter how difficult, I want to live my life as an adventure. I want to follow my dreams. I have never been more uncertain about the future than I am now, but to be here dancing in Buenos Aires, tells me that I am alive.

See pictures of me and Gabriella in Recoleta

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Saturday, one BA Way

March 18, 2007 in Buenos Aires Information, Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires | 3 comments

There are probably a million ways to spend a Saturday in Buenos Aires. Yesterday was my second here and it was action packed. I did manage to get up by midday, pretty good considering it was 5.30am when I stumbled in from the La Viruta Milonga at Club Armenia. The torrential rain that thoroughly cleaned the city on Friday had stopped so we decided to be tourists and head to La Boca.  Two specifics make La Boca a must for many visitors to BA: the small network of colourful streets with their vibrant market, and La Bombonera football stadium, home to the Boca Juniors, the former club of Diego Maradonna. We opted for the market as we are girls and markets mean shopping. By 1.30pm were on the Subte (underground).

In the mid 18th century immigrants from Spain and Italy set up home in La Boca. They used bright paint left over from painting the river barges for their corrugated metal houses and this characteristic has made La Boca famous. We took a cab from the Subte to the market. The driver warned us not to wander out of the market streets. In fact there were small barriers and a police presence at the end of each street. Clearly it is not a safe area for tourists.

The market itself was inexpensive. I bought several tango CDs. These were original, not bootlegged and at $10 to $20 pesos (£1.70 to £3.40), far cheaper than in the UK. Also they have EVERYTHING. I bought Pugliese, El Arranque and Color Tango. Of course there are the stalls of football shirts and tacky souvenirs but there are great Argentine crafts too. The silk shawls are beautiful, and we bought small leather bags on belts to put our valuables in when dancing tango at the Milongas. Many of the restaurants in La Boca have couples dancing tango for the tourists and buskers dance tango on the streets. Personally I’d rather watch the real thing in an atmospheric Milonga.

After getting the 152 bus back to Palermo and a mad dash to get ready, we left for Club Gricel in San Cristobel where my teacher Ariel runs a group class on Saturdays at 8.30pm. What a fantastic venue. Faded grandeur, ceiling fans, a bar serving strong coffee and snacks as well as all the usual drinks. The class was friendly and cheap at $10 pesos. It lasted until nearly 11pm. By then I was shattered. I kept having to sit down, and the Milonga was yet to come!

Our class had a set of reserved tables, which was lucky because I am learning that all the best tables in the Milongas are reserved in advance. After eating a pile of empanadas (miniature pasties stuffed with cheese, chicken or meat) I recovered enough to dance. My first dance came immediately and was with a milonguero (or at least I think that’s what he said!). It is an honour to dance with these guys who all must be seventy plus. The embrace is the closest possible and he led me with the tiniest hand pressures in the small of my back. He kept saying, ‘Muy bien, muy bien.’ Encouraging…

The clientele here was in the older range but the dances were beautiful, the men were gentlemen and KNEW how to lead. Perfect. I even managed to dance Milonga without tripping up. Between dances we had a riot learning ‘interesting’ Spanish phrases and wordplays from Ariel. I managed to stay upright until about 3.30am when my bed became only second to a bar of chocolate in my hearts desires. Many kisses and farewells later we were in a cab headed home. Meanwhile the younger patrons of Club Gricel had moved on to La Viruta. The older patrons, one or two easily ninety, were still dancing tango and salsa. How do they do it?

I have spent the entire day today relaxing on my bed. I need to. I have been roped in to a salsa class tonight at 9.00pm…

See pictures of my second Saturday in Buenos Aires

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