leaving Argentina

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The space-in-between (and some perfect empanadas)

June 6, 2010 in Live your dreams, Sallycat back in the UK, Uncategorized | 22 comments

I’m in the air somewhere above the Atlantic.

Argentina (where, for a bit over 3 years, I’ve been learning to live the life I want) is behind me; England (where, for 43 years, I struggled to live the life I thought I should want) is about four hours ahead of me. C., the man I love the most, is in the seat beside me, watching the Spanish-dubbed Helena Bonham Carter and Johnny Depp romp through their very own Wonderland. My parents are driving through the early hours down the M6 to meet us. I’m wrapped in two blankets, cloaked in the ear-plugged peace of a British Airways night flight, and filled with a tranquility that surprises me, but that is oh-so welcome.

This is my third trip back to Inglaterra since I first flew to Buenos Aires in 2007, and it will be the longest so far (if we stick to the dates on our tickets). As I wrote in my last post, I’ve done the absolute minimum of planning, barely making any arrangements or promises, thus keeping the sense of freedom that I now know I need for joy. I’ve also avoided the pre-departure emotional roller-coasters that were once a habit: I remember last year’s slightly nostalgic walk from the last milonga before my departure (minor dramatics) and I recall the year-before’s alarmingly emotional upheaval, as illustrated by my reaction to simply being on a plane headed towards Britain (major dramatics). That I can now sit here with a calm and happy heart, tells me mucho. If you read those two past posts, I think you’ll feel the change in energy. Getting gradually more balanced, no?

In all my life, I never found it easy to leave a place. I used to be the sort of person who’d run back to re-check the door was locked (twice), or phone a friend from the airport to ask them to go and do it. I’d get in the taxi and let my mind run over every possible thing I might have forgotten, until I found something… and I always found something.  If a re-check was impossible, I’d sometimes allow myself to worry about the thing for days into my travels – not constantly or too overtly, you understand, but kind of secretly, in moments when I was alone or in moments when I didn’t think you’d notice. But, of course, the people close to me always noticed, because you can’t be fully present when you are worrying, can you? I’d appear distracted  and sometimes be intolerant too, because someone I love would want my attention and I’d be preferring to devote that attention to the pointless, time-wasting fears and frets of VOD. How damn daft is that?

Preparing to leave Buenos Aires this time, I made the decision I just wasn’t going to do any of that stuff. And I didn’t. It was that simple. I had one wobbly day when I was exhausted from working too hard towards the publication (still aiming for the coming weeks) of Happy Tango and realised that I wasn’t going to be able to do everything I’d hoped to do in the days available. But, as is my new way (determined to change old and joyless patterns), I accepted it and relaxed my thinking accordingly. I didn’t get all my work done, so I was right in that matter, but the world sure kept turning. I’m on the plane and I’ve told my Mum I’ll be working next week. Life goes on.

In addition to accepting that I wasn’t going to fit all the work in, I played a bit harder for good measure. Me and C. got invited, by one of the most generous-hearted people I know, to learn how to make empanadas with a top cook called Teresita who lives about an hour from Buenos Aires. We ended up dancing tango for the assembled guests, C. got gorgeously talkative (on a few sips of some rather super Argentine vinos) and I got to eat heaps of mini-pasties that tasted as if they’d come straight from empanada heaven. If you fancy an off-the-beaten-track foodie experience while in Buenos Aires, check out the photos of our fun and Teresita’s website try2cook.com to find out about the sort of cool time you could have.

And any last tangos? Well, I did them too. Had to savour being in the arms of those ‘milongueros I love the most’ before hitting the dance floors of the Reino Unido, didn’t I? But, I’m looking forward to a spot of UK tango, I confess. Got some research on the gift to be doing and I can’t wait to get started. I’ve even got other tango bloggers sending out pleas for me on that score (Mark, you’re an angel). Here’s my own request. Brit boys, please ask me to dance and show me that you know the secret… that’ll be wicked!

I’m now two hours away from touchdown, so they’ll be bringing the breakfast out any minute and I’ll have to sign off. But, I’ve done what I needed to do. I wanted to write this post in the air, in the world of zero responsibilities, where I’m in neither of the lands I love. I figured that up here, where my thoughts can’t be distorted by being in either one place or the other, I’d be able to see my latest truths. And I do.

In this precious ’space-in-between’, I’m not thinking beyond hugging my Mum and Dad in Terminal 5 and checking out the World Cup TV schedules in the Radio Times, asap — gotta make sure that Carlos can get to watch the Argies win their group games and that I can watch England win theirs. And, that is it. No worries. No frets. No looking back. No looking forward. No VOD.

Hey, I have exactly the life I want! There. Here. Anywhere. Now.

Fact is, tonight (and tonight is all that exists), I am truly grateful to be flying into the dawn above the beautiful, British corner of The Universe that for the next few months will be our home.

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Inglaterra

February 27, 2008 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 5 comments

eng On the plane I felt like an alien among the English. It was a shock to hear and understand every word of background voices (a loud group of beer-bellied men returning from some king of ‘bonding’ trip?) and I felt desperate to keep speaking castellano. Thank God the man sitting next to me was Argentine. The coffee was dishwater,  and I tipped it down the toilet. I took a sleeping tablet and England arrived faster than I wanted it to: the trees have no leaves; I’m frozen solid; everyone I’ve seen looks winter white.

I feel like I am playing a video game: I drove a car for the first time in a year; I had to ask how the shower worked in my own apartment; I went into a chemist in a little market town near Southampton and asked for ‘the cheapest hair conditioner you’ve got’; I kept saying ‘Hola’ to people; I wanted to watch all the BBC channels and listen to the programme announcer again and again; I was like a child in Tesco Express… ‘Oh wow they have THOSE, and those, and THOSE!’. A few things are fun, fresh, engaging but I am mixed up, confused, a stranger in my own home. People say, ‘Oh you must have jet lag.’ But there is no jet lag. Argentina is only two hours behind the UK at the moment, but if is ‘oh too far’ away from me. And for now, so is my Argentine.

Yesterday I went to London. I drove. I always tell people in Argentina that I live, ‘una hora de Londres’. It took me three hours to drive there. The traffic was horrendous. I had forgotten what the M3 could be like: stop start for 30 miles. However London was a pleasant surprise: congestion charges mean that the roads in the city seemed quiet; the streets I walked, looked clean and pretty in the thin spring sunshine; the English architecture raised a little pride in my British heart. I was there to visit the Argentine Embassy to research my visa application. I found out that it will be more work than I thought: of course I can’t just hand over photocopies of vital documents, they want the originals or certified copies and they keep them… so certified copies I will have to get. It’s easy with the birth certificate, you can do it online. The divorce is trickier. I’ll phone the court today. Carlos has been left with the task of getting all the translations done. I got the required photos taken yesterday too, at Kodak Express in Camden High Street: 4cm by 4cm, 3/4 right profile on a light blue background! So slowly I am making progress.

I am now into my 5th day in England, and I am just starting to feel a little more connected. At first I honestly could have been on Mars, everything felt so strange. And the only people I wanted to talk to were people who have been to Argentina, who might really understand me. Even going to tango was an unfamiliar experience: much of the music was radically different to what I am used to (Pensalo bien was a joy to my ears); leg wraps and volcadas rule on the dance floor; I kept breaking away after each tango ready to chat for 30 seconds… no one does that here.

Last night I talked to Carlos and he told me that he is with me every second, and that I must make the most of every day: who knows when I will be back. He is right. There is no time to stay disconnected, to miss Argentina. For now I am here. I must celebrate England while I can, focus to get my life here in order, and enjoy the English while I have the chance. However I must be kind to myself too: it is a culture shock; it’s not a vacation because of all the chores I have to complete; things are much the same here, but I am different, and there are unexpected emotions to deal with. So, I will take my time. I will do what I feel is right for me. I will eat and try to put on some weight. I will get enough sleep. I will trust that everything is exactly as it is meant to be. After all I was terrified at one point that I would love England too much. At least at the moment my heart is telling me that actually, long term, Argentina is the right place for me to be. And to be honest, that is a huge relief.

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Hasta Luego Argentina

February 21, 2008 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 10 comments

IMGP8257 In 24 hours I will have checked in online with British Airways. In 48 hours I will be in the air somewhere over the Atlantic. Argentina, Buenos Aires and my beloved Argentine will be many miles behind me. I cannot even picture it. It feels impossible, like it will be someone else, that I will still be here: getting on the 15 bus; drinking coffee in a sun drenched street; dancing in La Viruta in the arms of my love. Truly I can’t believe that even after nearly 12 months, I don’t really want to leave. I think as I sit on the plane my soul will still be in Buenos Aires. But I know, with the miles, my head will start to help my heart to deal with the shock of being back in England. I will start thinking of mum and dad, bacon sandwiches, Heinz baked beans on toast, the BBC, Galaxy chocolate, my tiny blue Fiat Panda, my flat with two bedrooms: how will I deal with all that SPACE?

And, in the deep vase of  my being, helping me to cope until I see Carlos again (on 14th March he will arrive at Gatwick, and I will be there to race towards him ‘Love Actually style’ ), will be my precious memories of Argentina. I will always be able to get them out when I need them, and remind myself how lucky I am that I shall return:

The moment in the Cultural Centre Borges when I took crazy pictures of Gabriella posing amongst the art, when no security guards were looking. In that moment I knew my new life had begun, that I was free, and that I had found my first true friend in my new world.

The moment I knew I was in love with an Argentine. Carlos and me stood outside La Viruta at about 4 one morning. I looked at him, and I wanted to reach out and touch his strong, black and silver Argentine hair. In that moment I knew I could love again.

The moment I watched a man stuff $59000 dollars of my money into his jacket pockets as I picked up the keys to my flat, from the table in Banco Piano. I had achieved what I thought was the impossible. In that moment I knew that I had a home and that it was in Argentina.

The moment I danced with Carlos to Los Reyes del Tango in La Baldosa and I just couldn’t pull apart from him afterwards. The music and the connection overwhelmed me. In that moment I realised I could DANCE  tango.

The moment a few weeks ago when I sat in Lo de Celia for the first time, watching the tango world with all its peculiarities, personalities, and Argentines. In that moment I knew that I am part of that fascinating world that is tango, that is Buenos Aires, that is Argentina. I felt proud. I came here to find myself. And I have. And whether I am in a Milonga I have never been to before, or explaining my broadband billing problems in the Fibertel office, or helping an Argentine decide which bus to catch, I feel easy now. I can fit in anywhere in this city.

When I arrived here I wanted to dance great tango, learn to speak Spanish, live in a new culture. I had no expectations of how things would turn out. On Saturday I will arrive in England, with all of those dreams in my past, present and future. Plus I have things I never expected to find: love, a home, my beloved blog, countless new friends all over the world, and a rich and full life that I want to come back to. Today, I am smiling.

In my first ever post on this blog I wrote about my forthcoming trip to Argentina:

In my ‘warrior’ moments I am a free spirit, a courageous adventurer and will stay in Argentina forever, maybe popping back after three months to rent out my flat and dance a few perfect tangos at Archers Road. When I wake up in the middle of the night and can’t sleep, I know I’ll never once get asked to dance at a Buenos Aires Milonga and I’ll be back here within a month, with less dancing confidence than I have now. I guess the truth is somewhere in between.

Ah well, it only goes to prove that your worst fears rarely come true. Sometimes you just have to work bloody hard to overcome them. It hasn’t always been easy, but I’m still here, I’ve survived my dark times, and I’m going to be dancing across English soil, into the arms of my beloved family with a joyful heart.

NOW my worst fear is that when I get to Ezeiza on 5th April the Argentines won’t let me back in… 

…pero bueno. Por ahora, voy a creer, y voy a decir,

“Hasta luego. Hasta pronto. Hasta Abril, mi Argentina!”

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Full circle

February 5, 2008 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 12 comments

IMGP8610 I’m getting ready to go to England. I cannot believe that when I step onto the plane on 22nd February it will be two weeks short of a year since the day I arrived in Buenos Aires. When I look back, I remember saying goodbye to my family as if it were yesterday: a big lunch in a restaurant in Derby; all of us trying to fight back our tears in the car park as I got into a friend’s car, leaving my little blue Fiat behind; me speeding back south towards my last afternoon of English tango and final goodbyes with friends. Equally I remember vividly my first day in Buenos Aires: the torrential rain; desperately trying to get my laptop to work with the WIFI in the hostel; the pain when I hit my head on the heavy glass door of a mobile phone shop after being told all kinds of incorrect information about the Argentine cellular phone system (mind you I remember how I tried to explain what I wanted with hand gestures and hastily drawn pictures, so it was unlikely that they understood a word of my requests). I remember returning to my tiny single room at the hostel, knowing not a soul in the city and thinking, ‘Oh my God Sal, what the hell have you done?’ I remember the terror of my first tango experiences: my first dances at Confiteria La Ideal; my first wobbly walks up and down in front of Ariel’s mirror; countless men telling me to relax on the dance floor between tangos; my first visit alone to La Glorieta when I took a taxi and it felt like miles because I hadn’t the confidence to use the subway and walk in the dark through Belgrano (one of the city’s most upmarket areas).

After that things become a bit hazy. It’s strange how some events stand out in the mind, and I guess they are the ones packed with emotion of any kind, and yet others run into each other like a gushing river and get lost in the past. I wanted to hold on to every memory, every new experience, but maybe in the end there have just been so many brilliant days that it is impossible for my mind to have taken photographs of every one. Thankfully I had my camera, and I used it. I have my pictures to remind me that the past year has been the greatest in my life so far. And I have my blog entries. What started out as a bit of a diary to let my family and friends know how I was doing, has turned into a wealth of information about Buenos Aires, tango in the city of tango dreams, and a chronicle of what it is really like to try to start a new life alone in a strange land.

Some things have worked out like a dream. In these, the universe has been moving with me, or I have been moving with it: I met  Gabriella my Spanish speaking partner in crime on day 2, and Carlos, my Argentine angel, after only a month; my flat purchase happened fast, with work yes, but really only minor hiccups; I found Ariel by chance and so I have never had to worry about searching for tango teachers; I have had enough money to stay and as time has passed I have made it last longer and longer. In truth all the troubles I have had have been of my own making, and have been fear based. I have seen how I can lose my confidence in the blink of an eye, how I can doubt my own decisions, how I can start thinking about what I miss, instead of enjoying what I have. I can convince myself that the world is coming to an end if I let my mind go there. Why is it so often easier to doubt than to believe?

There is no question that my scariest times have been when I have been ill, physically or mentally. Then I have felt most alone. Yesterday after having a blood test in the Medicus clinic, I passed out in the waiting room: 12 hours without food (as instructed), the heat, not liking blood tests full stop. I came round to see three white coats bending over me, hearing Spanish, and wondering whether I was in heaven or in Argentina… well I guess the truth was both! But I felt very unwell, unsure if I could make it in to a taxi, and I felt a million miles from security. I just wanted my mum to come and carry me to a nice cosy sofa somewhere and feed me McVities digestive biscuits and hot Ribena. But no, this is Argentina and for me there are no mums here, so I did manage to get in a taxi, and crawl into bed. Carlos ‘Nightingale’ appeared bearing food and love, and of course I recovered and lived to write another day.

There have been frustrating times as I have learned that Argentina is of course not England, and I am a foreigner here without long term residency or the precious DNI number: no Argentine bank account; the unsettling need to renew visas, leave the country, hope they let me back in; the delays over Carlos’ passport that meant changes to my plans and inevitably more money; the constantly rising prices that have put an end to all but buying necessities and paying bills; the hours spent queuing usually with a numbered ticket clasped in my hand; trying to speak to computer internet help desks in Spanish (in fact just living life every minute of every day in Spanish); the tiny and yet huge problem of obtaining change for buses, washing machines…

The greatest moments have been countless, but I am going to say that overall I can sum them up in one phrase, ‘el abrazo argentino’: if I put into one space all the Argentines who have helped me and welcomed me into their world, there would be a crowd; the anonymous Argentine tango embrace that feels as if I have known the man for all my life; the love in castellano whispered into my ear, and spoken to me every day by my Argentine lover; the arousing swirl of tango music that engulfs me when I hear it on the subway, drifting through the doors of tango salons, belted out through four bandoneons by Los Reyes del Tango; the warmth and support that I have been shown by the friends that I have met because of Argentine tango: through this blog, in tango shop shops, at Milonga tables; the heat of the Argentine summer sun caressing my body; Argentina.

And at this point I must slip in the latest greatest moment…

…the postman ringing the doorbell at 8.30 in the morning to announce that he had a passport to be signed for. YES! It arrived, after the original departure date, but in good time for Carlos to be sitting on a plane to London on 13th March. He will be joining me on my delayed journey after all. He will see how I used to live first hand. He will take many English women into his Argentine tango embrace. He will meet my family. He will have the chance to try his faltering English on us all. I hope that my country gives him the kind of welcome and warm love that his country has gifted me.

The changes in me since the day I arrived have been huge and I am fascinated to see how I am, who I am, when I return to England. I have mixed feelings about going back. On the one hand I long to see the people again, and live in my little apartment by the sea for a final six weeks. On the other hand I wonder how I will view my past life and my country from the outside looking in. I guess deep down if I am honest, my biggest fear of all is that I will love it all too much and that it will be hard to leave. Once you have things you love in two lands, do you ever feel truly settled in either one or the other? Can you ever really accept totally that you belong in either country? Do you ever truly know which place is your true home? Time will tell.

So I prepare myself. I get documents translated in order to apply for a longer term Argentine visa. I collect together the few things that I must take back. I write a letter for Carlos to show to the immigration officers in case he has any problems and can’t make himself understood. I start to make arrangements to see people I haven’t seen for a year. My family prepare themselves with Spanish CDs, and their biggest hugs. Tango friends email me to ask me when I will be back for a dance: Bramshaw Tango Tangk Milonga, Satu
rday 23rd February, if my plane lands on time! And hopefully the universe prepares itself to flow with me on my journey, and to help me achieve all the big things I need to get done while I am away. I am feeling ready to return, to face my land, my past life, and to deal with whatever emotions surface. The last weeks have been stormy in many ways, but the water feels calmer now and I am ready to swim into it and I know that I will stay afloat.

When I remarked to a friend the other day that many people I know have been struggling a bit since the new year, she told me that maybe things might shift for us all when the Chinese New Year comes on February 7th. Soon after that conversation, another friend in Buenos Aires sent me some research revealing the fact that British people are at their most miserable in their 44th year! For me perhaps they should have said 43, as the past year has brought so much joy into my life. But on 11th February I will be 45, and so if the research is right then everything should be on my side from then on in! Sometimes little pieces of information like this can throw a bit of positivity and strength into the mix, and I am not one to turn down any kind of helping hand. So I will take every bit of positive thinking on offer, and I will be packing it into my trusty brown and  flowery carry on bag (that came here with me from the UK and that I have used every single day since I set foot on Argentine soil) on February 22nd, and taking it with me to boost my courage as I go back to being a stranger in a familiar but strange land: my country of birth, England.

See pictures of my January 2008 in Argentina

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