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Time

April 2, 2009 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams, Uncategorized | 8 comments

There are days when I feel I have all the time in the world and today is one of them. It’s a public holiday in Argentina: 27 years since the Falklands (Malvinas) War; 27 years since I heard my grandfather yelling obscenities at the TV… whether at Maggie or at Galtieri I am not certain; 27 years since Carlos was on the reserve list… if it hadn’t come to an end when it did, he would have been among the next to go.

Because it is a holiday here, I can’t do any of the things I would be doing if it wasn’t a holiday. At 7 tomorrow morning I’ll be doing them. Today I’m gathering strength.

I’ve come to an internet cafe in Las Cañitas where to get an @ symbol you have to press ALT then 6 then 4… but at least the music is fairly quiet. My laptop broke on Sunday night and is now out beyond the Gral Paz autopista waiting for the holiday to be over: I might hear next week what blew up. You know, it isn’t easy for me to explain how I feel to be without my laptop in this life in another land: I will just use one word and you will have to believe me that I am not being in the least dramatic, just honest: lost.

I thought about not blogging until I get the laptop back. Then I decided I would, because maybe you are wondering if I’m still smoke free, or whether I ever did get my visa renewed. So what if I can’t use Windows Live Writer like I normally do. So what if there won’t be any photos. So what if I have to recheck the spelling and sense a million times because the letters have rubbed off the keyboard I’m using.  Sometimes you just have to make do. Even the fact that it is pouring with rain is gifting me a few indoor hours. Today.

Yesterday it was different. Time mattered. And it went like this:

6.00am Friend from UK phones, forgetting that there are now 4 hours between us. I’m guessing that it was 6am because I didn’t look and it was still dark outside. Afterwards I drift in and out of dreams: I seem to see everyone who is in my life right now. I tell Carlos. He says, They are here to help you, to give you strength. I say, I hope so.

7.30am My Spanish/English translator phones. Can we meet downstairs so that she can redo the translations she has already done and get them to the Colegio de Traductores at 9am? (The night before, I spotted several errors in the names… Sally had somehow become Rally.) I get dressed and take the papers to her.

10.00am The translator phones again. She has the translations. Can we meet in Plaza de Mayo? On the way I make myself go into a church I pass, and say a prayer, for strength.  At around 11am she hands me the new certified documents. I walk down 25 de Mayo and eventually find a ‘locutorio’ without a massive queue. I get the pages copied. I walk to Migraciones. Maybe I should have taken a taxi to save time but the traffic was stationary: perhaps it was because of streets closed off around Congreso – Raul Alfonsin, who was the first President of Argentina after the Military Rule, was lying in state and people were flocking to pay their respects. I even stop for a coffee and medialunas because I know that I will need energy to face the immigration queues – I see Alfonsin’s body on TV. It reminds me I am still smoke free and so hopefully a step further away from my own death.

12.00noonish I arrive at Migraciones and manage to get in. I feel upbeat. I am sure that I have all the required papers and that I may get the 6 months (notice that I have already accepted I will not get the 12 months, I will be grateful for 6) on my visa. When the woman tells me that there are no more numbers for ‘Prorrogas’ (the section I need), I am struck dumb (the previous week at this time there were numbers). I am sure my mouth opens and shuts a few times as I stare at her. Brick wall like, she waves me away. I stand in the corner and face away from the people while I  regroup. I return to her, voice unsteady, What time do I have to come tomorrow to get a number? No, she says, not tomorrow. It’s a holiday. I realise I am looking at Friday. It’s the last day of my visa, I say, please tell me how I can get a number. Come at 7.30am, she says. Look for me. It will be ok. I remember the crowds, the lines in the street, the security guards, the chaos.

1.00pm I go and stand in the ‘Prorrogas’ section and torture myself for a moment by looking longingly at the desks. It’s full of people renewing their tourist visas. They are in the same section as me. I try really hard to feel generous, but oh hell I wish they’d all gone to Uruguay and given me a chance of a number today. Maybe one of them will give up and leave before their turn and I can beg for their number. I wait an hour. No-one leaves. So eventually I do. I feel shit. I walk back to Retiro through the most horrendous traffic (juggernauts) on the huge carriageways I have to cross. I am breathing horrible fumes, but they are not smoke fumes… I am no longer reaching for cigarettes to numb my frustration, just digging deeper into my own resources.

3.00pm I’m in Belgrano, which is a long way from Retiro, looking at the prices of mini Notebooks as I never want to be without a computer again. I reckon they are about 100 quid dearer in Argentina than in Britain, but I am seriously considering one. Can’t buy though because my new Visa card is still stuck in the UK (you know even DHL won’t ship a Visa card) so I’ll have to withdraw 4 lots of cash on 4 different days to have enough.

5.00pm I’m home and Argentina is losing to Bolivia in the World Cup qualifier. Carlos tells me about his attempts to obtain a $9peso refund on his cracked Monedero Subte card: he had to go all the way to Tribunales to the refund office but in the end did not succeed because he wasn’t carrying his ID card. He is in a bad mood but it fires him up. Let me ring the laptop extended warranty people for you, he says. Having to wait three days for someone to call is ridiculous. He grabs the phone. Eventually they tell us where to take the laptop.

6.55pm After an hour on the 15 bus we are running along a street in Olivos (beyond the Gral Paz highway) to reach the ‘PC Fixer’ by 7pm. We arrive as the guy is turning off the lights. He serves us. I want to hug him. Me and C. are smiling as we head back towards the motorway to catch the ‘colectivo’. Thanks for making us get here in time, I say. Minutes mattered today. I lost some this morning and so couldn’t get my visa, but now look at us… we made it in time. The day turned around. I couldn’t have done that without you. I wouldn’t have had a clue where to get off the bus… We laugh.

8.00pm We get home to find that Argentina lost to Bolivia 6-1. Now there were two halves of 45 minutes each, that mattered to a few people. We both agree that whatever our days were like, Maradona’s was probably worse.

To be honest, in the calm of today and remembering those who lost their lives in the Falklands, I’m simply happy that I’ve got a tomorrow at all, whatever it brings. 

Even so, if you’re awake at 7.30am Buenos Aires time in the morning, do send me a positive vibe: as I stand in the street outside Migraciones on the day my temporary residency visa expires, I might just be needing it.

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Choosing to live

March 27, 2009 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 36 comments

Smoke over Palermo Three days ago at around 4pm in the afternoon I blew my last smoke out into the Buenos Aires air, ground the cigarette into the ashtray, screwed up the empty red and white packet and said aloud,

Right, that’s it. Smoke free.

I don’t know if you knew I smoked. I hardly mentioned it on this blog, because deep down I felt ashamed: how can a person proclaim to the world on a near weekly based that they are a lover of life, and then (even if it was sometimes only five to ten times a day) suck killer poisons into their body? Cause for further shame was how I came to be smoking at all: it’s one thing to start at age 15 in the face of peer pressure when you don’t really understand the dangers (been there, done that); it’s another to manage to give up for 15 years, know every  danger, and then choose to start again in 2006, aged 43, in a moment of mad rebellion, at the foot of a giant sand dune in Mongolia  – He ain’t around any more to tell me what to do, so I’m gonna damn well SMOKE! Oh hell, I put myself right on the wrong end of that particular stick… cancer sticks I used to call them at the start of those fifteen smoke free years.

In the early days of my adventures to Argentina I smoked to calm my fears, to help me grieve for a life left behind, but mainly because I’d got nicotine back in my bloodstream and I was hooked. My beautiful eight year old niece told me before I left the UK that her mum had explained that I smoked because I was sad. When I was happy again I wouldn’t right? Right, I said.

Argentina is relatively kind to smokers: a soft packet of 20 Marlborough costs $4.50pesos which is less than a UK pound – in the UK these days I think it might be more like six pounds or $30pesos; Buenos Aires public spaces, restaurants, cafés and tango venues are smoke free but there’s usually an outdoor terrace, a balcony, or at the very least plenty of fellow smokers hanging around out on the street – you feel like one of the boys, not one of the outcasts. Up in Salta, in the north of Argentina,  I could still smoke in restaurants and cafés if I wanted to: that felt very strange to this Brit, but occasionally I did it and no-one gave me daggers looks.

It wasn’t all bad: on the balconies of La Ideal and Centro Región Leonesa, I met fabulous chicas who became great friends of mine; as I sauntered between my milonga seat and my cigarettes, guys saw me, clocked me and danced with me later; in a fag break outside La Viruta in 2007 I first realised I loved C.  On the other hand, it was pretty bad: if a cigarette made me feel ill, I still smoked it; I can’t imagine how horrid it was for my dance partners to embrace a woman who smelled like an ashtray; I often chose a cigarette over food… actually I pretty much went off food all together.

Three weeks ago C. caught a cold, a bad one. He spent three days in bed and during that time he didn’t smoke at all. As he got better, I said to him, This is your moment. Don’t start again. Stop.

He didn’t start again. And since then I’ve been building up to my moment too. It came three days ago, like I said. I could go on about the cravings, how much I miss it, how ratty I am. To be honest though, I’d rather say that I’m dealing with all that with the help of an empty BIC biro barrel that I suck on when I feel the urge, I’m eating more already, and I’m relieved that I’m not making myself feel physically sick at least once a day… I mean, what the hell was I thinking?

Apart from addiction I have absolutely no reason to smoke. And it’s high time I faced up to that. Today I see my smoking as a hole in my whole, and if I am to be the best Sallycat I can be, I need to be whole. Yes I might have life challenges with respect to a million and one different things, but if I’m not whole, how can I ever expect to give those challenges my best shot. I can’t. Plus I want to stop killing myself.

When I die I want to be able to say that I tried to live, is what I say every day: to my friends, to my family, on this blog, to you. I say it all the time. It’s who I am in this new life I am slowly carving out.

How can smoking have any part of that? It can’t.

Sometimes you just have to own up to the truth, stop making pathetic excuses and move on. For me, that moment has arrived. I know it’s just one day at a time (been there, totted up the days with recovery from another addiction for half my lifetime). It doesn’t matter what it is, if I can just do it for one day then I know I can do it for another. All is possible. For me, part of getting clean is coming clean, and so I’m sharing the truth with you.

Any smokers out there want to make this their moment too?

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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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Two years. How many men?

March 9, 2009 in Bloggers Guides | 24 comments

IMGP0523 Imagine living in Buenos Aires for two years. What would it be like? Would it be affordable? Would it turn out the way you expected?

Maybe you live here already. Remember the first two years?

Maybe you don’t want to live here at all, just wondering how it’s been for me, or how a visit might shape up. That’s cool too.

Two years ago today I stepped off my British Airways flight from London into pouring rain and the unknown. I had zero words of useful Spanish, five months tango experience, and a ninety day horizon… the shortest time I could possible stay in Argentina, to avoid returning to England feeling like a complete failure. Those numbers became nonsense before the ninety days were up: zero turned into an Argentine lover (NOT part of the original plan) and learning the lingo faster than an arrow from Cupid’s bow, in order to negotiate the ground rules; five turned into it’s quality not quantity that counts; ninety turned into it’s the journey that defines, not the outcome… just to have tried at all is enough.

Yet it’s always the numbers people ask about. How long have you been here? How much did you pay for your flat? What’s the price of a decent steak? So by way of answering a few of your questions and celebrating the highs and lows of the last two years here are eleven numbers that you might be interested in. I’d love to know which surprise you most. Do comment and tell me. Plus, if you have a question about a Buenos Aires number I haven’t mentioned, this is your chance to ask and I’ll do my best to answer. How’s that for an offer?

OK here goes:

At time of writing $1 USD = $3.63pesos ARS and 1 UK Pound = $5.12pesos

25: price this week in pesos of a 600g ‘Bife de chorizo’ (huge high quality rump steak) in the simple but excellent ‘parilla’ across the road from me. This beef is easily enough for two. They’ll do it takeaway and deliver it to the door hot and juicy. To put it in perspective, a Burger King medium combo for one is $19pesos. Think I’d rather have the steak myself. Argentine beef tastes in a way that British beef never did for me, unless it was ‘organic’ and outrageously expensive. Ditto for vegetables and fruit.

46: rough tot up of the number of different milongas I’ve been to in Buenos Aires. In any given week there are over 100. I’m not talking venues here because one physical place can be home to a milonga organised by a different host each night. These days I only dance 2-3 times per ’semana’ and I stick to the more traditional places with ‘entradas’ (entrance fees) of up to $15pesos, unless I’ve got visiting friends in town. The ‘tourist circuit’ night-time milongas now cost upwards of $18pesos. Want to see a reasonably comprehensive list of milongas in Buenos Aires? Caseron Porteño publish a brilliant bi-monthly Tango Map and Guide and both are available on line here. You can print them out before you leave your own country, for a head start.

3: times I’ve ventured farther than the outskirts of Buenos Aires. Travel, especially by air (comfortable overnight buses are the alternative),  is relatively expensive in Argentina. I’m passionate about travelling though and I’m not prepared to give it up. At this two year mark I’m researching options for ’service travel’: that is where you work in exchange for your accommodation and food, and only pay your transport costs. I want to see more of the country and this is a potentially affordable and rewarding way to do it. Interested? Check out the Enchanting Challenge website, where a friend of mine writes about some possibilities on the site’s blog. Incidently a return British Airways flight to London cost me $1500USD a few weeks ago and it has to be paid for in dollars, if the journey originates in Argentina, thus converting on the day to 1015 UK Pounds – ouch!

6: pairs of tango shoes bought, all within the first seven months. All Comme il Faut. 1 pair dead through overuse. 2 pairs worn regularly for two years. 3 pairs barely used because ankle back-strap gives insufficient support (for me) – beware choosing cuteness over practicality. November 2007 price $290pesos. Now could be as high as $450pesos. The next pair I buy will have a lower heel, more padding underfoot and will probably be Tango Brujo (playful sexy styles but feel like dancing on a cloud) if I can beat them down on the money. Greta Flora will run a close second if I can find a really comfortable pair with a delicate enough vibe. Until then the bottom line is 2: trusty pairs of tango shoes that take turns on my feet.

59000: the US Dollar price I paid for a studio (no separate bedrooms) apartment in Palermo in 2007. Just to give you an idea of how the plummeting UK pound affects Brits like me living in Argentina… When I bought the flat, the whole deal, including all fees, cost me 32000 UK Pounds. If I did the same deal today, buying the flat at exactly the same US dollar price, it would cost me 42000 UK Pounds without the fees. If I’d waited, I wouldn’t have been able to do it regardless of whether house prices here had risen. The ‘nothing special’ one bedroom flat I rented in Recoleta for six months in 2007 was $650USD a month; today it’s probably nearer 800, but even if the price had stayed the same, the plunging pound would have hiked the real cost way out of my reach. Exchange rates, I have found, become critical when you live abroad and depend on any kind of income from your own country. Rather naively I never really thought about it before I came here. At the moment American tourists passing through have it easier than the Brits in that respect (of course I’m well aware that everyone back in Blighty is suffering too). Gordon, for God’s sake, do something!

0: pesos spent on clothes in the last six months. After an initial spree on arrival back in 2007 I restrict myself to new sandals in summer, new sneakers in winter and replacement essentials when things fall apart. Luckily generous friends flying out, short on luggage space, leave their designer items behind for me. I’ve come to love wearing hand me downs, and feeling the spirit of my friends with me as I dance.

60 or maybe 65: the average age of my favourite Argentine dance partners (not including C.)… OK it’s a guess, but in general the owners of the embraces that I’d walk a mile for, are significantly older than I am. It’s not because of what they do with their feet, or their perfect posture, or how creative they are with their steps. It’s just because they hold me like I am the most precious gift they have ever been given, keep me duvet-safe, and let me feel the music they’ve grown up with, the way they do. I generally find my ‘boys’ in the more traditional milongas, but I always try to watch them dance first, plus I note the expression on the face of the woman in their arms. Not every Argentine is a joy to partner, as I know you already know… and neither is every foreigner. Wherever you dance in Buenos Aires, observe first to find what you seek, and thus avoid complaints. End of.

275: the cost in pesos of one month’s medical insurance with MEDICUS – midrange plan. Get’s you easy and speedy access to good doctors (physical and mental health – tried both), loads of great hospitals, dentists, opticians, every test you will ever need, operations (not tried yet), cover while abroad, home visits… oh basically everything. But beware, the price rises regularly. I got my deal through Expat Connection. If you know of a better one, let me know.

1.25: the maximum cost in pesos of my journeys on public transport from one side of the city to the other. Assuming you can get your hands on the ‘monedas’ for the buses and work out how to use the Guia ‘T’ de Bolsillo (bus route guide available from newstands), they are absolutely the way to travel in my book, and most run all night. The Subte is perhaps a faster alternative into the Centro, but you don’t see life above ground so I don’t like it. If I’ve got time, walking costs nothing, and there’s so much to find on the way that I never get bored using my feet. I don’t take taxis unless I’m sharing the cost because I’d rather choose a milonga entrada or a steak than fork out for the fare. The most fantastic news in the world is that we should be getting a card system for the buses by May… apparently. I’m praying.

Oh and this is my happiest number of all:

1: lovers I’ve had. Men I’ve kissed. Men to whom I’ve yelled, ‘How many times do I have to tell you, I don’t want a boyfriend!’ Men I’ve fallen in love with. Men who’ve fallen in love with me. And that’s not one of each, it’s just one. Never expected it. Didn’t want it. Couldn’t avoid it. The universe had its own plans. Carlos. Me. La Glorieta. The rest is history (And in case you’re wondering, yep he’s the dude in the hat).

Those ten numbers are mine. The eleventh would not exist without YOU, and it is:

153: the number of tiny chapters of my story you have read if you’ve followed Sallycat’s Adventures from the start. This is the one hundred and fifty fourth. Bloody hell! 1206 comments have been posted by you and me (spam only rejected). I love it when you comment and apart from a period last year when I was struggling horribly with the VOD, I have replied to you all (truly sorry if I left you out). From today, if you comment and you are a blogger yourself, you can choose to include a link to your own last post with CommentLuv. A nice idea I think. Like it? Let me know.

So that’s it. Have I included a number you’re interested in? I hope so.

Course, some things can never be quantified: how much calmer I am than the day I left the UK; how much less obsessive I am about tango and yet how much more I love it; how far I’ve pushed my boundaries and how much less afraid of risk I’ve become; how grateful I am that I was given the chance to start this journey at all… oh so many things that have made the last two years the most exciting and rewarding of my entire life. You guys know it hasn’t all been roses. Is life ever, wherever you are? But when I look back and ask myself the question, Any regrets? There’s only one possible number I can offer in reply and it’s a big fat ZERO. And I know that whatever happens, it always will be.

Happy 2nd anniversary to me!

Sallycat

PS. Here’s the latest Love Verb lowdown. Do check it out. Guys, you’ve been amazing. AMAZING! If you haven’t got a clue what I’m talking about then this is how you can do the Love Verb Thing and be AMAZING too! Thanks my friends.

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Worth your tourist dosh?

February 26, 2009 in Bloggers Guides | 9 comments

IMGP2183 My mum, a fanatical viewer of the UK BBC television show Strictly Come Dancing wanted to see a tango show when she was in Buenos Aires.

Yes, we’d taken her to a real live milonga which she loved, but let’s face it, there are no Strictly-style high kicks in that department are there… well, unless it’s La Viruta on a Sunday night, and hanging out in a dark scruffy basement at 3 in the morning is a bit much to ask of non tango dancing folks in their seventies – these days it’s a step too far even for me. But a tourist tango show? Carlos looked like he’d rather sit in a government office for three hours waiting for his number to be called. That’s because we’ve seen the insides of a few tango theatres in our time: paid a fortune, eaten a fancy sounding but cardboard tasting meal, watched the story of tango played out by a handful of talented dancers, singers and musicians, but left the place unmoved and swearing that we won’t do it again – we, because we dance, obviously prefer the social tango scene of the milongas in this great city, for less than a tenth of the price.

My mum, ever generous however, offered to pay. Ah well then, for her… we decided we would do it one more time. Oh but where to bestow our circa $1200pesos for four? A toughie.

Of the more upmarket shows (suitable for parents treating their daughters that is) I’ve already seen Piazzolla Tango which at the time cost $260pesos per head for the whole package (to be considered if you are into quirky theatres because its in an underground place of architectural merit opened in 1915 beneath Galería General Guemes on Florida), but it’s for lovers of Piazzolla. Once was enough for us.

D’Arienzo is more my cup of tea. So from my mountain of brochures collected over months, I picked La Ventana, located at Balcarce 431, San Telmo. The website tells you bugger all (special effects and flashplayers are far too popular for my liking these days), but we used the phone to check it really would be D’Arienzo and to make the booking. We opted to skip the dinner and the price dropped from $290pesos to $190pesos per punter. Cool. I spent the rest of the day making sure my mum’s expectations also fell a notch or two: the stage won’t be the NEC, there’ll probably only be four dancers, we’re not having dinner so we’ll get a terrible seat… he who expecteth nothing shall not be disappointed as my mum’s mum always used to say. I was in for a shock.

At La Ventana I watched my dad basking like a Cheshire cat in his front row seat. His eyes were glued to the premium tanguera-stocking-clad pins that flew inches from his head and sent a stiff breeze through his white hair. He had the look of a little boy told he could eat the whole tub of icecream instead of a plate of green peas. My mum’s mouth was fixed in the widest grin I’ve ever seen on her face. ‘Impresivo’ Strictly-style tango acrobatics? Yes. Meanwhile, attentive waiters offered us champagne, wine, coke for me, coffees… as much as we wanted, all included. We indulged like kings and queens.

When the tango music took a breather and Los Laikas graced the stage, the unexpected treat of their panpiped melodies mixed with Bolivian zest carried me to the heights of the Andes that we’d driven through just a few days before. I am not joking (and I hope he won’t mind me saying) but I saw C. cry. I hugged him. Then there was a big announcement. Carlos turned to me. “I know. I know,” I said. We were about to hit the D’Arienzo lovers’ jackpot square on.

Afterwards C. told me that he thought the woman he’d spoken to on the phone had mentioned something about a bandoneon maestro, but he hadn’t really caught the drift… too busy unsuccessfully trying to secure a discount. What she had been attempting to say was that the headline orchestra would be led by Juan Carlos Lazzari: the one and only, who many years ago played with Juan D’Arienzo, in 2008 starred in Café de Los Maestros and in our moment together in La Ventana, strutted his eighty-plus year old musical stuff for us like a twenty-something with attitude… Bloody hell that bandoneon came alive on his knee as his foot stamped the floor and his hands sent La Cumparsita direct to our hearts. I couldn’t tell you what the tango was like because I was watching Lazzari. Was it possible that even a ray of the ghost in him could be transmitted to a little tango dancing adventurer like me? I tried to magic myself into a sponge.

Our little party rolled out into Balcarce clutching our Los Laikas CDs and we didn’t stop enthusing all the way home. Talk about not being disappointed. We wanted to go back and watch it all over again the very next day.

Los Laikas

This week in a twist of synchronicity, the universe remembered our trip to La Ventana:  TangoCherie invites her readers to vote on the best tango show in Buenos Aires; I start thinking about writing this post; Carlos gets a call from a stranger for a gasista job, arrives to the client, finds himself amongst not only pipes you solder but pipes you play and realises that he is in fact talking to one of the very men who brought tears to his eyes in La Ventana. He came home from work with his eyes shining, insisting that we play our Los Laikas CD long into the night. Our spirits soared into the peaks of the Andes all over again.

IMGP0083It was the inspiration I needed. Someone up there definitely wants me to tell you that in the great search for the best tango show in town, you should consider Carlos Lazzari and Los Laikas while they’re still performing on the same Buenos Aires stage. I am sure that the tango is great too, but to my eyes these boys were the stars. Check first of course, to avoid disappointment.

And you, you La Ventana boys and girls, if you’re reading, how about two free invites so Me and C. can share the magic all over again? That’d be wicked.

Sallycat

PS. On the matter of the Love Verb Thing, when you ask your supporters, many of whom you have never met, to do something for you and they do, it’s magic. It isn’t about the outcome is it? It’s about what you learn on the way. What I’m learning is that I’ve got you. It means mucho. Mucho. You can keep an eye on how we’re doing here. And please do all you can to encourage other fans to do the Love Verb Thing too. A hug to you all. SC.

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The ‘licuado’ lover

February 7, 2009 in Buenos Aires Information, Live your dreams, Sallycat - the writer within | 16 comments

Sallycat & the licuado

If I’d known that Buenos Aires was capable of serving up the drink of my dreams I would have moved to Argentina when I was five. Your average guidebook was definitely missing a trick in my younger days. I just checked my 2005 edition of the Lonely Planet Buenos Aires City Guide and I can’t find a single obvious reference to the smoothie from heaven: gotta say I hope they’ve put that right now, or Buenos Aires could be going without streams of much needed tourist ‘dinero’, and your typical ‘extranjero’ will be leaving town not even realising that whole sections of most traditional café menus are devoted to offering an ‘orgasm in a glass’.

The ‘licuado de banana con leche’ is in my view, the absolute bees knees. If magicked up by the licuado maker to meet my exacting standards it will be ice cold so that water droplets form on the outside of the glass in the summer heat; it will offer there-really-is-a-banana-present caresses to my tongue; it will slide creamily down my throat to cool me on the inside from lips to belly; and it will definitely be in a glass that is bigger than my head. If it’s served in a jug that’s the size of an obscenely massive Starbucks coffee bucket, then even better. If so, it can be a decent potassium and calcium fired meal, pre milonga energiser, post supermarket queue de-stresser… oh hell, who needs a reason?

Unfortunately the price of ‘liquid sex’ has rocketed of late, and so it has become my mission to seek out quality ‘maximo’ for pesos ‘minimo’. Less than $10pesos and you’ll be able to spot me in the corner looking manically enthusiastic above my straw (see above). In Las Cañitas, Palermo or Theatreland Corrientes you’re probably looking at more like $15pesos (which rather alarmingly is around three UK pounds) and a far smaller glass, although it is not impossible to land value for less cash, if that is, you are armed with the secrets that all licuado lovers like me have collected over gallons of research. I’ve got three and I’m willing to share them right now… God I sound like one of those professional blogging websites… next I’ll be sending out weekly emails with the hottest Cool Tip for Licuado Lovers, or signing you up to pay me money to learn of  The Top Ten Lugars for LLs. Ah now there’s a thought!

I’m nice so I will spill the beans for free, but you gotta promise me that if you come to Buenos Aires and find the perfect licuado pit stop, you’ll write a comment and give me the address. Or if you’re really rich and generous, then one way to prove it would be to offer to buy me a licuado in exchange for the joy of reading the delicious information in this post. If you do, and you can convince me that you ain’t some psycho who wants to steal my licuado secrets and sell them to the News of the Screws, then you could end up on this page or some other page that I’m fantasising about writing… let me interview you over a liquid banana and stash the story of the moment in my future projects file along with a photo of you (if you crave stardom), the licuado and the licuado magician who created it. What d’ya reckon? Yes, maybe I’m in dreamy creamy land here, but I’m finding myself fancying turning my weekly licuado expeditions into a little more than the selfish pleasure sipped from the glass…

Thing is, the lovely Julia Cameron says let your inner artist play, and frankly right now I’m sick of serious writing projects that leave me feeling that I am in fact the ‘not very talented woman’ that some kind soul drew my attention to in a comment on one of my ‘I’ve been dancing tango one year’ You Tube videos a few months ago – and yes the video does make me cringe a bit, but it is almost eighteen months old and we all know there’s only one professional in it. So instead of restricting myself to things I thought I wanted to write about, I’ve decided to go for optimistic creative play in the city I love, over pressure in the head I can sometimes hate, and see what happens. One thing always leads to another right?

And that brings me very neatly to the fact that if you really do fancy a damn good licuado in Buenos Aires you will by now be desperate to know those secrets I mentioned, and pretty annoyed that so far you haven’t received them. Well, here they are then:

THREE SECRETS FOR LICUADO LOVERS THIRSTY IN BUENOS AIRES

  1. The best licuados are born in traditional Porteño cafés mainly frequented by Porteños. Look for waiters dressed in long aprons and bow ties, and a bar complete with fabulous but well-used coffee machines, juice squeezers and liquidisers. If you can see fruit on display, all the better. In these places licuados are often served in a jug; you get the entire contents of the liquidiser to yourself. Plus, the menu is usually posted up in the window so you can check the price before committing. In my experience, anywhere that looks as if it’s been down the ‘Let’s market ourselves to tourists’ route is to be avoided: the quality may be OK, but you’ll probably only get a small glass, and the price can be heading for $20pesos. Truly, the more spit and sawdust a venue, the better the licuado can be, and the price could be as low as $8pesos: posh exterior does not guarantee top notch product. Just so you know, La Faena, one of the most exclusive hotels in Buenos Aires, was charging $30pesos for a glass, not a jug, in December 2008 and it was thin beyond belief… not exactly the cream of the licuado crop.
  2. When ordering your ‘licuado de banana’ you must remember to utter the two vital words ‘con leche’. If you don’t, then I’m afraid you will be getting a glass of banana, sugar and water only and you might be  complaining that the licuado was not at all creamy and far too skinny. I think if you choose banana as your fruit inside then you really must add the milk to it. I’ve never tried one without, and I have to say I don’t really want to. Course, with other fruits such as melon, or peach, maybe the watery variety will be deliciously refreshing… What you do need to know is that  ‘con leche’ means a price hike of $2pesos on the base price. It usually states this fact in the menu, under the list of flavours, but you might not notice it. When ordering say, “Un licuado de banane con leche, por favor,” and you’ll get the milk version, and hopefully a smile on your face.
  3. My money saving tip if there are two of you, is to order one licuado to start with and see how big it is. Then, if it comes in a jug you can always ask for another glass, explaining that you are going to share, “Otro vaso, por favor. Vamos a compartir.” Mind you, don’t try this little trick if you’re buying me one. Steaks I am happy to share, but licuados…. no.

Oh I know I said three secrets, but here’s a bonus tip to ease the path to contentment:

You shouldn’t have to say this when ordering because the licuado magician who knows, knows. But if you find yourself in a place where you suspect the goods may not live up to the promise, you could always add the words, “Bien frio, por favor,” and that should help to ensure that you get cold, rather than luke warm… nothing worse than room temperature milk when you’re hoping for that orgasm in a glass is there?

Happy slurping.

The banana licuado puzzle

His is the coke, mine’s the rest. The way it should be. Punto.

Photo credit (the one of me) goes to Caroline who understands my obsession.

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Temptation: Tango shoes 2008

September 22, 2008 in Bloggers Guides | 17 comments

IMGP8192 G. wants to hit the Buenos Aires tango shoe shops. And I go with her.

Three pairs are the target: something black, something metallic possibly pewter, and something electric blue.  She wants me along because she knows I am ‘Little Miss Decisive’ and that with one glance I will say things like: ‘No, impossible to clean’ or ‘No, put them down you’ve already got orange and purple stripes’ or ‘No, completely ghastly… don’t do it’. I know it will be a quest of utter torture for me since I don’t have a budget that includes tango shoes, but it’s always good to know what the options are just in case I ever make any money… and so I can help other friends to find what they want faster, and because I know it will be fun.

My own tango shoe history is very brief. After buying one very plain pair of black ’shipped from Argentina and ridiculously expensive’ (at the equivalent of $600pesos) shoes in London in 2006, I bought six pairs here in Buenos Aires in 2007: each pair cost me $300pesos which seemed cheap at the time. I really only dance in three of them. The other three are of the ‘impossible to clean’ variety, or of the ‘pretty but back strap feels too unsupportive’ variety… these add a rather cool decorative touch to my apartment, but never touch the dance floor. I have learned from my mistakes, all $900pesos of them… and my last was a quite beautiful shocking pink and acid lemon/lime pair bought in November 2007 and so far worn once. Today I cannot afford to buy tango shoes, punto. Really, I have to wear all the shoes I have, including my mistakes, until they die… or at least that is what I tell myself as we plan our little mission.

We decide on three stores: Neotango, Comme il Faut and Greta Flora.

Neotango is our first stop. I’m personally not too keen on their shoes: they don’t seem to fit my feet, but G. has had great success with a black and white pair she bought last year. We enter and see the exact same black and white design and, to my eye, much of the exact same designs in general as they had over twelve months ago. But, we do find a decent pewter metallic pair and the available heels at either 7.5cm or 8 .5cm are both options for G. who prefers her shoes slightly lower than I do. The price is $380pesos. While G. pivots with poise in front of the mirror, the pal of a male customer strikes up a conversation with me: he likes my British accent. When I turn round his friend is dancing a tango with my friend right there on the carpet.  Then bugger me if the shop manager doesn’t dance with her too. Ah, some things never change… she always did get the dances. At least this year I can join in the castellano conversations… we all have a laugh together, but we leave without buying.

Next we head to Comme. We are the only punters and so to my delight I have the pick of the velvet sofas. The manager remembers us and is I think, impressed with my ability to ask questions in castellano about the state of tango tourism in the present world economic environment, and the currently falling number of tango tourists: which she confirms. She corrects my pronunciation repeatedly: she is not so keen on my British accent… but I am proud that I understand most of what she says. In fact I am so engrossed in the discussion of economics that I fail to give G. any attention at all. Out of the corner of my eye I notice that she is pivoting slightly frantically in front of the huge gilt-framed mirror in a pair of cool greens. ‘Nice,’ I encourage. They fit the original plan (well sort of close to electric blue…) and so go in the ‘possibles’ pile, along with a pair of black and gold. So far so good. But then, what always happens in Comme happens: they bring out the box, open the lid and although the shoes are not remotely what you were considering… your heart is lost. And this time I cannot believe my eyes, because the glittering prize lying nestled in the tissue is the exact same shocking pink and acid lemon/lime shoe that I bought almost a year ago. ‘It’s the last one we have,’ the assistant explains, and it’s in G.’s size, of course. I try to whisper, ‘impossible to clean,’ and ‘ankle strap too narrow,’ but I know it is too late: shoes have already fused with feet, are lost in pivots in front of that mirror, and are ‘SOLD to the girl from Los Angeles’ for $360pesos. Well it could have been worse, some of the shoes in there this week are rather OTT ‘bling’ and cost $450. And dear G. is ecstatic, which in the end is all that matters to me. ‘I’ve loved those shoes ever since I saw a photo of yours,’ she enthuses as we emerge into Arenales, ‘And they only had one pair left, and they were in my size… ‘

I smile at my darling friend. At this point, exactly where are we with the black, pewter and electric blue plan? Mmmmm, shocking pink and acid lemon, that’s precisely where.

Greta Flora is our final stop. Now I have seen these shoes on another friend’s feet and know that they are gorgeous and different so I am excited. It’s a bit of a trek to Villa Crespo and by the time we get there we are in a rush, so we have to make it quick: 20 minutes only. Not enough. Again we are the only customers, this time in a tiny space high up in an apartment building. There are some exquisitely made shoes, many with the beautiful signature flower, but it’s a bit complex: only these designs in your size, the heel size you want, in these three colourways etc. We need some time to take it in and we do not have it. The heels are thicker than the Comme stiletto style I normally like, but somehow the shoes manage to carry off elegance: I love them. In here we do encounter a black pair and a turquoise/green pair, both ‘possibles’ for G. at $330pesos each (other styles are I think more expensive). I actually try some on myself, because I adore that flower… very tempting, but fortunately I feel that my big toe is spilling out the front, which saves me. We learn that the shop is moving in a couple of weeks, to a more central location (good news) but we make a date to return to the current venue on Monday when we will have more time. Decisions like this cannot be rushed. We leave without buying, but I am pretty certain G. will when Monday comes. I am slightly nervous of going back in there: I suspect I will try on a few more pairs…

So, this little tango tour has taken us two days (with various other missions along the way), we have one pair of shoes that were not on the shopping list, but we have possibilities for the pewter (Neo), the black (Greta with flower), and the blue/green (Comme and Greta with flower). I have found out that spring 2008 prices are in the region of $330 to $450pesos, that even Comme who has a traditionally fast turn over are still selling some of last spring’s styles, and that Greta Flora will be moving location soon, so beware of trekking out to Abasto without phoning first.

The good news is that I kept my credit card in my pocket. Comme-wise (always my weakness) I still like a soft brushed gold pair with a double length wrap around ankle strap… these have been available on and off for a while, but they are luxury-gorgeous and of course probably of the ‘impossible to clean’ variety. But apart from these nothing came close to grabbing the ‘corazon’ of this little tango dancer. I decide firmly, on the bus home, that I would only buy the same patent leather style I have already, and then only if it came in black again: mine are horribly stretched across the toe bar after eighteen months of constant wear and yet I still love them.

I’m a bit shocked at how practical I have become: but I guess that is what happens when you turn from tango tourist into tango immigrant, and at the same time the world economy gets turned upside down: you learn fast that your tango shoes have to last.

Ah but then again, if I’m honest, I do find myself secretly hoping that G. might drag me back to Comme for the green shoes, because as I fall asleep with tango heels on my mind, I can’t quite forget the lustre of soft ‘oro’. And let’s face it, they do say when world financial markets are in chaos there ain’t no safer place to put your cash than into gold…

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More bloody calculating

August 29, 2008 in Buenos Aires Information | 10 comments

IMGP0468 ‘We can just pop in there on the way,’ I suggest optimistically.

We are off to watch the ‘eliminatorio’ rounds for the 2008 World Tango Championship. But first I need to find out how much it will cost me and C. and my parents to journey to Patagonia or in Salta in October.

Now I am one of those people who normally just makes travel arrangements on the internet: flights, a hotel and done. But now life ain’t so easy. We are a party of one Argentine, one foreigner with a temporary residence visa but no DNI to date (because I am totally sick of the red tape that I need to wade through in that building of chaos in 25 de Mayo), and two foreigners with tourist visas. Hence I can no longer just book things with one click. Instead I am advised to ‘consult’ by phone or in person for the prices for non residents. Carlos wants to think of us as a family and therefore all the same, but in the eyes of the airlines and in the pockets of some hotels, I already know that we are not: some of us will have to pay more than others to travel in Argentina. Carlos, who hasn’t ever been in this position before, can’t quite get his head round that idea, ‘We will only use companies who charge us one price,’ he says. And now it is he who is being optimistic, I think to myself, as we jump on the subway to Juramento.

I also have another concern. My credit card (I only have one and it’s British) is unexpectedly about to expire in two days: my bank has decided to end its relationship with a charity I supported and so the credit card must be re-issued: no big deal if you are in the UK but a bugger if you are in Argentina. So I am hoping that we can sort the travel arrangements today and I can use the card: otherwise it’s daily trips to the ATM for God knows how long. I’m waiting for my parents to bring me the new card because no way am I trusting the ‘correo argentino’ with that little gem.

Our venture does not start too well, as the agent that I liked online is closed for lunch and not back till 3. It’s 1.20pm. But, they are open until 8 so we decide to walk to watch the tango, and return later. We get a few blocks along Cabildo and I spot another travel agent: open. I drag a slightly reluctant C. inside.

Well, I am going to cut a long story short here and say that by 4.30pm we are still in that grim little office which frankly is far too short of efficient staff. By the end of it: we have prices for horribly ‘weighted with prepaid excursions’ trips to Patagonia and Salta; we believe that I qualify for lower rates as a temporary resident; we understand that my parents will each pay up to $1500 pesos (USD$500) more than us for the ‘customised’ Patagonia package; we have been out for lunch and returned; we have waited patiently while the agent talks on the phone to every random caller, leaving us ‘who question and are therefore perhaps the less welcome type of customer’ to amuse ourselves: me eating all the candies on the desk, Carlos playing with paper and getting very pissed off. I don’t often see C. annoyed, but this afternoon I watch his face turn to stone to be told, rather patronisingly, that every country in the world charges more for foreigners: he knows that England does not, he knows that the USA does not, and he is less than happy that Argentina does. Finally we get out of there. ‘I don’t like that place,’ he says.

But, there is always a benefit to any kind of research, and at least now we have some real information to work with.

‘Right,’ I say firmly, ‘We can’t afford Patagonia. We’ll go in the other place and ask for five nights in Salta, no excursions, in a two star ‘posada’ that doesn’t charge extra for foreigners, breakfast only, ok?’

‘Exacto.’ says C.

And we do. And this time we get someone who seems to want to help us save money and not encourage us to spend more than we have. She appears slightly embarrassed about the price differences, and this pleases Carlos. She makes some calls, checks my passport and confirms that I can get the resident’s airfare, but advises me to take all my papers and not just the passport with me to the flight. She recommends the same characterful ‘posada’ that I liked on the web. She checks out both LAN and Aerolineas Argentinas. Here I nearly fall off my seat: on this route LAN will charge each of my parents $1000pesos more for their flights, and Aerolineas only $200pesos… so not surprisingly we go for Aerolineas, and I say a silent prayer that they will still be in business by October. Everything else will cost the same for each of us. Much better. Carlos has stopped playing manically with bits of paper and is actually showing signs of smiling.

The only immediate downside is I can’t pay it all at once with the card. Only half. Something to do with the airline tickets for foreigners being raised in a different way to the airline tickets for residents and taking longer (maybe that one lost something in translation)… so the fact my parents are foreigners means I will have to make some trips to ‘el ATM’ after all. Normally I could pay the second part with a card in 72 hours, but thanks to my lovely bank my card will have expired by then.

It takes another hour to book the thing, and work out all the payments. The whole bloody day has somehow passed and we are exhausted. Neither of us can face walking twenty blocks in the cold to Estadio Obras. We wearily decide to leave the tango until tomorrow.

God it does complicate life being a foreigner living in Argentina with no Argentine bank account, and no Argentine credit card (and here I am not complaining, because I am am well aware that I put myself in this situation, but I am just stating the facts that sometimes stress me out). I am at the mercy of my English bank. They make a decision to re-issue my card, and I am stuck without one. Plus there are limits on the pesos I can withdraw each twenty four hours. I reflect on this as I sit in the travel agent trying to calculate whether I can get the money I need out of the bank in time. I reflect on that fact that if we were all Argentines we could have booked our travels ourselves online, and saved ourselves more cash for certain along with the best part of a day.

All I will say is that our little Argentino/Inglesa couple did all we could do in the circumstances, speak with our feet and ultimately our wallets: we chose the airline with the lesser uplift and we chose a hotel with reasonable rates and no uplift at all. And we will always select a travel agent who will try to help us find those choices.

Meanwhile, here is a free money saving tip for the foreigner heading to Argentina. I believe that if you fly in to Argentina with Aerolineas Argentinas then you can get discounts off their internal flights… exactly how much I do not know. But both agents did ask me if my parents were travelling with Aerolineas. In fact they aren’t because the international fares from London are not cheap either. But, if you are planning to take several internal flights once you arrive, then do make sure you take a moment to get calculating, because it might just pay off.

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Calculating

August 25, 2008 in Bloggers Guides, Buenos Aires Information | 18 comments

IMG_3263 All my life I was crap at mental arithmetic. In school I was petrified into freeze frame behaviour when the teacher pointed in my direction and snapped, ‘6 times 7?’. I was also a terrible liar…

This evening me and C. make our little trek up Luis Maria Campos to buy a few delights to eat. One of us treads this path every day, but today we go together. As we walk we talk about two things: what we are going to buy and where we are going to buy it.

He wants oranges like the ones he found on Thursday: huge, springing with juice and sweet, sweet, sweet. Those we will find again in the more distant ‘minimercado chino’ (which for brevity I will call MMc2), where there is a convenient greengrocer in the entrance: we will walk two blocks further than the first available ‘minimercado chino’ (MMc1) where there is also a convenient greengrocer in the entrance. We will also visit the deli at the back (of MMc2) because it sells something that I can truly recognise as being ‘bacon’, and I have converted C. to bacon and eggs for breakfast. Once we arrive we see that strawberries are only $6.99 a kilo and look amazing. We buy them too.

He wants tomatoes, but I know they are riper this week in MMc1 so we will stop on the way back. We’ll buy our Pepsi there because I tell Carlos that 1.5L is only $3.60, rather than $5.50 in the ‘panadería’ where we will buy our baguettes. We choose that ‘panadería’ over the one exactly opposite because the bread is tastier. We miss out the greengrocer nearest to the apartment completely because the strawberries are $8.50 a kilo: maybe everything costs more there today.

As we walk home with our bags of goodies we talk about three things: my newly discovered stunning encyclopedic knowledge of the prices of everything, our delight at scoring four huge oranges, half a kilo of strawberries and two perfect pears for $8.20 (these days we are surprised if any combination of three fruits comes to less than$10pesos), and how brilliantly we managed to lie our way to getting our hands on several pesos worth of ‘monedas’.

Carlos says, ‘Look at you!’ in that gorgeous warm way the Argentines do, ‘Mira vos!’ which means all sorts of things, but in this case it means, ‘Wow. Look how you’ve changed. You never used to know any of that stuff!’

And as usual he is right, and probably more right than he realises. In my past life I would drive down to an aircraft hanger sized Tesco once a week, debit card in hand and buy everything under one roof. I would stroll around every aisle grabbing anything I fancied. I never looked at the prices. I never paid with cash. I did notice that most of the fruit and veg I bought was travelling from the other side of the world, and didn’t taste that great, so I started buying ‘organic’ (although most of that came from the other side of the world too) and spending even more money. Life for lots of reasons was different then. For a start I didn’t have to worry about exchange rates turning against me, or inflation you can see on a daily basis. I never had to walk home carrying shopping. I had a freezer. And a purse full of coins was a total nuisance most of the time.

To live in cash is the biggest financial reality check ever. I see everything I spend (including all my apartment expenses and utility bills) pass through my wallet, for the first time in my life since I stopped getting pocket money. When I am trying to make this week’s ATM withdrawal last, I learn to be canny about what I buy where. The joy of that process is that I also discover who sells the juiciest, the rosiest, the sweetest. Everything I choose tastes better than anything in hypermarket-land, and as Carlos tells me with pride, ‘It mostly all comes from Argentina you know.’

And now, I long for a purse full of coins. If me and C. don’t have ‘monedas’ then we can’t take the bus or do our laundry in the apartment block machines. Every morning we check to make sure he has the coins to get to work, and home again. We decide how we will each travel that day, how many buses we will need to catch, whether we can use the drier as well as the washing machine this week. We make plans to try and get more coins for the next day. We compete to see who can get the most.

I am sure that this sounds ridiculous to anyone who hasn’t tried to live in Buenos Aires… ‘What do you mean you can’t get coins?‘ Friends who visit temporarily, seem to enjoy the challenge. And I am happy that they do: the best gift they can give me is a pocketful of change when they leave. But when you have to play the ‘monedas’ game every single day it gets a bit stressful. It ain’t funny when you’re trying to get home from work in the dark or in the rain and the only way to take a bus is to first find a kiosk where you can buy some sweet (that you don’t want) with a $2 note and get a peso change… you are likely to be turned down repeatedly.

And so I am forced to perfect my convincing, ‘No, no tengo monedas,’ along with every other shopper I know.

Sometimes I will own up to having 20 centavos if I might land a peso coin in return, but that is as far as my ‘honesty’ goes. I will plan my purchases so that the total means change that clinks. I will even work out what I must to buy to be able to actually use the washing machine: 50 centavo pieces will not do. And after some months of this, I am getting rather spiffy at mental arithmetic, and dare I say it, at lying.

So what with the ‘monedas’ mission, our search for the best prices, plus the quest to discover ‘the most delicious in the barrio’, our little shopping trips are our daily mind gym workout.

We calculate. And I become more calculating.

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Coming to Buenos Aires?

November 30, 2007 in Buenos Aires Information, Live your dreams | 20 comments

DSCF2725 This post is for Psyche and all the other intrepid tango adventurers who are heading to Buenos Aires in the next few months.

Recently Psyche posted on her blog, Tango with Wings:

The trip to BsAs has suddenly gone from something coming up in the not too distant future to something which is almost upon me. I have so much to do. Eek.
I know there are many people in the tango blogosphere who’ve been, or even who live there now. Do you have any advice for an English girl on her first trip? Any dos or don’ts? Anything I might not expect but desperately need to know in order not to disgrace myself?

Well guys, as you all know I’m English and I came and I stayed and now it’s been nine months… I read lots of tango blogs and so I know that loads you have already been here and will have your top tips for the next adventurer leaving their own country and arriving in Buenos Aires. But what are mine? As I always say, I’ve only got my experience to inform me… so perhaps this stuff will help and perhaps it won’t. Some of it will only be relevant if you are planning on staying longer than a few weeks. Still, here goes for better or for worse, ten of my ‘learnings’:

  1. The things I wish I’d brought (more of) with me from the UK: Galaxy chocolate, Earl Grey tea bags, my favourite perfume, a good quality warm coat (if you are staying over winter), Body Shop lip gloss, Blistex lip cream, Jungle Formula Bite and Sting Relief (from Boots) – the only thing that helps me to forget my mosquito bites.
  2. The things I’m glad I bought with me from the UK: iPod and portable speaker, lap top, the smallest possible digital camera for unobtrusive photography (with spare rechargeable battery), my family and friends in a small photo album, Hubert (my beloved soft toy tiger) who calms me in painful moments, UK to two pin adapter, hair drier (when it’s humid my hair does not dry fast), my ‘business’ cards which I have handed out to people I have met (they have not forgotten me, and they have known how to stay in touch).
  3. On arrival, buy a cheap Argentine mobile phone (around $100 pesos) or a SIM card ($10 pesos) for your unblocked phone. If you are bringing your UK phone, get it unblocked in the UK because it costs around $150 pesos to get it done here. I use my mobile for texting Milonga arrangements: calling with it is too expensive. But with CTI Movil, I can buy $20 pesos worth of credit which is actually $28 pesos worth (a bonus is given!) and it will last me around a month. For phone calls home you can buy a phone card ‘Llamada directa’ for $10 pesos and talk to the UK from a land line here for over an hour, or you can use Skype for free of course.
  4. Get your Spanish up to speed as fast as you can. Find a private teacher and start speaking. (I took three private lessons of two hours each for a month. After that I learned fast on my own.) Between tangos the Argentines stand and chat for at least 30 seconds, maybe longer. From the start it would be good to be able to handle questions like, ‘Where are you from?’, ‘How long are you staying?’, ‘How long have you been here?’, ‘Where did you learn tango?’,'Do you have a boyfriend?’, ‘Can I have your phone number?’… etc. I felt so much more relaxed once I could enjoy these pauses in the dance flow, instead of wishing that the ground would open and swallow me up because I couldn’t understand a word he was saying…
  5. Get hold of the current Buenos Aires tango magazines: La Tangauta, La Milonga, B.A. Tango. These have all the Milonga and class listings, plus great articles to get you up to date fast with who’s who today in the Buenos Aires tango scene. The other thing that never leaves my bag is the Caseron Porteno Tango Map and Guide. This is published every two months and has many (not all) Milongas listed and marked on the map. Other vital locations such as tango shoe shops are also marked. Where can you find these treasures? In the Milongas (all are handed out free of charge), or if you bump into me, I always try to carry a spare tango map to pass on…
  6. Be unafraid of the cabeceo. It is beautiful. It gives choice and dignity to both the man and the woman. It works. It solves everything. In most places it is easy and normal to practice. But in some places it is more difficult eg. Canning when it is packed, La Viruta where it is darker. In these places people may approach the table much more directly, and may ask verbally. I guess you develop a sense of when it is appropriate to be invited to dance in different ways. In the beginning I danced with anyone who asked me, however they asked me! Now no. I use the cabeceo etiquettes when I can to choose, accept, reject. If someone approaches me directly I weigh up the situation: Is it someone I have danced with before? Is it someone I want to dance with? Is there a good reason why they are asking me face to face? Last week an Argentine approached me in La Ideal. He apologised for asking me directly but explained that he had been waiting for me to turn around for a long time. I had not noticed him sitting behind me because I was chatting with my friends. I accepted. He was a lovely dancer. I would have missed out if I’d said no. On the other hand there is a man who always approaches women foreigners at the table. I have danced with him once (back when I accepted any invitation) and it was terrible. I won’t put myself through that again, so I always refuse.
  7. Find your favourite Milongas and become a regular. This means that the host will get to know you and seat you well, you will know when it’s a good time to arrive and a good time to leave, you will get great service from the waitresses, you will (in time) have regular dance partners, you will know who you want to dance with and who to avoid, you will know if you have to take change into the toilets to get paper, you will know what coffee they do well and what food they serve, you will know that if you reserve a table for your visiting friends it will not be the worst in the room, you will know that it is safe to leave your bag under the table or whether you should check it into the cloakroom, you will know if and when they will have performances, live orchestras, dance the Chacarera, tropical tangas, swing tandas… you will feel at home.
  8. Create some kind of a routine (the routine kept me grounded in an unfamiliar sea of time) of classes, be they private classes or group classes. Group classes are one way to meet people if you know no-one, but I personally found them not too useful for improving my tango. If you don’t have a private teacher yet then one way to find one is to watch the performances at the Milongas, where eventually you will see someone dancing in a way that you love. This is how I found one of my teachers. Pace yourself with the classes. I have found that my body needs time to take in and process what it is taught. In the beginning I took my private lessons and some group classes but now I take three private lessons a week of one hour each and for me, it is enough. Consider taking folkloric classes as well as tango classes. There is something ‘oh so special’ about being able to dance the Chacarera with the Argentines. This for me is a moment when I feel ‘at home’ and proud to be living in Argentina.
  9. Stay till the end of the Milonga sometimes. Then you will know the whole cycle of the place, get under its skin, feel its heartbeat. You will see the crowd come and go. You will see who leaves. You will see who stays. You may get a chance to dance with those who might never have noticed you in the crush. People will see that you love tango, that you are
    making an effort, that you are there. Yes you will get tired, but there is always coffee, an empanada, a long sleep the next day…
  10. Relax and accept the roller coaster of the great adventure:

the nights that you want to remember forever; the nights that you wish never happened but that you put down to ‘experience’; the buzz of walking towards the curtained doors and the tango music; the exhaustion; the agony of feet that have danced for hours on stone floors; the excitement of stolen kisses in the street; the Argentines who don’t dance as well as you thought they would; the kicks from four inch heels on packed dance floors; the blissful Argentine tango embrace that wraps you in a warm duvet, makes you feel safe and treasured and leads you to paradise; the feeling that you are dancing in a ’sardine can’; the days when you know you are the worst tango dancer on the planet; the lonely moments; the history and culture that soaks itself into your bones; the friends that come and go; the joy of hearing an Argentine sing his beloved tangos in your ear as you dance; the inexplicable feeling that you belong here; the pride and self belief that comes from knowing that you did it… you came here, you adventured, you LIVED!

Some things I have not worried too much about. I have always changed my shoes at the table (discreetly of course). I have worn a small stylish ’money belt’ around my waist when I have been alone at a Milonga and have had my camera on me… maybe my rather eccentric style can take it, but I haven’t actually felt that I have stood out too horrendously as a tourist.  Also, in La Viruta later in the night or when the dance floor has been packed and also in some other places, I have danced in ‘zapatillas’, practice shoes. In the end there comes a point where my feet just need a rest from 4 inch heels, and I give in. I know that others may not do some of these things, but for me I have not felt that I have broken any codes or offended anybody and I am a sensitive and thoughtful soul who does notice people’s reactions. The thing is that I have stopped worrying too much about whether I look like a tourist or not. The Argentines knew I was a tourist in the beginning anyway: I was a new face on their scene. Now they know I am not so much of a tourist because I have stuck around and they have seen my dancing improve. I’ve had great dances despite doing all these things. And maybe, I have on occasions, kept my valuables and my precious feet safe. On these matters, in the end, only you can decide.

And finally, here are a few things that are not related to tango, but start cropping up if you stay here for more than months. I’m going to mention them because I could have saved myself a bit of hassle and stress if I’d thought ahead:

  1. Bring vital paperwork with you. If you end up staying, buying property, wanting to apply for longer term visas you will need your documents: birth certificate/marriage certificate/divorce certificate/detailed proof of where your money has come from/bank statements. A DHL package takes up to a week and costs US$50 from here, £50 from the UK.
  2. The best and easiest way to get pesos is out of the cash point, so to avoid excessive charges, open an account with a UK bank that does not charge for foreign withdrawals. But be aware that you can only withdraw $300 pesos a time, in my case three times per day: $900 pesos in total per day. Of course this is fine for day to day living, but if you have to pay large rental deposits/rent up front/deposits on a purchase… then you need to plan your withdrawals in advance to make sure you have enough cash on the day. Argentina operates predominantly in cash.
  3. You can take out excellent medical insurance here that covers medical, dental and optical: check ups, tests, home visits, emergencies… everything. It can cover you while travelling in Argentina and abroad including in your home country. Repatriation, should it be required, would be to Argentina however. I am paying about $250 pesos per month for a fantastic service. I was paying about $200 pesos per month including tax, but recently all medical insurance here went up about 25% overnight… inflation.
  4. It was impossible for me to open a bank account here without a resident’s visa. Big money transfers had to be done through a foreign exchange bank at a charge of 2%. Western Union charges 3% I believe.
  5. Some things seem relatively expensive to me: and if you are staying long term maybe it’s worth being aware: travel (within Argentina and abroad), electronic goods including computers, broadband (once the initial offer period is over), apartment rental rates to foreigners who do not have the required guarantor (someone who owns property who is prepared to put the property up as a guarantee in the event that the rent is not paid).

And for now I reckon that’s about it! I’ve written far more than I expected to and a lot less than I could have. But it’s enough. I hope there is something in what I have said to ease the Buenos Aires tango and life journey a tiny bit. God knows that when I arrived here I knew nothing, and I had no-one. I hadn’t discovered the tango ‘blogosphere’ at that point. I just did it my way. At times it was joyful, and at times it was painful, but it was always ok. Today I am smiling.

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In the end, part of the point of adventure is the discovery and the self-discovery, and I know that every person who comes here will discover their own stuff, in their own time. I am still exploring, learning, growing and I don’t want to stop. So to all you tangueros and tangueras out there who have travelled here already, or live here now… I say, ‘Feel free to add to my lists!’ I will be delighted to learn from you. Meanwhile, while you guys are maybe thinking of heading this way, I’ve got my trip back to England coming up in one month’s time, and I’m very unsure how I will cope.  Mainly I think, by keeping my return ticket to Buenos Aires close to my heart, hugging my family a lot, and trying to live exactly how I have lived my dream since I arrived in Argentina - one day at a time. Wish me luck.

Happy adventuring Psyche. I am with you all the way!

UPDATE April 2009: There’s some more specific information in the comments section of this post, plus do read my more recent pages:

Top Tips for Tourists

Top Tips on Buenos Aires Books and Maps

for the most up to date information.

Suerte!

Sallycat

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