sallycat in England

You are currently browsing articles tagged sallycat in England.

Brit back in Buenos Aires

September 19, 2009 in Expat in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams, Sallycat back in the UK | 21 comments

imgp6010I’m getting used to a yet another new laptop. This time though for the first time, it’s a Mac. I got it in England and it’s fab because Me and Barbie can have all kinds of fun making iMovie videos of Me and C. dancing (thank you to you 250+ lovely people who watched us this week). It’s also amazing because I never have to wait more than about 5 seconds for it to wake up and be fully functional, downloading things like printer drivers just isn’t necessary, and apparently I don’t need anti-virus software either (is that really true?).

There’s only one thing I don’t like about the Mac, and that’s blogging on it. I don’t know how you other bloggers do it but I love to work offline on a page that looks like my blog page, with a slick interface that allows me to manipulate text and photographs to exactly where I want them: I like to see how the finished article will look as I type it, then publish with zero surprises. I had all that and more with Windows in a neat bit of software called Windows Live Writer, but since Windows is in the name, as you can imagine, it ain’t available on the Mac (well, not without installing Windows on the lovely Mac, and no, I just can’t bring myself to do it!). Damn! I’ve searched around, and I’ve found something called Blogo, but it just isn’t the same. It’s ridiculous I know, but I haven’t wanted to blog this week because I haven’t wanted to get to grips with this change in my blogging life.

Starting over as a result of change is always tough I reckon. Doesn’t really matter whether it’s a new laptop, a life in a new land, a return to a life in a new land after a fabulous holiday in your old one… Two weeks after I left Terminal 5, the image of my parents’ two beautiful white heads bobbing into the distance is continuing to punctuate the less than perfect sleep cycles of my nights, I’ve had Argentines telling me that my Spanish sounds wooden, and my dance partners have been asking me why I’m not as relaxed as I was. This week I’ve had massive urges to spring clean the apartment, clear clutter (not that I have much), and re-organise my living space… I’ve listened to my soul, done it all and so begun to re-shape my Buenos Aires life – not into my old one as it was back in July, but into a new one coloured and influenced by my travels and the things I found out about myself while I was journeying. But what have I learned this time around, on my round trip to England and back again? Let’s see…

I need a comfortable and inspiring space of my own in which to think, write and create. I need it to be in a place that keeps Barbie wide awake and feeds my spirit with creative energy, and fresh and brilliant ideas. That’s what Buenos Aires does for me… Me and Buenos Aires, Buenos Aires and Me: the noisy, dirty, vibrant, killer creative combination and being back this time around, I feel it stronger than ever. For some reason I know that breathing in Buenos Aires can lift me towards the peaks of my dreams.

I need belief, patience and commitment where those dreams are concerned. The edit on my book is part way through back in the UK and I am waiting for the result. It will be a few more weeks. Meanwhile I must investigate and enable routes to market… to me and Barbie this is the the boring part, but it’s no good having a cracking book if I can’t sell it, and so I must take advantage of the time I have, and get my business head on. I must decide on the title too, and that’s a challenge. The book will be worth the wait, but oh how I long to see it being useful in the hands of a tango tourist who doesn’t know me, or even one who does!

I need in my possession a full and large bag of Galaxy Caramel chocolate, tins of Heinz Baked Beans, Cadbury’s Crunchies and Drinking Chocolate, Sainsbury’s marshmallows, Pledge disposable (attract the dust) dry dusting cloths, J cloths, Superdrug bargain face wipes, Blistex lip cream, Bisto gravy powder, the Guardian, iTunes vouchers so that I can download British TV programmes or books… oh and my absolute favourites: giant red boxes of Lindt Lindor red spheres. A cry from an English soul, Anyone coming this way from my mother land please bring just one of one of these things with you, especially if I’ve answered some of your questions about Buenos Aires or carried tango shoes for you. Oh and another cry… IKEA (which may be Swedish but is a British institution nonetheless), when oh when will we see you in Argentina?

I need to have people in my life who understand my Britishness. I have Brit girlfriends here and I’m grateful that I do. And C. has seen my England and can chat memories with me into the early hours: him building sandcastles on Whitesands while I slept on the pebbles he’d flattened into a bed for me; seeing where Carlos Tevez used to sit in the Manchester United dressing room; marvelling at the stunning mix of buildings around the Birmingham Bullring Shopping Centre… this final UK 2009 Flickr photoset tells our complete English tale.

I need Wild Love (thank you Gill Edwards). I need to be able to speak the truth in my relationships: hold my mum’s face in my hands and tell her I love her, tell a friend that I was sad that he was not there, tell another that I sense sadness in her soul, tell myself the truth that I need England in my life – my roots, my safety net, my past, my family, and my friends who didn’t leave me when I left.

OK England I’ll admit it, in the past few years I’ve been desperate to leave you, terrified to leave you, terrified to return to you, desperate to return to you, ambivalent about you, nostalgic about you… and now it seems, accepting of you and loving towards you. It is true that I don’t want to live in you right now, but it’s a complete and utter joy to visit you, remember you and celebrate that I will always be yours and you will always be mine.

The pain of goodbyes, my rusty tango body, my wooden Spanish, my non-desire to blog. They’re all transients in my life and will pass. But England? No, my friend and my country, you won’t. And at last, I find that I’m delighted to say so.


Share

Tags: , , ,

Adjusting

August 17, 2009 in Live your dreams, Sallycat in the UK | 17 comments

IMGP4840

Beautiful isn’t it?

It’s St. Justinian near St. David’s, Pembrokeshire, Wales… and to be more precise, it’s the wall of the garden of the palace we stayed in last week to celebrate my mum and dad’s Golden Wedding Anniversary. That little figure sitting above the coastal path, marvelling at the gulls riding the air currents, as they fly free, is C.  Can’t really get much further from the chocca 24/7 corner of Corrientes and Callao can you? Or from the centre of the dance floor at La Milonguita at 1am on a busy Sunday night.

Here’s a bit more of the UK space that Me and C. have been adjusting to in the past days…

IMGP5072IMGP4805IMGP5200IMGP5106

Not bad eh?

But, could I live in it?

I don’t think so. Not right now anyway. I thought about this very point in the art gallery at the St David’s Visitor Centre: I stared at some Graham Sutherland paintings that had originally been inspired by Pembrokeshire space and I registered that out of natural beauty he had created masterpieces. Me on the other hand? One week surrounded by sea, sand, grass, rocks and birds, and my Inner Artist Barbie began to feel like she was desperate for a shot of decent coffee to prevent her from falling into a Sleeping Beauty style 100 year doze (and believe me she was desperate, because I can truly say that one of the things I am disliking most about Britain is the inability of anybody, even if they are standing in front of something that gleams with the promise of being a fancy Italian coffee machine, to sell me anything even faintly resembling a cortado (expresso cut with hot milk) – everything comes in bowl sized cups and has so much milk or water added to it that it doesn’t even smell of the drink it’s named after… oh I don’t want to be a moaning Minnie, but bloody hell, when I’m parting with two quid, and people look at me as if I have absolutely no right to request coffee that has more flavour or substance than dishwater, I can’t help a weeny grumble on Barbie’s behalf. Grumble! OK rant over.)

Now where were we? Ah yes, space. Sometimes appearances can be deceptive can’t they, in that space on the outside may not necessarily lead to space on the inside. In Pembrokeshire I was sharing a palatial residence, where (apparently) the likes of The Beverley Sisters and David Essex have hung out in their time, with 10 other people: my family.

Now, I love every single one of these 10 marvellous mums, dads, sisters, nephews, nieces, and brother-in-laws, but nonetheless, particularly since it came hot on the heels of almost three weeks of staying in friends’ houses and being surrounded by fellow human beings almost all the time,  if I’m honest there were a few moments when I was torn between joining in (because I’m only here for seven weeks and who knows when I might see my family again), and longing for my rather simple existence and the massive degree of personal space that I’ve created on the other side of the planet. Then of course I lay awake at night feeling guilty about my seeming inability to switch seamlessly between two (albeit rather different) environments. Mi amor C. was the first to report the cracks in my joy to me. He’s honest and I love him for it. Why aren’t you smiling more, when you are in such a beautiful place with people you’ve missed for months? he asked me on about day three on the cliff top. And because I do listen these days, I heard him.

In the end it all comes down to understanding myself a little better and that is never a bad thing. Later I talked about it with a couple of members of my family, and I started to wonder if it doesn’t all date back to being the eldest child, who for the first two years of her life had all the ‘space’ she wanted; then one day when the first new little sister came along, learned the annoyance of having to live with the pressure of the probably highly unwelcome, What are you doing, can I play? type questions; and then shared a bedroom with that little sis and later a second until the happy age of around 11 when she finally landed a space of her own – but by then the desperation to separate had been born. Or maybe my desire for ‘me time’ just means that I’m an unsociable bugger who is pursuing a writing career on the other side of the world for the one simple reason that I’m happiest doing something which requires absolutely zero collaboration with anyone else. Could be eh? Or perhaps it’s a bit of a mixture of the two. Yep, if I’m honest it probably is.

It’s actually good to think about it and accept who I am in this regard: someone who can love to join in but only wants to do so when balancing participation with time to write, think, process, prepare myself to meet the world with a smile… I’ve carved out a way to achieve it in Argentina, but in England where there are just so many one off special things to do and people to see in limited time, and especially without a home of my own to escape to, it’s a challenge. Hence I’ve got up in the middle of a few nights since I’ve been in Britain: indeed the hours between 3am and 7am saw my book final arrive at the end of its latest redraft.

Finding time to write this blog post since the Pembrokeshire cliff top (where there was no internet) has been a challenge too, because with my awareness awakened following my chat with Carlos, I’ve sooooo enjoyed joining in this weekend. Friday, Saturday and Sunday had me  diving with gusto into various aspects of the fabulous Shrewsbury Flower Show (and here are a few pics to prove it) where my rather amazing parents were taking centre stage in their new roles as the Mayor and Mayoress or Shrewsbury: flowers, show gardens, motorcycle display teams, military bands playing in a bandstand exactly like la Glorieta where Me and C. met, fireworks for Barbie to LOVE… I’m not sure I could have had a more perfect few days, and as usual me getting to the truth of myself beforehand made it all run that bit more smoothly in the at times slightly higgledy piggledy world between my ears.

Tonight our Shrewsbury world is calm because 7 of my family have left town for a few days and we are back to being 4. At my mum’s place, Me and C. are sitting in a silent (apart from the ticking of the grandfather clock) conservatory, him drawing a picture and me writing this. Mum came in a minute ago, This room is your little home, she said. You’ve got two arm chairs, Carlos has got his crayons, you’ve got your laptop, the telly’s there if you fancy it, you can even sleep in here if you want… I love my mum. She’s put up with me for 46 years and never gives up on wanting me to be happy. What’s making me smile inside on this visit is in fact how happy I observe her to be: I don’t think Shrewsbury could have a more generous hearted, sociable and joyous Mayoress right now. Frankly, to see my mum and dad chatting to anyone and everyone they meet with a social grace that I at times can only dream of… it’s an inspiration in itself, never mind the fact that they’ve also made it to 50 years of marriage.

Today then, I’ve done the selfish thing and taken a day to work, write and reflect. Tomorrow we’re off to show C. a castle, and at the weekend, well, it won’t just be 11 people in one room, it’ll be more like 111 for my parent’s big Golden Wedding party on Saturday night… and the entertainment, home made style, will involve a lot of joining in. My brother in law’s treating us to a spot of stand up comedy, my niece is singing a solo, my youngest sister’s family and my uncle are getting their voices, guitars and drumkits out, Me and C. are dancing a tango (or two, if they shout Otro! Salon Canning style).

Tango-wise since London I’m feeling a bit rusty: our friends Steve and Debbie of Tango UK treated us like a King and Queen when we turned up at Bramshaw for the tea dance, we enjoyed a lovely night at Burley although I managed to get lost in the New Forest afterwards, and Shrewsbury Tango have welcomed us to their Thursday night sessions with open arms once, and hopefully by the end of this week it’ll be twice… (here are some pics of us joining in there, and in Hampshire too).

The question is though, rust aside, will we be able to impress the Golden Wedding audience with our rather ‘lacking in flicks and kicks’ social Argentine tango style? Mum has requested a bit of ‘flash’. Carlos, who adores her,  made me laugh as he commented, Well I think the way we normally dance is beautiful enough, but for you I don’t mind adding a few ‘things’…

…and that, I guess, is what the spirit of adjusting and joining in is all about.

I’ll let you know how it goes.

Share

Tags: , ,

Pick and mix

August 1, 2009 in Live your dreams, Sallycat in the UK | 25 comments

IMGP4414Day one in England and Me and C. stand on the pavement outside the post office on the Shepherd’s Bush Road, snapping away with the Pentax: a red double-decker bus; magenta Busy Lizzies spilling over baskets hanging from a wrought iron lamp post; a pristine example of a British public toilet capsule that looks like it could be an alien space craft in disguise. Do people really use those? asks a bemused C.  I make him laugh by telling him that the doors open automatically if you stay in there for too long.

I drag him into the first charity shop we come across. Can’t resist the prospect of unearthing a few recycled Brit bargains in the racks packed with familiar labels and someone else’s cast offs.  A couple of Jasper Conran shirts for him and a Monsoon top for me: ten quid. Resulting smiles: priceless.

Flushed with the pleasure of new gladrags in the bag, we decide to explore the aisles of the chemist known as Superdrug. I want to know how much the things I call ‘facewipes’ cost: you know, those totally convenient wet cloths that cleanse tone and something else all in one… I’ve always been mega lazy when it comes to skincare and thus a big fan, but in Buenos Aires if it says Nivea or any name I recognise on the cover, it’s out of my price bracket: In Argentina I resort to the Farmacity own brand and they’re between $9pesos and $12pesos (one pound fifty to two quid) for twenty five. Superdrug’s version looks a lot more luxurious and is only 99p for forty. I buy three packs. We’ve got to make a list of all the things we’re taking back with us, I say. L’Oreal hair dye won’t be on it. Six pounds fifty in Superdrug. Three quid in Buenos Aires.

Round the back of Shepherd’s Bush’s second hand stores and  chemists we find Westfield, apparently the biggest shopping mall in Europe. We wander in… and out in about five seconds flat. C. is open mouthed to see people propping up the champagne bar in the designer section at 4pm… Everyone’s drinking, he says. We’ve just passed Walkabout, the Australian branded bar, overflowing with Saturday afternoon ‘beer glass in hand’ punters. I meanwhile am open mouthed at the number of people weighed down by an excessive number of designer carrier bags – haven’t they heard that Britain is supposed to be in the grip of a recession?

Tango Negracha-style shows no signs of being knocked by economics either, despite costing ten quid to get in (that’s more than $60pesos each… bloody hell!): it’s chocca. Carlos announces to me that he could be in La Viruta. The performance is by folk who normally hang out there… though I think he probably means the number of times he gets kicked. To my amazement I end up dancing with Shev down in the basement where there’s more space and the music’s electronic: he leads me a load of fun stuff I don’t normally do and I end up laughing a lot. I can’t help wondering what my milonguero boys would make of it all, and as the night progresses I do think of them and their closer than close embraces. I miss the familiar music too: even much of the traditional stuff upstairs isn’t really what I’m used to. But these days I’m celebrating the differences… or doing my best to anyway, so I throw myself into our first night on the London tango town. I confess that I don’t really want to leave at 3.30am when I turn to discover that my host has his tango shoes off and his coat on. That’s the adrenalin of travel across cultures for you, even a fifteen hour flight and zero sleep for two days couldn’t stop me wanting to dance and talk and meet new people and dance some more, until dawn. I silently give thanks that in Buenos Aires I can always get the bus home, or if desperate a pretty cheap taxi, and never need a car or to rely on anyone for a lift. Freedom. I must have it to feel joy and I know it. And it is fabulous to know it, and to normally have it.

I’m starving after all that dancing and I shout, Stop! as into view comes a petrol station bearing a M&S Simply Food sign that promises a treasure chest of goodies totally and utterly unheard of in Buenos Aires. I leave the boys in the car and it is touch and go whether they will ever see me again as I get lost in the shelves of convenience bacon and egg triple-decker sandwiches on brown rye bread, 4-packs of chocolate eclairs (that I have been known to eat in one sitting in lives past), 500ml tubs of fresh full fat custard… Half an hour later I’m at the kitchen table tucking into two enormous scones that ooze with strawberry jam and cream and I’m thinking that I absolutely will not care if I never see another plate of Argentine medialunas again. I start fantasising about how I can persuade M&S to open a store in Las Cañitas. As I eat jam and cream I feel like I am in the enviable position of standing in front of a giant pick and mix stand. An M&S scone from a Shepherds Bush petrol station at 4am; the sight of my Argentine in a five quid Jasper Conran shirt from Oxfam; the fun embrace of a British friend in the basement of a packed Holborn tango club… all London treats. Things to love.

Now, one week after Negracha and with a few days in the exquisitely beautiful and green Hampshire countryside behind me, I know a few things that I don’t love about me in this country too: having to drive miles just to find a pint of milk; not leaving myself enough time in my schedule to write; being invited to dance tango to music that isn’t even remotely recognisable as tango music. But, Brilliant! I shout in my most welcoming voice to all three. The first I can put up with for a few weeks; the second I can change from today; the third… I’m just saying politely, No, sorry, I can’t dance tango to this. Easy. It’s just bloody great to know who I am, what works, what doesn’t work, what I want and what I don’t want, and not being afraid to say so.

When you travel you take yourself with you right? I used to say that in a rather negative way. Like, Oh well be careful thinking that you can go and live in another country and everything will be different, because it won’t – you take yourself with you after all… What does that mean exactly? That we’re all screwed up and so we’ll screw up our lives wherever we go? But what if we are not screwed up. What if we know joy in one land and we are determined to carry that joy with us to another. Might that not be possible too? Well it damn well is.

I do see that I have to watch out for getting sucked in to ways that may be the norm here, but are no longer my norm (like not wanting to offend anyone, not saying no even when I long to, not making time for art over duty)… but that’s ok. I am learning to protect my joy. And I will do so whatever land I’m in. Is it selfish? Maybe. But on the other hand if, when I face you, I have not got joy in my heart, then I’m wasting your time as well as mine: across the coffee table; on the dance floor; on this blog page. Until this morning I haven’t wanted to write a word since I left Argentina. Today I woke at 5am and the words were desperate to escape. So here I am. Saturday morning. Rain pouring outside. Hampshire, England. Pick and mixing my life: Carlos asleep in the next room; a great and wonderful friend down the corridor; an unplanned day stretching ahead; dancing tango tonight in the New Forest. Mañana another favourite New Forest tango home of mine: Bramshaw. Monday, my family.

You take yourself with you when you travel? Yes you do. And for the very first time in my life, I’m taking a me I love, a me who at last is learning to fill her suitcases not only with tango shoes but with un-squashable Barbie fuelled honesty and joy. And how bloody marvellous is that?

Happy rest of the weekend guys. Till soon, from the most beautiful England that it is in my power to create,

Sallycat

Share

Tags: , ,

Farewell England

April 7, 2008 in Live your dreams | 15 comments

IMGP9538 We are home!

Yesterday was an emotional day. I shed my first tears at Gatwick saying goodbye to Shaun, and so did Carlos. After that it was an endless mixture of walking through airports, sleeping on planes and more tears. How much harder it is to leave happy memories behind than sad ones. And by the final day of our stay in England our hearts were packed with joyful moments: yesterday just talking together about any one of them and my face was wet, yet again. But this is the balance of life. And I am learning to accept it. It is the same in all lives of course, but perhaps as we come and go between our two home countries we feel the joy and pain more acutely. We notice the contrasts in our emotions as we leave and as we arrive. Our travels bring things into sharp focus. We have a wonderful family in England. We were loved by warm and generous hearted friends. We stayed in my Southampton flat which is comfortable, contemporary and has more than one room: we were spoiled. Only the weather tried to dampen our days with persistent English rain forcing us to stay in the car at Stonehenge and on top of the Shropshire hills. But we are made of hardy stuff and a bit of wind, sleet, hail, rain and snow did not take the smiles off our faces. And when you have had great times, it is always going to be hard to walk away from them, even when you know that there will be many more to come.

The  flat in England  is now let to someone else, which has been hard to swallow: it was my first home after my marriage ended, it was a sanctuary for me, and the first concrete evidence of my independence. But I have to let it go. It will provide me with a welcome  income for my life here, and in the end it is still mine. My friends and family are half a world away tonight, but they were already calling me on Skype this morning, and they won’t disappear either.  The good parts of England have not gone anywhere. We have just left them for a while.

And so, last night, the next phase of my life in Argentina began. I came through customs as a ‘Temporary Resident’ and it felt good. Officially no longer a tourist, I was coming home. It was 23 degrees in Buenos Aires at midnight, and I smiled to drive past the people eating outside cafés and restaurants as we passed. I felt freer and lighter just to be here. But, I cried again when we arrived in the apartment. It felt tiny, and Carlos commented that we humans are always comparing: what we have here, what we have there. We both knew we would quickly get used to the space, but for a moment it was a shock to be back living in what is basically one room again. Our next challenge was where to put the things inside the four massive bags we brought with us. At about 3am I gave up trying and we collapsed on our sofa bed with chaos  all around. Today I laughed as Carlos revealed to me the little objects he had sneaked from my English flat into the bags: a clever double ended screwdriver, a beautifully shaped coffee measuring spoon, numerous pens and pencils. Carlos adores pens: and I don’t mean expensive ones. He likes clever pens, or ones with names on: hotels, banks, conferences… he will treasure them all. He spent this morning lovingly examining every single item in the twenty quid 240 piece tool set my dad bought him in Aldi, Southampton: drill bits, a vast range of strange things that I could not put a name to, screwdriver heads… He proudly explained each object to me and I nodded and said, ‘Si, mi amor,’ alot. And all the time he was wearing the very English cap that my mum bought him in Shrewsbury market! How could I not be happy to observe him so content. I brought back winter coats, my favourite thick cardigans, boots, headphones so that Carlos can watch TV when I want to sleep, my iPod station, soft fleece slippers (two pairs), a fake fur throw, another hot water bottle with a fleecy cover… Where Carlos loves pens, I love furry things that make me feel cosy on grey days.

Our first day back has been a bright one. I woke feeling optimistic and positive: the clear blue sky and sun were gifts, and somehow I found a home for the contents of those four huge bags. Later we walked to Jumbo and Easy in Palermo, looked at computer printers, flat screen TVs, computer desks, wardrobes… but bought nothing. We decided not to restrict our spending on food, just this once. We had feared the shelves might be empty, having heard that meat and vegetables were not getting into Buenos Aires while we were away… but there was no sign of that this afternoon and I was delighted to choose anything I wanted from the vast selection at the deli counter. We bought steak for dinner (unaffordable for us in England), good ‘jamon crudo’, grilled vegetables (Argentine style), ready cooked roast potatoes, and tiramasu for dessert. I am pleased to report that England brought my appetite back and  I have put on two kilos. In the household goods aisle I was highly amused when Carlos demanded to know why the quality of toilet paper is so poor in Argentina compared to England, and insisted on buying the most expensive, and the most like the brands in Tesco! The queues at the checkouts were as usual horrendous, but actually today I didn’t care. I felt at home in the Argentine supermarket. I never really have before, but today it felt familiar and like I had missed it.

Tonight I am relaxed. The balcony door is wide open and the warm air and sounds of the Buenos Aires evening are drifting in. Carlos is sleeping and I have the tiny portable TV on in English. The flat doesn’t seem doll-sized any more. It just feels like home. Who knows what the future holds for us, but how lucky we are to have strong and beautiful connections with not one, but two countries. Carlos said to me yesterday, ‘Life with you is never boring.’ He is right. Our life will not be boring. Sometimes we will face challenges brought about by our circumstances, but never will we live in a rut. We will adapt, evolve and find a way to make the most of both our worlds. Now I know that I will want to regularly return to England, and maybe the next time will be more like a holiday… no flat to clear and let, no car to sell, no visa to obtain. But I also know that I would not enjoy England as much if I had to live there again. So, back in Buenos Aires, I am happy with the way things are. England will still be there if I need it, but for now Argentina is the place where I know that I can spread my wings and fly.

See pictures of our farewell to England

Share

Tags:

The big day

April 1, 2008 in Buenos Aires Information, Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 6 comments

IMGP9399 Many days have led up to today. For a year I have officially been a ‘tourist’ in Argentina. I managed to work out how to renew my first 3 month tourist visa at Migraciones, for a second three months. I left the country and headed to Uruguay to get a new visa on re-entry after 6 months. I renewed that one smoothly in Migraciones. But, especially after I bought my flat in Buenos Aires, there was always that uneasy feeling: next time I leave the country, will they let me back in? Of course I know that many people live for years in Argentina on tourist visas, or even on expired tourist visas (as you can just pay a fine when you leave), but I longed for a bit more permanence, stability, security…

I remember the first time I looked on the web to find out whether there was a possibility of obtaining a longer term Argentine visa: and my delight that yes, indeed there was (although at the time obtaining it seemed a very long way off).  In my case it is called a ‘Steady Income’ Visa, and basically an amount (not too huge) of money in an English bank is needed. That and a fair bit of leg work of course. The visa must be applied for in London. It is not possible to make the application in Argentina. The problem is with this type of quest, is that it is never very easy to find out exactly what is required. To their credit, the Argentines do a very good job of providing you with specific information on their website, which helps, but I’m the sort of person who can lose sleep over whether I have followed the instructions correctly. It’s funny really, how I can walk out on one life and start another on the other side of the world without worrying about the long term future, and yet, when it comes to filling in forms and obtaining official letters I struggle to believe until the very last that I have done enough… done it right.

In the end it turned out that the time I have had in England was just sufficient to enable me to gather all that I needed, and to make my application. If my flight had been last weekend, I would not have made it. The universe has definitely been with me on this one and has reassured me that my destiny is to be tied with Argentina.

So what took the time?

Week 1: a Chartered Accountant’s statement of my financial status, certified by a Public Notary; the fact finding mission to the Argentine Consulate in London and appointment for the necessary interview with the Consul made; getting the unusually sized 4cm by 4cm passport photos; the applications for Certified Copies of my birth and divorce certificates.

Week 2: the trip to the Foreign Office in London to get my three documents legalised (verified as original copies); the documents and legalisations handed over for translation to the The Spanish Translation Service, London.

Week 3/4: translations completed efficiently and professionally and kindly sent back to me, thus avoiding yet another trip to London. (And in the time I had spare as a result I managed to sell my car, clear most of my personal belongings out of my flat and visit my family.)

Week 5: the interview with the Argentine Consul in London and the handing over of the documents including their Spanish translations, application form including referees in Argentina and in England and the photos; paying the visa fees in person at the required branch of Barclays Bank in London.

Week 6: the final trip to the Argentine Consulate in London to collect the visa (it takes up to 5 days after the interview, which I think is pretty brilliant)… and today was ‘the big day’.

This morning, on my fourth trip to London in six weeks, I got the visa I wanted, with just a few days to go before my flight back to Buenos Aires. The visa is for temporary residence of one year, renewable in Buenos Aires for a second year, and after that the door is open for the permanent  residency application which can also be made in Buenos Aires. The precious DNI number can be applied for as soon as I get back… which I had not expected, so I am delighted: I can build more of a life. I can allow my soul to commit, with less fear of rejection. I feel relief.

The visa itself consists of a large stamp in the passport with a letter attached from the Argentine Consul, plus a sealed envelope which I must hand over when I arrive at the airport. I have a second sealed envelope containing my photos, fingerprints, and copies of my documents for the DNI application.  These envelopes were filled and sealed in my presence, minutes before Carlos took my photo to record the historic moment.

After that we took a walk through London with a friend: Buckingham Palace, The Mall, St James’ Park, Whitehall, Westminster, Westminster Bridge, The South Bank… It was slightly warmer than last week’s open top bus tour experience, when we could not feel our feet and were forced to get off before it had arrived at Buckingham Palace (for fear of freezing). I can’t remember the last time I took a walk around these beautiful parts of London, and maybe that is because I never have. It is truly amazing how having someone to show around makes you see your own country through fresh eyes. Today I loved being British. But perhaps I loved it more because I had my Argentine at my side, and my Argentine visa in my big pink flowery bag. I felt free: free to live where I want to, free to live my dreams.

See pictures of me and Carlos in London

Share

Tags: , , ,

Easter flowers

March 28, 2008 in Live your dreams | 5 comments

IMGP9071

I’ve not been able to post until now… no internet connection, but this I wrote a few days ago. I want to share it because it was a moment of peace in a hectic schedule.

The universe definitely does seem to be with me since Carlos arrived. All that I have to get done, is getting done. When loose ends are tied up I will share that side of the story, but for now I want to celebrate the time we spent with my precious family, in Shropshire…

It is Easter Sunday in Shrewsbury. My mum and my sister and my niece are at the table in our little sitting room, and Carlos is teaching them how to make paper flowers. My sister is speaking Portuguese, Carlos is speaking Spanish, my mum is speaking English and I am chipping in occasionally with a few words of translation.  My mum wants to make a sculpture for the garden, and she wants to know if Carlos can make the flowers larger and with foil to cope with the rain. 

This morning we all sat together and ate a huge full English breakfast: crispy bacon, sausages from the market, mushrooms, fried eggs, tomato ketchup, toast, coffee… and an Easter egg at every place setting. We toasted Carlos. My sister thanked him for everything he had done for me. He said, ‘Thank you for wanting me to be part of your beautiful family.’ 

It snowed in Shropshire yesterday. We spent the day at Ironbridge, birthplace of the Industrial Revolution (I think) and site of the world’s first iron bridge. We wandered through the living museum where Victorian life is re-enacted daily. Carlos saw how the English used to live, and shivered through most of it. But as we left, an organ grinder played music in the street and Carlos and me danced tango in the falling snow. Carlos has only seen snow once in his life: in Buenos Aires last year in July. He might have been frozen, but he was excited as a child.  And I felt truly blessed. We came home to a traditional English Sunday roast dinner, well a sort of late Christmas dinner really: turkey, roast potatoes, veggies, stuffing, bread sauce and lashings of gravy. Carlos was hesitant with the gravy, making sure it wasn’t spicy before gingerly dotting  it over his food. Afterwards I made dad get the slide projector out and we relived 1968 to 1978… laughing at the fancy dress costumes of summer carnivals, and chilly days on the beach. I slept better last night, than I have for months: safe and secure in the heart of my family.

Before my sister arrived I walked through Shrewsbury with Carlos and showed him the historical town: Grope Lane, the black and white houses, the traditional market stalls, the river Severn with its English, Welsh and toll bridges. He just wanted me to take photos of him in front of everything. I did.

It is going to be very difficult to drag ourselves away from here tomorrow. This evening my other sister arrives with her family. There will be 11 of us in this little house tonight: 11 mouths speaking different languages;  11 hearts joined by blood and love; 11 members of my precious family assembled together at last to greet its newest member: Carlos.

I wonder if there will be room for all of us and for all of the flowers that have been made as I have been typing: they are getting bigger and increasingly flamboyant.  I am laughing to see how my creative family (all artists) have managed to inspire Carlos to transform his simple flower once made from waste Buenos Aires milonga flyers, into ‘roses’, giant silver blooms, petals with serrated edges, multi-coloured bouquets. I think the next one will be larger than Carlos. But I am also laughing because he is happy, relaxed and has given my family an Easter gift, far more special than any paper flower,  that they will treasure long after we have gone: my family will have seen me happy and loved, and that is all they ever wanted.

Of course as I sit here I am well aware that joyful times such as this are all too transient. On Tuesday I’ll be handing over my documents at the Argentine Embassy and hoping that they grant me the visa I want. In two weeks I’ll be back in Argentina, starting the next phase of my new life and my family will be far behind me. Who knows what the future holds? Someone left a comment on this blog recently warning me of near certain doom and gloom. Frankly that is of no new concern to me nor puts any surprises in my thinking. All life includes suffering. We all die in the end don’t we? What I can be sure of is that I will have enjoyed some peaceful and perfect moments on my particular journey. They will balance out the tough days, and shine bright light into the dark tunnels ahead. 

For starters, I am well aware that it is not going to be easy to say my goodbyes this time round. But on the other hand at least ‘my love’ will understand when I miss my family because he will miss them too.  And I have friends in Argentina who write and say that they miss me now. I will be returning to a life I have begun to build, and not to the empty void where I started a year ago. I am lucky beyond imagining. I have lives in two lands and somehow I am going to work out how they can comfortably coexist. I do not fear the future. I look forward to it, whatever it brings.

See pictures of my Argentine in Shropshire

Share

Tags:

Juntos

March 16, 2008 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | 12 comments

IMGP8850 We are together again. ‘Mi amor y yo’, en Inglaterra. And I can honestly say that I have never felt happier in my own country as I am now. I’ve always longed to greet a lover at the airport and on Friday this particular dream came true. He flew via Madrid and his plane landed on time. I waited as hundreds of strange faces appeared from around the corner. I waited and waited until at last my small and perfect Argentine was walking towards me. I was under the barrier in a flash and in his arms, my mouth on his, his castellano caressing my ears. Laughing, smiling, kissing: we were ‘juntos, otra vez’.

Carlos adores England: he loves the motorways (so organised with big clear signs); he says England is like the United States, only better (good man!); he adores my apartment, especially the kitchen, which he says is his dream kitchen (he is my chef here, as in Argentina); he has even ventured out alone to Tesco to buy ingredients for cooking and he came back proud and excited by the experience (I am proud of him).

He has only been here two days, but we have danced twice. On Friday we visited Caroline and Eduardo’s Milonga in Bournemouth. There he was delighted that women asked him to dance: he loves it that the pressure is off here, for the man. He is delighted when women approach him, and invite him onto the dance floor. And I am happy too. I love to see him dance with all my friends, because I know that when the end of the night arrives, he is mine. I love to catch his eye as he dances, smile at him, wink, support him. He is seeing how ‘open’ the English are to different dance partners. He is understanding why I have found the Argentine dance culture a trial at times.

Last night we were at Bramshaw, the Milonga that I think of as ‘my tango birthplace’. He met many more of my tango friends, and I was dancing for joy in his arms in this familiar and welcoming space. And towards the end of the night there was a delightful surprise. Steve sat in the middle of the dance floor and took up his bandoneon. He spoke to everyone, and welcomed us. He dedicated the vals, ‘Desde la alma’ to Carlos, who had tears in his eyes to hear his name spoken with such love. To dance to the solo bandoneon accompanied only by the gentle sweeping of our fellow dancers’ shoes on the wooden floor, my eyes closed,  my heart singing silently, was as I imagine heaven to be. I did not want the music to end. I did not want the night to end. But if I had died then, in that moment, I would have died knowing what love is. And that, in this life, full of so much pain, is I think the most beautiful knowledge that a girl can be given.

The weather is pretty ghastly: rain, cold winds, grey skies. But today, nothing in my life is grey. Carlos’ arrival paints colour into every moment. I am rediscovering my country, my friends, my home of old through his excited, generous eyes. And that is a gift indeed. When I left for Argentina this time last year I took with me so many painful memories of England. Truthfully I wanted to escape my life here. Now I know that when I leave in three weeks time, I will be taking a much lighter suitcase. It will be one packed with laughter, smiles, and joy. I will carry a very different England back to Buenos Aires: an England without pain, an England full of love. My dream to live in Argentina will sit on stronger foundations. I will not be running away. I will leave here with great pride in my country. I will appreciate all that I have in my two lands. I think that at last my English heart will be healed and whole. This is my longing, my wish, my dream… and now, at last, I do believe that it is a dream which is destined to come true.

Share

Tags: ,

Dance, dance, dance

March 11, 2008 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires, Live your dreams | Comments closed

welcomelive2008b This weekend was supposed to be quiet and disappointing. I had thought to go to Granada in Spain to a tango festival with some friends, but at the last minute the flights were too expensive and I stayed in England. I have to accept that I am now living in South America on a South American budget and I just can’t blow money. I was sad and imagined sitting at home with the TV. Ah but life has changed, and I have changed, and I seem to attract happy times and action.

Friday night saw me backstage at the Eastleigh Festival of Dance. My Argentine tango teacher in England (who is Argentine) was performing, and his partner was organising the whole thing. My job was to collect each act from their various dressing rooms, keep them silent and get them to the wings in time. As a result, I watched an amazing dance show from behind the scenes, and it brought joy to my heart. Young people danced street, tap, Indian, Irish, contemporary, tango and Lindy Hop. A local radio presenter danced a waltz after only 4 hours of tuition, ‘Strictly Come Dancing’ style, and a girl band who had appeared on ‘The X Factor’ impressed with some fabulous singing. A previous ‘Strictly’ contestant and professional dancer hosted the evening. And I had the pleasure to meet every one of these talented people.

At the dance festival a tango dancing mate of mine was taking pictures of the acts. He suggested Saturday at the Crypt in London. How could I refuse? So, 7pm the next night and I was off to pick up a few friends, and by 9 I was driving through Piccadily Circus alternating between slight panic at the crowds, traffic, and my lack of street knowledge to delight at taking in the bright lights of London: The Ritz, Soho, Theatreland, Eros… My adrenalin was pumping. I was to dance tango in London for the first time in a year. And I did dance. I liked the Crypt. How could a tango venue under a church not be appealing? It even had tables. I like tables. I’m not that keen on sitting around the walls on a single row of chairs, unless the men are sitting opposite. It’s unsociable, involves people walking all over the dance floor, and you cannot engage the eyes of people you want to dance with if they are sitting down the other end of your row. And I was lucky on Saturday. I was invited by some lovely partners: some I knew, and some were new (Italian, Swiss, and English). No Argentines, but there will be plenty of them soon after all. I enjoyed myself. The best part though came after the tango. Shevki took us to Brick Lane for salt beef baigels at Baigel Bake. Now this was my kind of place: middle of the night, bright lights, streets packed with people, delicious food, hot strong coffee to keep me awake for the drive home, and laughter shared with friends. I loved the fact that we were doing something under the cover of darkness. Not all of England closes by 1am. I felt I could have ’sort of’ been in Buenos Aires. Certainly getting home at 4.30am after dropping everyone off was not completely alien to me. In fact it made me feel at home.

On Sunday afternoon I drank ‘mate’ with my Argentine tango teacher and his friends, told them of my adventures, and heard all their news. I felt loved, and I loved back. By 7pm I was collecting another dancing ‘chico’ and was back on the M3, this time heading for The Bedford in Balham. This is a great Milonga, sadly on only every other week… Carlos will not get to see it on this trip. It reminded me a little of Buenos Aires. The music was great: well, Leo played ‘Café Dominguez’ which is Carlos’ favourite tango, and so he won my heart. I was also able to dance the Chacarera which I adore. I was delighted to meet a lovely girl who I had met online through this blog. She said I looked completely different to my photos. I think I probably looked exhausted!  I was certainly too tired to dance my best tango and my body let me know it. However I did conduct a bit of a tango experiment and I was very happy with the results. I danced quite a bit with a friend of mine. He is an English dancer and I enjoy his tango. It’s always fun, but I have struggled to feel a real connection, since I’ve been back and know what a connection feels like. I told him that I was going to adjust my embrace and see what happened. I’m not sure what I did, but I sort of snuggled into him and focused on not allowing him open me out too much and the result was amazing. Suddenly it no longer mattered what he was doing with his legs. It felt like a fire burned in my chest, nothing hot or sensual I assure you, more warm and cosy… ah that duvet feeling I get with my Argentine gentlemen on a Thursday afternoon. I stepped back, ‘Can you feel that?’ I said. He did feel it. He told me he had discovered something new. He liked the feeling. ‘Now that is what a woman loves, or this woman anyway.’ I said. We drove home happy.

Tonight I talked to Carlos. Only four more sleeps until I see him, and maybe there won’t be much sleeping that night. I am just praying that the winds that are battering England die down, and the plane can land safely. I cannot bear another minute than I have to without him at my side. Safe journey my love, ‘Hasta el viernes, hasta pronto.’

Get all the links to London Tango Clubs at Takes22Tango

Share

Tags: ,

Celebrating England

February 29, 2008 in Diary of a Tango Dancer in Buenos Aires | 8 comments

Anne-Hathaways-side-view It’s been a week now and I am settling: getting used to sleeping with a hot water bottle; driving like a demon; eating blueberries from Tesco every morning for breakfast. I’ve managed to work out how to talk to Carlos by buying Skype credit and calling the landline, so I get my daily injections of Argentine love and castellano. My family are all speaking little spanish phrases to me. They are getting ready to meet  my Argentine: my mum can manage a great, ‘Encantada!’ and my dad seems fascinated by ‘Tengo…’ (I have). I haven’t seen my parents yet, but one of my sisters arrives on the plane from Manchester tonight. I can’t believe I am going to see her. It feels like an impossibility. But no, it is not. It’s reality. And a very happy one.

This week I have had to drive out into the English countryside to meet with accountants. Wow, ‘el campo’ here is beautiful: rolling hills; ancient trees; green, green, GREEN. The market towns and villages are packed with history: stone and thatched houses; cathedrals; winding streets with names like, ‘The Hundred’… everything is so English and now these special parts of my country stand out to me. I appreciate things here as if I have never seen them before. I notice that the pavements are clean, that people are generally fatter,  that we have incredibly beautiful new 20 pound notes… yesterday in Boots I found myself saying to the cashier, ‘How long have we had these?’ She looked at me as if I was slightly crazy but kindly answered, ‘Oh quite a while.’ I felt I could have been in Doctor Who, time travelling to London and having to ask what date it is. But all these little things make me smile. Exploring is my cup of tea. And I do feel like an explorer in my own land.

And talking of time, it is flying. One week gone and I am realising that there are many people I am not going to get to see, many things I am not going to be able to do. Otherwise I am going to wilt under my own pressure.

Everyone says I am too thin, and this I know. I have not an ounce of fat to keep out the cold. But I am trying my best to eat all the meals that kind people are buying me. That part is a joy: I’ve eaten a delicious Nepalese meal  in Southampton, a heavenly Thai lunch in London and I’m enjoying the spices that I don’t often come across in Argentina.  This is a  gift of being in England.

People are asking me about how I am finding the tango. Well, I am going to be careful about how I deal with that question. Firstly so far I’ve only been to one Milonga. I will go again on Sunday. And secondly, what I have to remember is that English Argentine tango IS going to be different from Argentine Argentine tango. I first learned to dance here in Southampton, and I am grateful that I learned here. If it hadn’t been for my teachers in England and the Milongas they hosted, well, I would never have gone to Argentina. So I will celebrate that fact. Of course in general the men are not Argentine: they don’t sing tangos in your ear, or exclaim the names of their favourite orchestras as a tanda starts, or respond to the music as if it is their lover; they don’t give you the embrace that says, ‘I will take care of you and treat you like the precious jewel that you are… close your eyes and forget everything except that you are in my arms’; they don’t cabaceo you from far across the room and walk towards you as if you are the only woman on the planet.

I think men here tend to ‘do more steps’, that they have learned in classes. It is normally to perhaps ’show what you know’ or try out ‘moves’ on the dance floor. This is possible too because there is a bit more space to dance… although I did get bumped a few times, so maybe there is less space than some men think. In general I did not feel I could close my eyes. I needed to be aware of who was dancing around me, and because the guys ‘do more moves’, I was shifting in and out of open embrace a lot, and it’s not easy to just relax and dream in that situation. I had to be absolutely solid in my axis and occasionally compensate a bit for a less than, shall we say, ‘thoughtful’  lead. But I realised that I can dance with pretty much any lead, and whatever the ‘moves’, my body is relaxed enough to feel them and follow. I can honestly say it was a bit of fun. Now of course, I am lucky because I know I don’t have to stay here forever. I am going back to the Argentine embrace. So it is easy for me to celebrate the different, and appreciate it for a while. I hope to dance with all my English friends while I am here, and all I wish is that my tango gives them something beautiful. I just hope that they find it a pleasure to dance with me. It isn’t just about what they give, it’s about what I give back. And I will try to give them the Argentina that is now a part of my soul.

I also know that I will have Carlos here in two weeks time and that we will dance together at the Milongas. I will love to see what he makes of it all. I think perhaps the hardest thing for him may be the music. It is so important to him: the Argentines all have their favourite tandas, orchestras, tangos… and I am not sure how familiar the music will be. We seem to play a lot of pop and other tracks. BUT Carlos is an incredibly gracious man. He has already said to me that he is so looking forward to experiencing our tango, because it will be different, and therefore enjoyable. He will not moan, or compare unfavourably. He will learn why I have found some of the tango etiquettes in Argentina so hard to come to terms with. He will see my tango roots, and he will understand who I am, where my tango soul was born. And I will be proud to show him.

Share

Tags:

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.

Share

Tags: ,

no prescription viagra
Blog Widget by LinkWithin