Mi casa, mi musica

When expats move to BsAs they move

to Palermo. Even before you arrive, travelers tell you that you will spend all your time in Palermo, that it's the only place to be. Cheto (posh) bullshit, that's what I say. I live in San Telmo and, for me, it's the place to be. It used to be a run-down neighborhood, but in recent years it has been revived. True, it does have a lot of tourists, thanks to a million hostels (at least three on my block alone), but the people that live here are porteños. Great restaurants, much cheaper than Palermo, stores, local artists, a fruit and vegetable market; I feel at home in San Telmo.

I live with Cristina, a 24-year-old bass player who owns the house, an inheritance from her grandparents. No heat, no internet, the oven and washer-dryer broken, but the house has  a cool vibe with musicians coming and going and I can't complain too much with the $300/month rent. I have a monastic cell of a room, but access to the roof terrace and I'm happy in my little space.

Julia, a fellow English teacher, also lives here. A neurotic Jew (she wouldn't mind me saying) from New York City. We often huddle together over the gas stove (it's really freezing here in the winter) and discuss where to find moneda for the bus and whether our boss has a mild form of autism (he must).

The house is full of music and I have to admit, I love listening to Cristina practice with the metronome keeping pace. I can hear it now, in fact. 

Every Sunday, Cristina plays with a group of musicians at the street fair in San Telmo and they often hang out in the house afterwards to play music. Impromptu jam sessions, cigarettes, Fernet Branca, smelly musicians...you never know what you will find on a Sunday evening.

Because my thoughts are never far from food, I am thrilled to have my favorite restaurant in Buenos Aires just two doors down, El Federal. A bottle of wine and a picada (plate of cheeses, meats, olives, etc.) is really all I need to make me happy (unless we're talking two bottles). 

A wonderful little nothing of Argentina is that when you order coffee or tea, you always get a plate of cookies or two little bits of cake. A traveler's dream. Me and El Federal like to hang out together, do Spanish homework, and play a little game of "Am I going to eat the cake, or not?"

But if you want to know where I spend most of my time, it's in the old-man cafes that populate the city. Part coffee-shop, part brasserie, and completely Argentinian -- I am addicted to these places. The always have great food, are always a great option for coffee and a medialuna between classes, and always have old men sitting around and shooting the shit. Love, love, love.

It's starting to warm up a bit and it has been a cold and miserable winter. God knows why I decided to have two winters this year; that's why I am planning on having two summers. The first day of spring is this Sunday and I am off to the end of the world in two weeks (Ushuaia)!

Just two more weeks of work...

Movement

I just took a 2-hour colectivo ride to the Ezeiza airport to catch my flight to São Paulo. 1.50 pesos (50 cents). I am freezing and the bus ride started to play with my emotions (twice it doubled-back as if mocking me). I didn't want to pay the 40 pesos to take the airport shuttle bus and I had 2 hours to ponder why BsAs doesn't have a direct colectivo to the airport. Shrug.

But here is where it gets good. I love American Airlines. I know it isn't very popular to say, as if I have bought into the consumer masses and support big business, gas guzzling, slick advertisement driven consumption. But, I love 'em. Let me tell you why.

I have been rubbing pennies together for weeks; I am still living on two pairs of jeans and 5 t-shirts and honestly, I am sick of them. I have staked out the best cafes in BsAs to get a coffee and three medialunas for only 6 pesos, not because I love pastries, but because its a cheap way to eat. I am starting to loathe medialunas.

But now, right now, I am sitting in the Admirals Club, thanks to my ridiculous amount of frequent flier miles and my platinum status. I am drinking nescafe; it is warm and delicious. There are cookies. Free internet. I bet they even have showers. I never want to leave.

I've wasted so much time in airports. I kind of love them too. Something about the people coming and going, the overpriced food, the airport air, the people dressed in their best and their worst, the strange purpose of queueing and going to the bathroom.

I wonder how many hours I have actually spent in an airport in my life. What have I done with that time? One time, I got drunk off a large beer in Texas (somewhere) and set up a match.com account (look at how many things are wrong in that sentence)! I've written blog entries in Madrid's aeropuerto. I've eaten in the creepiest bar in the world - Phoenix's "Fox News Restaurant," with Bill O'Reilly on 20 screens. Conference calls. Crying. I've spent many lonely hours in Heathrow. I missed a flight in Minneapolis. I've never been so excited to be going home. I've never been so unsure of what I am doing. I've never been so excited to be going somewhere new. I've done work. Read great books, horrible novels and trashy magazines. I've slept. I've been unable to sleep. I've never wanted the plane to land. I've changed my life getting on planes.

Airports seem like limbo. And in a way, they are. You are going or coming - it's a crossing point for so many momentous moments and insignificant passageways. The thoughts of travelers are stifling; their thoughts of loss, joy, expectation, worry, longing, frustration, sadness, anger; their thoughts of who they are going to and who they are leaving behind. All of this fills up an airport and makes it a unique little pot of human emotion. I can only imagine that the poor dogs travelling in their little doggy cages are happy to be shut away from all the human chaos swirling around.

And so, I find myself in the warm womb of the Admirals Club and looking forward to a bit of travel and a new city. It's good to be moving again.

Absentee Blogism

Yeah, yeah. I know. Something about BsAs (Beez Ayz) makes time disappear and leaves you with, what I like to call, the "South American Shrug." What can you do?

No change at the supermarket, so you have to wait 20 minutes until enough customers buy enough things and they can give you your 10 pesos ($3) change. South American Shrug. I tested in level 4 at the University of Buenos Aires Foreign languages department, but put on my best porteña accent to talk my way into Literatura Argentina (level 6). "¿has leído nunca un libro en español?" "No, nunca. Pero, no problema, peudo hacerlo." South American Shrug, and I was in.

So you see, I shrug a little bit at my lack of blogging.

You have to shrug it off here, or else things will get to you, like they are starting to get to me. I am working 23 hours a week teaching English and I have 26 students, who I love and adore. I make roughly 193 US dollars per week, and spend most days rushing from one class to the next through the smog-filled streets of BsAs. One dinner can blow half a days work, a night out - an entire day. The idea, the goal, of coming here was to work in order to prolong my travel. Earning a little plata would allow me to stay a bit longer in this quasi-reality of traveler's bliss. But, alas, as I'm only earning enough to just get by, and my savings are quickly disappearing, I have decided to move on. I was open to falling in love with BsAs, open to staying longer, possibly living. But as boyfriends go, BsAs is a lot of fun, but often a son of a bitch. He'll keep you out until 8 a.m. dancing and drinking, but he'll also steal your wallet and leave you feeling like you are a little too old for his shenanigans.

I have to remind myself, the goal was never to stay, it was always to travel. So, I shrug and I move on.

The beautiful thing about a timeframe, about an end-date, is you take full advantage of your time left. I will start moving northwards in a month and a half, and so I have 6 weeks to enjoy the food, the culture and my Spanish classes!

And so, I leave with a promise...I will write more, and in fact, already have something ready for you. Please stay tuned for glimpses into BsAs...mi casa, trabajo y el castellano.

¡hasta pronto!