(Buenos Aires, March 2009)

I’ve been here over three months now.  Almost four.

My first months here consisted of just getting comfortable, getting reacquainted with the tango here, figuring out where to live, and just being excited in general.

Now that it’s worn off, and in winter no less, I find myself sitting here, half-bored, half-reflecting.

I’m just now able to start processing all of my time spent in Buenos Aires.  I just now feel like I really live here in Italy.  I just now am reaching a point where it’s time to do some serious self-reflecting and understand not only my heart’s desires but also some of my own patterns.  It’s an interesting time right now.  It sounds so sad, doesn’t it?  It’s really not.  It’s just time for me to make some inside adjustments, ponerme las pilas and build my life, now that I’ve settled in here.  Not easy, but very worthwhile.

I’ve been rather nostalgic for Buenos Aires lately.  But, I’m also settling into the groove of Perugia and enjoying my neighborhood.  Once the winter passes I’ll be able to get out more.  Most of the time I’m working inside, huddled by the heater.

I can finally listen to Fresedo again without sobbing, thanks to a wonderful book I read in Italian recently, called ARGENTINA (by Renata Mambelli) about Italian immigrants in Buenos Aires in the 1930s-40s, particularly one woman who goes in search of two sons who left her behind in Italy ten years prior.

It’s situated mostly in the barrios of San Telmo and La Boca (and later, way down south in Ushuaia), and imagining the streets I know so well being walked upon by new immigrants who would make Buenos Aires what it is today, made me appreciate my beloved city in a new way.  I found that I enjoyed listening to Fresedo while reading the book – perfect mood music.

I don’t know if there is an English translation available of the book, but if there is, I recommend that you read it.  It was refreshing not to have to read yet another “my boyfriend dumped me so I suddenly decided to learn tango and run away to Buenos Aires and never leave Palermo Hollywood” novel.  This book doesn’t even mention tango – but it sure made me feel differently about tango and the stories behind the songs.

To be honest, at first I was really unsure of how I felt about coming back here, to Italy.  On the flight over, I had the sensation of going back to an ex-boyfriend.  Would he take me back?  Would he still love me?  Would the relationship pick up where it left off?  Would we have to hash through some issues before moving on?

My year has been crazy.  My last few months in Buenos Aires were hysterical and intense, for reasons I may never express here on this blog.  Pulling myself out of there was both liberating and traumatic.  I arrived in Seattle naked, unsure of who I was anymore.  When I obtained my Italian passport soon after (finally!), I knew I was supposed to be excited, and I was, just not as excited as I would have been a few years prior.  I spent the next six months clawing my way out of a well of sadness and confusion, and with the help of my dear friends and family in Seattle, especially the tango community, I got out and became Tina again.  What I must have looked like to everybody when I returned to Seattle, I can only imagine.

Just as I got comfortable in my Seattle surroundings, October 5 arrived.  The day I was to leave for Italy.  I took a deep breath and got on the plane.  I spent the flight reading a friend’s manuscript (an honor if I say so myself).  I sat in Frankfurt airport, waiting for my flight to Rome, feeling nervous for my reunion with this ancient land.  I hoped so much that it would embrace me again.  I didn’t know what to expect.

I landed.  Rome took me to her bosom and squeezed me really hard.  It was like we had never said goodbye in the first place.  Rome is like a best friend – we can go years without seeing each other but once we’re together, you’d think we’d never spent a day apart.  I got to Perugia a day later, and Perugia caressed my cheeks softly and welcomed me home.  It took a couple of weeks to get relaxed and decide whether I was glad to be back or not.  I am glad.  With every drop of green, peppery olive oil that hits my tongue and tickles my throat, I am gladder and gladder.

I still feel so much nostalgia for Buenos Aires, but I know if I were to go back right now, it would be a bad idea.  I’d never leave.  It’s an intense relationship.  Buenos Aires is capable of striking me to the ground, only to pick me up and hold me and kiss away my tears and whisper sweet nothings to me, and I believe every word, every time.  Buenos Aires is truly the most magnificent city in the world, but I can’t go back unless I go with someone else.  I have realized this much lately.

Meanwhile, with Perugia I have found a very healthy companionship.  A sweetness that stays sweet.  The air is fresh and light, and I myself am becoming more fresh and light with every breath.  The food is clean.  The rest of my Buenos Aires weight simply fell off when I arrived.  I’m healthy.  My skin is aglow.  I think it was a good idea to come here.

I’m sitting in a cozy café in Seattle, drinking my caffè latte, working and enjoying the whir of the espresso machine in the background.  On my left is a big window looking out to the sidewalk.  I see people walking to work, the bus, the market.  I’m contemplating moving over to that big comfy couch over there and snuggling up with my laptop to finish this translation.  It took the barista 7 minutes to make my caffè latte, which is normal since it’s not “rush hour”.  It’s 10:30 am, and there aren’t many people in the café.  Yesterday it took 10 minutes.  People order their drinks and then settle down with their computers.  It’s a relaxed atmosphere. The barista takes her time and we have time.  Sometimes people go up to the counter and chat with the barista.  It’s always fun to eavesdrop.

In Italy, I am walking through the historic center on my way to work or a class, or perhaps to meet someone.  I realize that the coffee I made at home just didn’t do the trick, and it would be nice to have just a teeny bit more caffeine.  I have 5 minutes before I have to be where I’m going.  I duck into a bar (where you get coffee), go to the cash register, tell the cashier I want “un caffè” (which is what you say when you want a shot of espresso), and pay.  I bring my receipt to the barista, who presents me with a little cup with my dear espresso in less time than it takes me to say “caffè”.  I down my caffè standing up (to sit down, I’d have to pay extra) and continue to my destination.  I haven’t even spent 5 minutes in the bar.

In Argentina, I enter the cafe on the corner and pick a table near the window.  Eventually the mozo, waiter, approaches me and I ask for “un cortado” – a cortado is kind of like a caffè macchiato.  He soon returns with a full tray, and one at a time, he sets my cortado, a small glass of sparkling water, a little plate of cookies and the sugar on the table.  I say “Gracias” like I always do, the waiter says “No, a vos” and I take my first sip, slouch onto the table like everyone else in the café, and look out the window.  I could spend 3 or 4 hours in here and never feel pressured to leave or spend more money than I have.  I eventually decide it’s time to go, and catch the waiter’s eye.  Once we lock eyes, we nod at each other and he comes to the table (just like in a milonga).  I ask for la cuenta, the check, and pay him, batting my eyelashes in the hope that he’ll give me some coins with my change so I can take the bus.

What’s the café culture like where you live?

*This post was written for AffordableCallingCards.net, the expat community site. You can click here to read more posts about expat life written by myself and other bloggers.

MissExpatria has recently posted some beautiful pictures of Rome at night and some equally beautiful pictures of Paris at night, and of course I’m inspired to post some pictures of Buenos Aires at night.

Mine don’t hold a candle to hers, but they bring back some lovely memories.  Maybe tomorrow I can get out some of my Italian nighttime photos!  In the meantime, I’m sure some of you will recognize two open air milongas in this set.

The most common thing I hear these days is, “Maybe you should go back to Buenos Aires instead of Italy.  It sounds like that’s where you really want to be.  I can tell it hurts you not to be there. You miss it.”  Yyyyyeah.  I do.  A lot.  It’s my home and my true love.  I miss my Buenos Aires family and many other things there.  I’m not depressed anymore or culture shocked, though.  I’m happy.  But there is a dull ache in my heart that lingers… and every day something makes me feel like I am there.  When I realize I’m not, I shed a small tear.  I really, really love that city so much, with all of my heart.  I don’t think I knew what love was until I fell for Buenos Aires.  This is hard core love.  It’s amazing.  My heart is dripping with it.

That’s not to say I don’t love Italy. Oh man how I love it.  Italy is so important to me.  It’s my country, my soul’s birthplace, and my favorite place in the world to eat.  It’s… at the root of who I am.   Gosh, I really am a tanguera between two lands!  But man, oh man this love I feel for Argentina is just so consuming.

So Tina, you say, why go on like this when you can just go back to Argentina?

The answer, for me, is not a simple one.  I’m not sure I even have the answer.  All I know is that I don’t like being clandestine.  Migraciones recently changed a lot of rules and even threw out a whole visa program.  There is nothing for me in terms of staying legally – and I don’t plan on getting a study visa, because I like – actually, LOVE – my career and don’t want to go back to school again.  Considering my own situation, the only way for me to live in Argentina permanently, and legally, is to get married to an Argentine or give birth to one.  While it would bring me great joy to share my life with someone and give birth to a child, I do not want to run around trying to find a husband in my first 90 days there.

The only option is to hop the border every 90 days, which is basically what I did before.  Staying and “extending” your tourist visa now costs 300 pesos – yikes!   And with the way the immigration laws are changing down there, I’m not sure how long it will be possible to do that.  I know a lot of people do hop the border and have no problem with it, but not all of them like it – some of them are battling with the bureaucrats, trying to get their residency, etc., and… well, Buenos Aires is their home.   I would hate to see this law change on them.

I have never really liked doing it, the whole border-hopping thing.  I’m in my early thirties and want to think seriously about putting roots down, in the sense of really living in a place and having an identity and a bank account.   Paying taxes.   Really being a resident.   Making myself available for local opportunities and maybe even long-term love.  I’m ready to set up shop in one place and not have to leave.  Oh, how I would love to be able to do that in Argentina!

I CAN do that in Italy.  I have my Italian citizenship now.  I’m Italian, and it feels good to say it.  Just about as good as finding the perfect pair of Comme il Fauts that fit me like a glove.  This Italian passport is a jewel to me, a treasure.  I look at it in my hand and smile.  I worked hard for it.  You’re probably sick of me saying it, but I’ll say it: I have the legal right to live in the most beautiful place on earth with the best food on earth.  It’s pretty cool.

I’ve also already said this before, but since my work mostly comes from Italy, and sometimes the rest of Europe, I’m excited at the prospect of being in the same time zone as my clients.  And maybe doing the same work but through a different medium than just my laptop.  Who knows.  Europe is my oyster.

I have this fantasy of getting myself set up in Italy, and then coming to Argentina for three months out of the year.  Or maybe three months in one place, then the other, and so forth… Either way, that would bring me so much joy.  To be able to love and laugh in both of my favorite countries. I’d have to work hard, like really hard, to get the money together do it, but it would be worth it.  Anything to be able to guarantee that I’ll still get to at least sometimes play with Isabella and Tobias, taste wine with Joli and Pelado, laugh with Ruben and Cherie on their terrace, walk those streets that whisper so many names and stories, embrace those milongueros who make me feel so protected I wouldn’t notice a hurricane passing through.

March and April were a sort of death for me.  The end of an era.  Now it’s time for my rebirth.  My Renaissance.  Hence, the image in this post of the Birth of Venus, by Botticelli.  My Venus, dripping heart and all, is ready to come back out of her shell.

When I listen to the song below, I feel like I’m in my summery apartment in the barrio of La Paternal.

I miss it.  Even with the gasista problems.

I miss the warm breeze blowing through the jacaranda tree across the street.

(**The song is actually Brazilian if you couldn’t already tell… Banda Eva (Saulo Fernandez) and Daniela Mercury.  I listened to Banda Eva quite a bit starting in November of ‘08)

I’ve traveled quite a bit and I’ve lived in a few countries.  Music always ties me to these countries.  It ties me to all life experiences.  A song can bring back a taste or a smell or something I’ve seen.

I can listen to Italian music and think of green hills with cypresses, train rides, people, food and sometimes streets with Renaissance or medieval architecture.  I can listen to music that was important during my time in Switzerland and remember sitting on a train, looking at Lake Zurich.

When it comes to Buenos Aires, when I hear its music (in this case, Tango), I feel like I’m walking down the street in one of its barrios.  Always the streets.  Always walking.

When I listen to D’Agostino with Vargas singing, I’m in Once in the fall or winter, walking down my street, Adolfo Alsina, or maybe standing on the balcony looking down at the street and wanting to walk on it (I did this when it was too cold to go outside).

When I listen to Rodriguez (w/Moreno), I’m turning from Juan B. Justo on to Sanchez, the street I lived on in La Paternal, in the heat of the summer.

There is a particular Di Sarli interpretation of the tango Nobleza de Arrabal, and for some reason whenever I hear that, I’m walking with Joli in the wintertime, from her old place in Villa Urquiza to Villa Pueyrredon to pick up her stepson from jardin.  In some parts of the tango I can actually visualize and feel specific streets.  I can even tell you what shoes I’m wearing.

It remains constant.  I always think of streets, particular characteristics of them, what they feel like, what sorts of trees there might be, the curvy entryways of some of the buildings.  My feet touching the ground.  My weight changing and my hips shifting as I move on my left leg, then my right, then my left, then my right…

For me, Tango really is a walk.  It’s a walk in Buenos Aires.  The walk of a porteño.

(a street in La Paternal)

I’ve never felt so unsure of anything (in this case, leaving a place) in my entire life.  But, la vida es asi.

Adios Arrabal (click title to listen)

Mañanita arrabalera
sin taitas por las veredas
ni minas en el balcón.
Tus faroles apagados
y los machos retobados
en tu viejo callejón.
Yo te canto envenenao
engrupido y amargao
hoy me separo de vos.
Adiós arrabal porteño
yo fui tu esclavo y tu dueño
y te doy mi último adiós.

(recitado)
El baile “Rodríguez Peña”
el Mocho y el Cachafaz
de la milonga porteña
que nunca más volverá,
carnavales de mi vida
broncas tiros y al final
los spiantes de las minas
en aquel viejo arrabal.

Madrecita, yo fui un reo
y en tus brazos hoy me veo
lleno de felicidad.
Dime mi buena viejita
dónde está mi noviecita
que no la puedo olvidar.
Hoy ya vuelvo arrepentido
hecho más hombre y más bueno
a la vida del hogar.
Perdóname, que tu hijo
tiene un pensamiento fijo
y nadie lo hará cambiar.