Yesterday I had the pleasure of attending the afternoon milonga at Club Español, with the lovely Miss Tango. What a gorgeous place. All sparkly and shiny and elegant. I’ve only been to milongas in the company of Mi Amor, so it was nice to go with a girl and be available to dance with other men. See, if you go with your sweetheart to a milonga here, and sit with him, and are obviously with him, the men won’t invite you to dance, out of respect… it’s one of the codes here. So it was girls day out yesterday, and what fun we had. We shared some champagne and had some good conversation and people-watching. I enjoyed the dancing too - the guys were just nice people who like dancing Tango, nothing more, nothing less.

This was also my first opportunity to utilize the cabeceo here in Buenos Aires, which was fun. I discreetly scanned the room, and an older man in a red shirt made eye contact with me. Once eye contact was established, he sort of nodded his head in the direction of the dance floor (to invite me to dance). I, the Princess of Perugia, nodded (in what I hope was an elegant and graceful way) as though to say, “Why yes, I’d love to.” I didn’t want to look desperate so I made sure I had channeled my inner Sophia Loren for this occasion. He rose and walked toward me. When he was close enough, I stood up and waited for him. (Sophia Loren would never get up and walk towards the man. Then again, I don’t think Sophia Loren dances Tango, but that’s alright. I still channeled her.) I enjoyed that.

I enjoyed that when I wasn’t in the mood to dance, all I had to do was not look around or look men in the eye. Men here do not approach the woman at the table to ask her to dance - unless she’s a good friend who won’t turn them down. The cabeceo is wonderful because it empowers the woman, in my opinion, to be more selective of who she dances with, and it prevents the man from experiencing rejection, which can be embarrassing.

One man did come up to me and asked me to dance. Right in my face. I smiled and politely said, “No, gracias.” I wasn’t in the mood to dance, and I didn’t really want to accept an invitation like that - I hate being put on the spot unexpectedly. And, in Buenos Aires, everyone - I mean EVERYONE - is watching everything you do. I wasn’t about to violate any codes just yet, for fear of being placed in Tango Purgatory next time. He proceeded to ask other women who were not so nice - they simply ignored him. I felt kind of bad for him. (So fellows, when you come to Buenos Aires, please practice the cabeceo. You will feel much better about yourself at the end of the night.)

Another man I’d never seen appeared out of the blue, as in from behind me, and said, right in my face, “I really want to dance with you but I can’t for two more hours because I’m working. But then we can dance.” I stared blankly and bit my tongue to prevent myself from saying “Who the heck are you and where did you come from, and do I care?” I was surprised that someone would just approach me from the side and surprise me like that. Creepy. Eventually I realized he was working as a “taxi dancer” - basically, a woman had paid him to attend the milonga with her and dance with her for a few hours. Now I really didn’t want to dance with him - it would have felt just… impolite and sort of tacky.

Later on, I had accepted (via the cabeceo) an invitation to dance and was rising form my chair as the inviting man reached me - when all of a sudden, Mr. Taxi Dancer appeared FROM BEHIND ME again and said, “I can dance now.” I looked at him and said, “Well I’m sorry, I can’t. I’m about to dance with this man right here.” I was amused at how arrogant some people can be. It’s just not polite to approach a woman like that at a milonga - and it’s really not polite to act like she’s just dying to dance with you. If you want to dance with me, get my attention in a polite, respectful manner.

In any event, I had a great time, some fun tandas with nice people, and I got to know Holly a bit better! After the milonga, went to dinner with a group of friends. Guess what we ate. Yeah, steak. And fries. And salad composed of… yep, you guessed it. Lettuce, tomato and onion. This seems to be the standard fare around here. And while I’d love to see more vegetables (under “Vegetables” in the menu last night, I saw that BUTTER was one of the items), I don’t think you can find more fabulous beef anywhere else - the Argentines have it. Grass-fed and delicious.

I do have a spooky story to share about the apartment we’d picked here, and you should see it in a few days at the most.

It’s very, very different for me to be here.

In Italy, I on my own, spoke the language fluently, had my own friends, my own schedule. I was independent.

In Argentina, I don’t have any of that. It can be challenging for both me and Mi Amor. He’s from here, has has his childhood friends, family, cell phone, schedule, and of course he speaks the language. On top of that now, he has me, depending on him since I don’t know the city very well, and my Spanish is limited. I don’t have a schedule or childhood friends, and feel a little timid about just getting out there by myself. Everything I do, I do with him because the dynamic feels like I need him there in order to be able to do stuff. Which is surprising since I’ve always been a lone traveler. I’ve done Israel alone, so you think I could do Buenos Aires on my own. But it’s different, as he is a huge part of why I came here. (Tango being the other huge reason).

It’s just the way it is - he’s already been here a few months and isn’t on a tourist schedule, whereas I am, so it’s a little hard for the two of us to make our desires coincide (he wants to relax with his family and he has to arrange all kinds of things from here for his graduate schooling in Seattle while I want to see everything there is to see and take a million pictures and try on lots of tango shoes). Normally in this case I’d just go do something fun on my own and meet up with him later, but at this point in my life that’s hard. I’ve just spent the past half year adapting to life in Italy, and now all of a sudden I’m in South America. It’s hard for me to get totally motivated to get out there, because I’m trying to take in what I’ve just done.

My goal this week is to go do something by myself… the way Tina would.

“I´d like to check in my bags… I´m going to Buenos Aires.¨ It felt weird to say those words at the check-in counter, but I said them. When she handed me my boarding pass I started to cry with excitement. Fast forward past a boring plane ride…

Mi Amor meets me at the airport and takes me to a hotel in San Telmo, where we´re basing ourselves for two days while we look at a couple of apartments to rent. I am immediately taken by the heat of the city…it´s really summer…

We settle into a table in the main plaza in San Telmo (what´s it called?), to sip beer and share our peanuts with some very determined pigeons. I look around me as we walk around, marveling at the architecture that kind of reminds me of our visit to Valencia, Spain. There is a spirit of creation, art, originality in the air.

I smell a lot of things… the sun, people´s sunscreen, food, car fumes… I hear a few different languages around me, and Mi Amor is urging me to speak some Spanish with him. We walk all the way to his parent´s house in Congreso and I´m a little nervous because my Spanish level is that of a three-year-old, and probably not even that.

His mother is loving and seems very Italian…she´s making pasta by hand for our lunch. His father is gregarious and funny. His two nieces are there, both teenagers, and one of them wants to be an English professor. I stumble through our conversation, and though I am embarrassed they are patient with me and encourage me positively when I think of the right words in Spanish. This is exhausting.

We eat….and eat…. and eat. I have been given proof that the helado in Argentina is perhaps the best ice cream in the world, or at least right on par with Italy´s gelato. It´s the same Italian recipe, but the quality of the milk gives it a certain…something that makes me close my eyes with every taste.

After a two-hour nap (jetlag), we take a look at one of the apartments which is nice except for the fact that there are two beds we´d have to push together. We decide there are better apartments out there for us, though the owner is incredibly sweet.

As we walk, I notice the cartoneros, people who go through the garbage, sorting out the paper from the garbage… I believe they get a (very) small compensation for this. This started around the time of the crisis, in 2001… they come from the outskirts of Buenos Aires to do this, every evening. It makes me feel sad. I wonder how they must feel about this. Are they sad? Maybe, maybe not. It’s a way to survive…sometimes you just do what you have to do and don´t think much on it. I don´t know a lot about this city or its history and I plan on learning more before writing any more about this. Comments are naturally welcome.

At about 9:00pm, Mi Amor takes me back to the fun-filled plaza where there are people selling jewelry, playing music, drinking, walking… There is a vibrant feeling in the air, San Telmo is waking up. I´m taken aback by the spirit of this neighborhood and I don´t know why but I begin to weep. I am so happy that I am here. We have a glass of white wine in a balcony above the plaza before continuing on to eat a very carniverous dinner…

My internet connection is limited, and I must rush now…

… more to come…

Since I’ll be in Buenos Aires for over a month, I was googling around such topics as “living in Buenos Aires”, etc., to get some various perspectives on the city since I’m not going as a usual tourist. I mean of course I’ll do some touristy things, but for the most part I’m going there to dance, to be with mi amor, to get to know his family better (probably will see them every day), to meet some nice people, to learn Spanish, to get to know the culture of the city in which mi amor was born. Understanding his hometown and his culture is very, very important for our relationship (just as it was important to me that he saw “Tina in Italy” as well as “Tina in Seattle”.) It’s going to be different for me to see him in this environment - to see us in this environment. So I don’t consider myself the usual tourist.

Anyway, I was rather frustrated with my google search results (I was hoping to find informative sites, personal stories, etc…). All I could find were sensational, materialistic articles about how you too can live large in Buenos Aires. Come down to BsAs with your US dollars and live like a king - or as I see it, benefit from their economic situation without bothering to learn Spanish or even try to assimilate into the local culture. It’s okay if you’re into that sort of thing, but it really got me upset that more people don’t move to a city because they are curious about it, or because they love it, or to improve their language skills.

And this is why I choose to read blogs written by expats who are taking it day by day as they discover and re-discover the environment, the culture, the people, the language, etc., of their new home. So far I just have Tangospam (la vida con Deby) and Tango in Her Eyes on my blogroll, but I’m sure that list will grow… (UPDATE: just added a couple more!)

Maybe the next google search will be “living in Buenos Aires BLOG”.