TangoSpam:La Vida Con Deby

Is this a milonga or Chamber of Commerce meeting?

The girl staying with me asks me why I don't go to certain milongas.  I tell her I can't be bothered.  "I go to dance."  I tell her.  "Nothing more. The tourist milongas? No thanks.  Those milongas are to conduct business."  She gives me a strange look. "Everyone there is looking to make a buck,"  I stop and smile at her, "A peso" I correct myself, "off of someone. I don't need that. You have the people trying to make money off the foreigners and then you have all the people trying to make money off of each other.  It is just too crazy.  It is more like a Chamber of Commerce meeting than a milonga."

"Well there are all the teachers." she says to me. "It is not just the teachers,"  I tell her, "It is everyone. A bunch of vividores." She doesn't know what that means. "Vividores," I explain to her "are people who live off of other people." "But teachers give lessons, that is how they make a living." she says to me.

"How many of those people who say they are teachers can actually  dance?"  I say to her. "Would you want to take lessons from them?"  She laughs, "No, not now.  Maybe when I first came here. I didn't know any better."  I continue, "Then you have the ones selling shoes, renting apartments, selling clothes, CDs, beauty treatments, and anything else you can think of."

"For me it is a disaster.  Within 10 minutes of walking in the door someone is at my side wanting to give me a commission to get at my guests.  They know foreigners stay with me." I say to her.  "Hola Deby, que preciosa sos, que divina.  Tanto tiempo." I imitate for her. "Tengo mis clases, si mandes la gente, te pago 30 pesos cada uno."  I roll my eyes, "and so it goes, no thank you. I just want to dance."

At least no one pitches me their services directly. That is for the tourists in these milongas.  One guest in my apartment told me that after a night at one of the local milongas, she was asked if she wanted taxi dancing services by 3 men, classes by several others.  She received offers for shoes, tours of the city, and spa services. 

It's like being on the subte at rush hour.  First there is the guy who is selling pens and notepads, then the guy who has his kid in his arms and a plastic bag of medicine bottles with a sad tale of how he needs money to buy medicine and feed his family.  After him comes the juggler, then the blind man, the children with the stickers.  The difference is I need to take the subte.

I remember when I first came here to dance, the tourist milongas were not so commercialized.  You had a few teachers here and there.  You actually had to approach some of the older milongueros if you wanted them to escort you to a milonga, and even then, they were hesitant.  Omar Vega would sell his CDs and maybe there would be 1 shoe vendor, and that was it.  You never felt hustled.

The other day in El Beso on Sunday, one of my friends remarked to me "Our milongas are really changing."  On Thursday when I was dancing it was pretty funny, the gentleman I was dancing with looked up and then exclaimed "Oh my God, that whole side is all foreign women!  There are so many of them."  He was really shocked.  I said to him that he seemed so surprised.  He said that he was.  So I teased him and said "They want you."  He is a really nice man.  He just shook his head.  I don't think it was that there were foreign women, it was just that the inbalance shook him. (I am sure for them too.)

I think what the locals fear is that our milongas will become tourist milongas.  Not so much that there will be foreigners at them, is that the organizers will allow it to become like a chamber of commerce meeting more than a milonga.  When we locals refer to various  milongas as tourist milongas immediately the foreigners will defend them and say "Well Argentines go there too."  So in their mind it is not at tourist milonga if Argentines are there.  The difference is in the milongas of the locals you do not find people selling themselves, selling services,apartments, or anything else.  They come to dance.  This is after all, what a milonga is for. 

Go Obama Go: Even here in Argentina we are rooting for ya!

Sometimes it is really weird being here.  I mean as an American.  I am not an Argentine.  I never will be. I live like one. But I am not.  There are times when I feel so outside my American culture.  It has been more than 3 years since I have been back to the USA.

Each day I live in Argentina I become more Porteña.  At least that is what my friends say.  Language is not a barrier. I may not have the best grammar in the world but I now understand what is said to me and around me.  I understand why things happen the way they do.  I even understand why Sandra's friend ate all the strawberries on her birthday cake so I wouldn't have any. 

There are days when I am around Americans where I find it difficult after living here for so long. I don't understand why they can't accept sinks without garbage disposals, hot water heaters that go off, sidewalks that are broken, and just general chaos for life.  Everything always has to be organized the way they want it organized or it is wrong. Life is difficult if it isn't the American way of life.

Then every once in awhile something happens to make you proud to be an American.  I never thought in my lifetime I would see my country elect a black man president of the United States. Today, in Argentina, I along with other Americans and a few Argentines in the Casa Sugar in Palermo watched on a big screen this man being sworn in as the 44th president of the United States of America.  He used Lincoln's bible.  What would Lincoln say?  He was the man who started it all.

I could not believe all the people that came to Washington.  CNN said that there were 1 million people there.  They scanned the crowd.  I turned to Samy.  "God, I'm glad I'm not there.  Can you imagine if you had to go to the bathroom.  What would you do?"  Samy rolls his eyes.  I guess only I think of things like that.  I don't like big crowds of people where I am smooshed in the middle of them. Think of all the traffic leaving.  I prefer to be here watching on a big screen via computer.

First we watched the old guys come in Bush, Cheney, them... the crowd in Sugar booed. As I watched, my friend Alicia grabbed my hand, "Ven," she said to me, and the next thing I knew I was being interviewed by RadiodelPlata. La Nacion Digital interviewed me, and Mike.  I guess because we are running for positions in Democrats Abroad, or maybe because we speak Spanish.

I go back to hear Aretha Franklin sing "My Country Tis of Thee."  She sounds amazing, although that hat is a little wierd that she wore. It looked a little like the spaceship Enterprise.  I remember hearing Aretha in the Motown Review in Kennedy Square in Detroit.  The Motown Artists would entertain for free.  That seemed like a 100 years ago. Maybe in the early 70s.  Civil rights were just starting to happening.  Here is Aretha singing at the Inauguration of Barack Obama. 

Sergio orders all this bar food.  I have seen not food like this since I left the US.  I am not sure whether to be amazed or grossed out.  I mean by bar food standards the food is well prepared and lots of it.  I just don't eat that way.  Sergio offers me a carrot.  I accept.  I cannot bring myself to eat into the mound of nachos piled in front of him and Samy.

As we wait more and more of the Argentine press come into Sugar.  We are surrounded by television camera men, radio guys, and newspaper reporters.  Some of the people trying to watch the big screens get annoyed. The cameramen are blocking the views to the big screens.  A woman runs up to a camera man and starts giving him hell as only us North American women can (You go girl!).  Of course, he ignored her, as only an Argentine man will.  So they took their little digital cameras and stood in front of him.  It didn't faze him at all.

Then the moment came where Barack Obama was sworn in as the 44th president of the United States. Amazing.  I still cannot believe it.  I stood in Buenos Aires Argentina and watched on a big screen television.  His voice full of hope, youth, and new beginnings.  He makes me want to believe that things will be OK, that there is hope.

All of a sudden I am beseiged by reporters.  Everyone wants my opinion, Mike's opinion, Marta's opinion. Matthew does not want to be on TV. We are the Progressive Ticket for Democrats Abroad Argentina, and we all speak Spanish.  "I love being on TV " I tell Samy.  He teases me "Yeah, the hair flip and the cleavage.."  "Whattaya want,"  I say to him, "I have been living here almost 5 years."

The reporters ask me "What do I think about Obama being elected?"  "Am I happier to see Bush go than I am to see Obama elected?"  "What is more important, ending the war or the economy?" Then the reporter from TN sees me he asks one of the others "La rubia habla?"  He is really cute so I go over to him "Si, yo hablo"  he breaks into a big grin.  "Te gusta las rubias?"  I ask him.  "Si" he tells me, "Pero, tengo mala suerte." (I have bad luck) I smile at "Yo tambien con los hombres en este pais." As you can imagine this starts a very lively conversation.

Within minutes I am interviewed by almost every television station and they all leave with my Facebook Profile name and my blog address.  I tell Samy "I wonder how many of them are going to run home and change their Facebook relationship status to "Single". I leave Sugar to go home and walk Maximiliana. 

When I enter my building I see my neighbor.  She breaks into a grin. "Te veo en la tele." she says to me. She gives me a hug. "Mi vecina famosa."  We get into the elevator.  "Me alegre para tu pais." she says to me.

Democrats Abroad Argentina Redux...

Ahh yes..here we are again.  When we last talked about Democrats Abroad Argentina it was a couple of months ago when the blue bloods of Recoleta decided they wanted to throw out the president and founder of the local chapter of Democrats Abroad Argentina for egregious acts they did not want to list, but insisted caused severe psychological damage.  The whole thing was a circus.  They could have waited 2 months until general elections and voted the Mike out.  But for some reason they wanted to publicly embarrass him.  In the end, they all had to resign, including Mike, or have the chapter decertified.

I have been a community activist for most of my life.  I have been around politics. I have been a life long Democrat.  I am always willing to look at the candidate, but somehow I have always voted Democrat.  While I feel more connected to Argentine politics, I am still an American.  I vote in US federal elections.  I vote for the office of president and US senator.  As a legal resident of Argentina I no longer have state residency in the US.  Therefore I use my last legal voting address. I am able to vote for the US senators of California.

The president of the United States is a very important position.  We see how the United States can affect the world.  When I lived in the US people did not exercise their right to vote. It would be so easy to not vote when you move to a foreign country. Democrats Abroad make it easier for Democrats who do not live in the US to get the information to vote.

When I moved here, there was no local chapter.  It never occured to me to start one.  I just did not think about it.  I was involved in so many other things.  Mike Skowronek put in the effort and the time to start the chapter.  I don't think anyone can deny the amount of work that he did. It was mind blowing.

Now in the second year, there is a group of us that want to work with Mike.  The heaviest concentration of members is here in Buenos Aires. There are many ex-pats who live in Mendoza, Rosario, Cordoba.  We want to reach out to those people. What about the ex-pats in Chabut, Corrientes, Jujuy, and maybe Formosa?  For some reason the rest of the board never felt it important.  They figured Recoleta and maybe Palermo was enough.  We don't feel that way.  In the US, democrats come in all shapes, sizes and colors, here they live all over Argentina, not just in Recoleta and maybe Palermo.

We have lots of things we would like to accomplish. More than just a resume item for politics.  All of us are full time residents of Argentina who work here.  We have a vested interest in both countries.  We want to look forward.  We call ourselves the Progressive Ticket.  We gave ourselves that name because we feel that we are different more progressive.  Who are we? 

For chairman, Mike Skowronek, the founder of Democrats Abroad Argentina. Vice Chair, Me Deby, you know who I am, Secretary Marta Motta.  Marta is a native born Argentinian who came back home to live after 16 years in the US. She has an incredible background in the US as an educator, community organizor, and grassroots campaigner, Treasuer; Frank Alemeida, Frank has lived in Argentina for 10 years.  He is the owner of the successful commercial bakery Sugar and Spice. He is also involved with Fundación Leer, which is a local license of Reading is Fundamental from the United States.  Our youngest rabble rouser is Mattew Johnson running for Legal Counsel.

All my organizing has been grassroots.  Where I invited my neighbors and friends.  I worked hard for the candidates I campaigned for as has Marta Motta.  All of us on the ticket are used to working hard. Neither of us is the kind of campaigner to produce $400,000 campaign dinners for presidents.  We just never had that kind of luxury, nor I guess those kind of friends, as some of the others that are running for positions are boasting about.

We think that every Democrat in Argentina whether they live in Buenos Aires or Neuquen has something to contribute.  We don't think it is fair to create a structure that makes it difficult for those not in the Capital to participate.  It is unfortunate, but that is how the politics have been made to play out not only here in Argentina, but in our own Democrats Abroad.  The Progressive Ticket would like to change that if we are elected.

We want to invite everyone to come to the Inaguaration Party for Obama at Casa Sugar, Costa Rica 4619 in Palermo.  All of us on the Progressive Ticket will be there to answer questions.  If you are members of Democrats Abroad you may vote at the Inaguaration.  If you are not a member and you are outside the US you should join at Democrats Abroad .  See you Jan 20 at Sugar at 2:00 PM!

Hello World: Welcome home Maximiliana

If you read my blog, know me, or have been to my apartment, then you knew Roxie.  Even now 4 months later it is difficult for me to write about her.  She was my dog daughter.  I still have her picture on my cell phone.  Talking about her brings tears to my eyes.

For the first two months after she died I could not even touch another dog.  I didn't want to play with them, pet them, or even look at them.  The pain was too great.  I never understood why some parents left their kids rooms intact for years. After Roxie, I understood. It took me a month to give away her toys, food, and other doggie stuff.

Then about a month ago something happened.  I felt like there was a dog out there looking for me. It was the strangest feeling.  The same feeling I had just before I got Roxie.  (Before Roxie was Sophie.) My friend Amy who had also lost a dog was also thinking of getting a dog.  We decided we wanted rescue pups.  We started looking at the flyers on vets windows, reading the websites.

I wanted a boy dog.  I always had girl dogs.  I decided maybe with a boy dog I might be able to understand the men in this country.  You know dog to dog. (chiste - joke) But really, I was thinking maybe a boy dog.  And smaller.  Not a pit bull.  I was ready for something different.  I looked all through December.  Nothing.  I told Roxie's vet, Juan the dogwalker, the place where I used to buy her dog food.  Nothing.  I emailed and emailed. Nothing, or people took forever.  Or the dogs had been adopted.

Then on Monday around 8:30 or so pm Juan the dogwalker called me.  He wanted to know where I was. My hip had not been feeling so good, so I decided not to go dancing. I told him I was home. I asked him why.  He mumbled something and said goodbye. 

At 9:00 pm my doorbell rang.  It was Juan. He told me to come downstairs.  I asked him why.  Juan is sort of this macho guy.  He looks like a gang banger rapper type, but he is really very sweet.  He cried when Roxie died.  OK, so, I went downstairs.  No questions asked.  He would not of answered anyway.

When I got there he was half inside a car. When he got out there was a puppy on the seat. "This is for you." he said.  I started to cry. The stupid dog barked at me.  A Kodak moment and it barks at me! I couldn't believe it.  Juan assures me, "She's scared, she was abandoned. She needs to be loved. That's all." 

I take a step closer and it looks at me. She barks at me again. That´s it. "You stupid dog." I tell it. "Don't you understand you are going to be the most spoiled dog in Buenos Aires?  You are going to speak 2 languages?  Have the best dogwalker?  Dog cookies from the US?  The most toys?" With that she jumped out of the car into my arms.

Juan tells me that he and his brother were walking and found her a week ago under a bridge abandoned.  They don't know how long she had been there.  She was filthy.  They bathed her and tried to see if they could find her owner. (They were in Moron where his brother lives.) Juan told his brother, "This dog is for Deby."  Juan tells me that they call the dog Brenda.  I tell him "That is a stupid name for a dog. Her name is Maximiliana."  I named her after a friend of mine who passed away in December.  Maxine Garrett.  

Maximiliana is 8.5 kilos and about 5- 6 months old. The vet says she will be about 20 kilos.  Not that big.  I have no idea what she is and really it doesn't matter as she goes after my socks, the clothes pins in my jar on the balcony, and demands to go out every 2 hours.  I think I am going to kill her...with love.

Hay por todo: Hombres y Mujeres

I have been spending more time with immigrants lately.  What a funny sound that has! It conjures up an image I am sure grandma Brown would rather I not be part of.  But that is what I am.  An immigrant.  There is a difference in mind sets between immigrants and ex-pats.

My English students asked me last week "What is the difference between an immigrant and an ex-pat?" I remember the explanation or most of the explanation my friend Frank gave. (Sugar and Spice) An immigrant is someone who moves to a country with the intention of staying.  They become a part of society.  The give back.  They don't just take.  They learn the language. (Hopefully) An ex-pat doesn't usually come for the long haul. Maybe they are transferred for work. Maybe they come for an extended period or they have an apartment and come and go.  There is no commitment to stay.  Many live in a bubble.  Keeping their same lifestyle, type of friends.  Probably I am getting this all wrong and Frank will probably kill me.  Probably not, but no more free chocolate chip cookies.

There is nothing wrong with being an ex-pat. Nothing at all.  I just find more often than not, I have nothing in common with them.  I don't go back and forth to my native country.  I don't have the money to travel all the time.  Sometimes Spanish overtakes my English.  (I find lunfardo so much more colorful to swear in)

The say after living a few years in a country you start to float and find your weight.  Now I am finding the people from the US I feel most comfortable with.  Most are married to Argentines, but not all. Most are here for the long haul with businesses. My friend Samy ( Good Morning BA ) who does everything from websites to personal vegan chef and Gina (Buenos Aires Style ) who has a marketing company. 

A group of us got together to go walk the street of Chinatown.  No plural because Chinatown is really just one street here.  On weekends some of the stores cook "street food."  Amazing stuff.  Almost dim sum.  For those of us that remember "way back when" it is great.  And the sauces!!!   Gina has a shopping list. She is on the hunt for Tree-T oil.  She has the Argentine name for it.  Yanqui Mike (Yanqui Mike ) wanted beans, and me nothing special. Oh yeah, Samy wanted bulk tofu. We don't really care about what we can't have anymore, because we know why we live here.

We meet on the corner of Juramento and Arribeños.  All of a sudden Mike disappears with this other guy.  Alicia his wife goes across the train tracks to find him.  He and Dave are sitting and having a beer.  The rest of us soon follow.  Not my idea of Chinatown on a warm Sunday afternoon.  OK.  Fine.  I end up next to Matthew.  We are drinking diet coke.

Matthew has been here a little over two years.  He is working here.  His work in the US was remote.  He realized he could work anywhere and somehow he ended up here, liked it and stayed.  He has been here over two years.  He is working on his Spanish.  We talk a lot about his observations and his experiences. They are very parallel to mine.  It is interesting because he is easily 20 years younger than me.  He doesn't dance tango.

He tells me he loves it here, but he is not going to go out with Argentine women anymore.  This leads to a discussion about relationships here.  I tell him how last Sunday I was talking to a friend of mine in the milonga.  I thought he said to me I must have a "cola de novios."  (a line of boyfriends) when he actually said something else.  I told my friend "No, los hombres aca no les gusta una Norteamericana con un caracter fuerte como yo tengo." My friend laughed and said "Darling, you are in a country that is pretty machista."  I went on to tell my friend how in my country sometimes men look at me and think I am not so smart based on looks, but when I talk they comment "Wow, how great, you are really smart, and funny."  Where here it is the opposite "They tell me how pretty I am and when I talk they get irritated by how intelligent I am." 

Matthew laughed. It's not just about the cultural differences of how women are supposed to act.  It is the difference of being foreign in another culture.  Americans act as a team.  Argentines are very individual.  We are used to making decisions together.  They don't do that here.  People go off and do things on their own and then argue about it later or not and carry a grudge or just ignore it.  We aren't used to that.  We are not used to engaging in arguments over things that just don't matter or arguing about things we think we are going to argue about before we are going to argue about them because that is normally what happens.  Or how you get told you said something you never said you said because the other person does not want to be wrong and they will argue to the death over it. Once you have been here awhile and have been in a couple of relationships you learn these things so they don't come out of left field and hit you over the head.  Histerica - Vuelteros...no thank you. 

Then there is the other side.  I see it in the milongas all the time.  The men and women who prey on the foreigners.  The gatos. Vividors.  I  did not know that it seeped over into other sides of life as well. In the milongas it is normal - almost.  Matthew tells me the foreign men get worked over with a finesse.  Most of them have no idea they have been had.  The stories are the same. 

We laugh because the men and women actually use the same stories.  The sad face.  The depressed attitude. Then finally the story comes out.  The mother who needs medicine.  The child who needs school books.  Always someone in the family that is in need.  Never anything that is a lot of money just little bits here and there.  I remember on my first trip here a "friend" playing this game with me. On his third meeting he was really sad.  He told me how his ex-mujer was driving him crazy.  They had no money to pay for the school for their daughter.  He went on and on about how smart their daughter was and what a shame it would be if she could not continue at her school. Always the sad face.  Same at the next meeting.  He did not expect me to be so smart.  I found out there was never an ex-mujer nor an hija.  Boludo. As the saying goes I was more vivo than he was.  But how many times had he used that story with foreigners to get money?

The guy actually cracked me up.  He had a terrible reputation, but he still drew the women and money.  I hung around him because he was funny to watch in action.  I remember another night when he invited me out to eat in a cheap tenedor libre. When we walked in he talked to the owner for a second.  Nothing suspicious about that.  But then about 15 minutes later the owner comes to him and tells him he is getting a ticket.  He runs outside.  He comes back.  Same long face with a paper in his hand. Same misery.  Impossible to eat with.  Now along with the phantom daughter whose school he cannot pay for he has a parking ticket for 100 pesos.  Sigh...pobrecito.  Parking tickets in 2000 were not 100 pesos.

Matthew tells me his experiences have been parallel with the women.  It is why he is done dating the Argentine women.  He now dates women from any other country but here.  His life is much more relaxed.  I tell him about the hate mail I get from Americans when I write about things like this on my blog.  He laughs.  "They don't get it."  he says to me.  "They just have the memories and then they are gone."

In one batch of emails I had an American man refer to me as a "Jaded self made bitch", among other things. In the same batch I had two Argentine men telling me that they were amazed at how well I had adapted to the culture, how fast I had learned, and one who had told me he was falling in love with me through my blog. (Really a sweet guy through his emails.)  What I find most interesting is how the greatest percentage of my hate mail comes from American men. They call me names, tell me I have no idea what it is like here.  How dare I write about Argentina and tango the way I do.

From Argentines, I receive incredible emails. I am always amazed at the warmth.  Even when I write about controversial topics like this. Most are proud that I have tried to understand and want to live in their country not as a Norteamericana, but just like them. Even when I have these frustrating problems with the men, they always tell me to have faith, that most of the men are terrible, but yes, there are some good ones out there. Alicia, Mike's wife tells me all the time, "Hay por todo."  What these Americans do not understand is the Argentine culture is more than just going to a milonga and eating asado.  But then, they are the ones who have probably paid for a few school books, or medicine for mom, and maybe a 100 peso parking ticket.

The Milonga Chronicles: Vive La France

It's Friday, again.  Funny how that happens.  Every week at the end, it becomes Friday. I want to go Lucy and Luis' milonga at Leonesa.  Marcelo calls me.  The French women who came to my New Year's Party want to come with me.  At least some of them do. Alice, Claudine and Agnes.

 Me and my bad French.  I can tell them where the metro is, order shrimp, and ask for a table.  Oh yes, and tell them my name. Hmm, maybe a little more, and that is it.  Darling to a man, but essentially useless.  At one time I spoke a little better.  It was when I was considering moving to Paris.  It was up there on the list with Mexico City and Zihauntenejo.  I moved here instead.

I reserve my table for 4. Lucy is thrilled to hear from me.  I skipped last week and went to Gricel.  Usually I go to both milongas, but I can't do that any more. No tengo la gita. (I don't have the money.) I like both milongas so it isn't easy for me to choose.

I take the subte there.  I have a front table with a front seat.  In the milongas where you sit is very important.  Who you are is where you sit.  The best tables are in front.  Central Leonesa is a big hall. Usually the couples and mixed tables are at the far end.  This is because these people are not interested in dancing with anyone but each other. They also tend to seat tourists back here as well.  I always joke and say that this is another province.  My table is close to where the milongueros sit.

I am early.  My back hurts a little bit, but I really want to dance.  The French ladies are not here yet.  I wait to see who there is to dance with.  I decide to go greet some friends.  Beto is here.  I am surprised as Amanda is working in the woman's bathroom, she cannot dance.  She used to work in Canning and now she is working here.  She sells clothes (beautiful dresses, shirts, skirts, jewelry), as well gum, mints, pantyhose, everything to keep the women looking beautiful during the milonga.  When my back really hurts, I will go to keep her company.

I see my friend Juan Carlos who told me in December he was never coming back to this milonga again. Yet here he is.  He tells me it is because he is in love with me.  Men in the milonga!  I wonder if they sell shovels in the men's bathroom.  If they don't they should.

When I get back to the table my French friends are there.  I am happy to see them.  We give each other double kisses.  I must depend on Agnes to translate.  It is unusual for me.  I am the one who usually translates between English and Spanish.  Now I must depend on her to translate between Spanish and French.

I ask them if they have seen Jules/Julio my French husband to be.  They tell me no that he has been busy looking for an apartment.  I knew this.  He wants to pay an unrealistic price, so I cannot help him.  I tell them I should probably find a man with more money.  They are horrified.  I tell them I am just kidding.  French women are as independent as American women.  Besides this whole marriage thing with Jules/Julio is a joke anyway. Well Paris for 6 months out of the year would be a nice joke.

I am trying not to dance much.  The men are killing me.  They don't mean to.  I have to ask them not to hold me so tight.  I feel like a scene from a tv show. "Amor, can I ask you a big big favor?"  I look up at them. "I have a horrible problem with my back. Could you please not hold me so tight?" Then I bat my eyelashes and smile and tell them "Muchas gracias."  With the better dancers it is not a problem. This doesn't happen. 

After awhile I run to the bathroom.  Amanda takes one look at me. "Sit down." she commands me. "Don't you have something to take?" she asks me.  I rub my lower back where it hurts. I shrug my shoulders. I have 1 pain pill with me.  I am not sure whether to take it now or later. She gives me "that" look.  I know that look.  It was that look when I did ochos wrong.  I take the pain pill.

She asks me if he has called. I nod my head. "Y?" "I sent it to voice mail both times."  She laughs."Aprendiste bien."  I tell her, "He called me "gringa jodida" behind my back, well now I am. I'm not the one suffering." She laughs again. I kiss her and go back to the milonga.

The French ladies are having a great time. I wish we could communicate better.  It turns out they love folkloric music.  That is how they met my friend Marcelo.  He was in Europe teaching Argentine folkloric dancing.  I decide that for their despidida on the 7th of Feb we should have a Peña at my apartment.  I will talk to Marcelo.  Maybe I can even get Pablo to come and sing.  I am a little crazy with parties lately.

I go to talk to Marcelo.  He and Javier are on the other side of the room.  It is a lastima that we cannot sit with them.  I hardly ever see them.  Maybe I should go to Banfield next week.  But then Jane will be here.  The return of Hurricane Jane. 

It is close to 10:30.  The milongueros are starting to come in. I smile at them and to go greet them. They all cram into one table.  They are funny that way.  Most of them do not dance until the last 90 minutes of the milonga.  They are almost like a bunch of over aged fraternity brothers.  I suppose in a way they are.

When I dance, the topic in every conversation is vacations.  It seems like no one is going to take one. Or they are not going to take more than a week.  No one has any money this year.  Most people are taking the time off but they are not going anywhere.  Much different than last year or the year before. Inflation is taking its toll.

I see Ana.  She tells me that Pia is still in Mendoza with her daughters.  I tell her that we will be celebrating Sandra's birthday in Gricel on the 16th.  I tell her that Sandra really wants her and Pia to come.  She tells me they will.  I will email Pia to remind them.  I miss Pia.  It is too bad that Sandra hardly goes out anymore.  We used to have so much fun together, the four of us.

I go back to my table.  I accept dances when I can.  Bone crunchers.  I wish the milongueros would start to dance.  I spy an empty chair next to Pepino.  So, I go over and sit down. "Novio."  I say to him. "Feliz ano."  He turns around.  "¡Que bonita sos! Que delgada¡"  I laugh and kiss his cheek.  I say hello to the others at the table.  Cacho says to me "Do you realize that you are the only woman at a table full of men?"  I tell him "Yes! And I love it!"  With that Pepino grabs my hand and takes me to dance.

I am lucky because not only do I get a wonderful tanda of valses I get a concert as well.  Pepino is a singer.  In his charming way he sings to me while we dance.  I thank him after the tanda is over. After this I can dance with all of them, Roberto, Hugo, Jorge.  I am a happy girl.  Jorge tells me I am "un lujo" to dance with. No more bone crushers.

The French women are tired. It is almost 1:30 am.  This milonga ends at 2:00. We change our shoes and walk towards Entre Rios.  We are all taking the bus in one form or another.  I wish they had not moved the stop for the #12.  Now I have to walk 3 blocks. But, 1 peso is better than paying 23 for a taxi.

I kiss my friends good bye.  I hope to see them before they take off for Cordoba.  I tell them I will let them know about their despidida.  Once again I am reminded of what someone once said to me in one of my first tango classes. When you dance tango, you have friends all over the world.

Comida o Tango

Comida o tango..food or tango.  Has it come down to this?  I think so. Yesterday I was walking home when I realized I might have a headache because I had not eaten. I thought of what was in my refrigerator, nothing exciting.  I decided to stop at the bakery on the corner and get a couple of miga sandwiches.  Something still half way cheap.  This bakery still makes migas fairly large and they are only $2.50 each.  I decided on the primaveras.  They are filled with lots of stuff.  I feel like I get more for my money.

When the chica comes to take my order she asks me where I have been.  I give her some excuse.  She looks me up and down and comments on how thin I am.  I am really not that skinny, it is just a contrast to how I was before. 8 kilos is a lot of weight to lose. "Algo mas?" she asks. I hesitate.  The tartas on the counter look really good.  I know if I don't buy them I won't eat.  "Una porcion de calabaza."  I tell her. When she tells me 12 pesos I don't even think.  It sounds so cheap.  A year ago the same thing would have cost $8.50, and 2 years ago probably around $6.50.

I am feeling decadent.  I decide I want to buy a couple of liters of diet Grapefruit soda.  I can't carry them home from the Chinese market so I will get it next door at the Kiosco.  Jose is usually only a couple of centavos mas than El Chino's.  I walk into his Kiosco. "Hola Jose, como estas?"  I greet him. He greets me back with a myriad of his problems.  I put a bottle down on the counter.  "Cuanto sale?"  I ask him.  "5.80"  he tells me.  I figure he is kidding me.  He likes to tease me.  So I ask him again. "5.80" he says to me again. "Jose, no me digas!"  I say to him.  Then he tells me everything went way up this last week.  I tell him I am sorry, but I just can't, I will have to drink water.  I remember when this soda cost $1.95 not too long ago.

I take my food upstairs and go down to the Chinese market closer to my house.  Sure enough all the sodas are now 4.50 - 6.00 pesos.  It is madness.  Christina is becoming the new Marie Antoinette only cake is way to expensive to eat.  You have to wonder if it even bothers her that people are having a difficult time affording food.  I am beginning to notice restaurants going out of business.  If you think that grocery stores cost a lot of money, try the restaurants.

I used to be able to get a chicken breast and salad for 7 pesos.  OK that was 3 years ago.  Now it costs 15 pesos at the place on the corner.  On Saturday Jen and I went out to dinner to a nothing special place. I had a brochette of chicken and a salad. We split a penguin of wine.  I paid 39 pesos.  EEKKK!! That about killed me.  That same place a year ago, the same dinner would have been almost half the price.  At least I could take one of the brochettes home with me...God I sound like Grandma Brown.

Some tourists asked me if I ever go to the Faena or Casa Cruz.  Are they out of their mind?  I live in Buenos Aires.  I am not on vacation.  I am not going back to a job.  I live on the peso. Not on 3.40 to the dollar.  The real Buenos Aires, the one they always talk about.

Dancing tango. I go in the afternoons.  I can take the subte or the colectivo. Now only 90 centavos. They say they are going to raise it to 1.10.  We can't get change now.  Talk about the fun it is going to be to find that extra 10 centavos. At least on the subte I can have a subte card. Charge it up with 20 pesos.  Yesterday the machines were down. They had no change. Everyone was in a bad mood.  Just think of what bad moods they are going to be in when the price goes up to 1.10. 

Evening milongas mean a taxi. At least in one direction sometimes in both.  I can't do it. Taxis are at least 17 pesos in one direction anywhere.  Not unless I have someone or two or three to split it with.  So I don't dance much at night unless it is on the weekend.  Friends with cars.

The entrances have stayed at 15 pesos for most of our milongas.  The tourist milongas are 18 to 25 pesos. I don't go much to them.  I don't enjoy them.  I have entrances to several milongas which helps. During the crisis milongas stayed 6 pesos. People still came to dance.  Now they stay home. A night or even a day of dancing tango costs at least 22 pesos with something to drink. If you add the taxi you are looking at maybe 50 pesos. Most of us cannot spend 50 pesos a night to go dance tango.

So there you have it, comida or tango..a hard decision when you love to dance.  When your passion is tango.  When you feel something so deeply. Should you eat, or should you dance. Today I eat, tomorrow I dance.

The Milonga Chronicles: Familia de Corazon

It's Friday.  Two milongas or one?  Lucy and Gricel?  My feet and heart say yes, my back and hip say "Are you out of your mind?"  By 3:00 pm several of my friends email or call they want to meet me at Gricel so at 6:00pm I call to let them know how many will be at my table.  I decide to rest my back and just go to Gricel.  By the time 9:00 pm rolls around almost all of them have canceled.  I want to kill them all.  I decide to still go on to Gricel.

Sandra does not want to see any more cretinos.  They don't bother me anymore.  They are more like gnats - annoying.  Like gnats, I prefer to just ignore them.  She doesn't want to see Cretino #3.  It is too unnerving for her.  I understand.  I used to feel the same way.  Now I don't care.  Maybe one day I will have a special milonga for all my cretinos.  I wonder if hell will be available that day.

I decide to take the bus.  I waited too long to take the subte.  My budget.  Inflation is killing me. This is the best diet I have ever been on.  Who can afford to eat?  Food or tango? Not an easy decision. I cannot take the taxi both directions and go to the milonga as well.  The best part about summer is that it is easier to wait for the bus when it is warmer.

The #41 takes 30 minutes to come. It takes me another 12 minutes to get a seat.  My back hurts.  Finally I am able to sit.  Soon a young man who looks like he has either been doing drugs or drinking too much sits next to me.  He puts his head down.  If he throws up on me I will kill him.  I give him my death look.  He does throw up a little, but thank god not near me.  Happiness is public transportation. At San Juan I step over him and his vomit and get off the bus.  I am sure he is thinking why does someone like me even take public transportation.

I walk down San Juan to La Rioja and turn the corner.  I walk into Gricel.  I greet my friends at the door.  Fabi asks me how many I am going to have tonight.  I tell her "Everyone has abandoned me, just let me have 2."  There is always someone I know who needs a seat so I am not concerned.  Maybe Jorge will show up.

As I walk down the aisle I greet my friends and wish them a happy new year.  There are two women at the far end of the table, I nod to them.  I put my things down and go to the bathroom to change my shoes.  The woman who sells clothes, shoes, and whatever greets me "Happy new year, chiquita, how is your back?"  I give her a hug.  I tell her I am doing better.  The bathroom is crowded.  She gives me her chair to change my shoes.

I go back to my table and sit.  I look to see who is here.  It is a little early.  Many of the regulars are not here yet.  There is no one I want to dance with.  I really don't want to dance that much, I just want to listen to the music, maybe drink some champagne.

Fabi comes to the table with another woman.  First she sits in the seat across from me.  I explain to her that this is for my table as she throws her things on the seat next to her.  Then she moves to the far seat. I tell her that seat is occupied.  I explain to her she has the table and two chairs in the middle.  She tells me she needs 3 chairs.  One for her, one for her friend, one for her things. Pelotuda. She throws her things on the chair at my table.  I tell that is OK until I need the chair.  OK, hopefully this is not a sign....

Soon this woman is joined by an older woman. They pile the chair at my table high with their things. Where did they get all this stuff?  They came to a milonga, not a garage sale.  Good thing this is summer and not winter.  They might have to rent space from the bathroom lady.

I greet my friends.  Some come to the table.  Sometimes I get up to go greet them.  I ask the moza to bring me a glass of champagne.  The older woman asks me if I know how to dance tango.  I suppose it is a fair question.  I smile at her and tell her yes I do.  She asks me where I am from.  I tell her I am from the US but I have lived in Argentina more than 4 years.

She sniffs at me.  "Is this your first time at Gricel?" she asks me.  OK, now the games begin.  Only Argentines who do not dance, play these games.  I smile at her.  "Why no," I smile back at her "I come here all the time. She of course cannot let it go. "I have never seen you here before." She says. I am thinking to myself, "That is because you never come here" but instead I say, "As a matter of fact, this is my table you are sitting at.  Any night I want to come to Gricel, I call and ask for my table. Depending on how many people I have will depend on how many seats I will have. Tonight I only have 2.  That is why you are at this table."  She doesn't believe me of course. I don't really care.  This is really stupid.

She cannot let it go. She is Argentine and I am not. She has some point she needs to make. This is not about friendly small talk. "What other milongas do you go to?" she asks me. I tell her I am mostly dancing in the afternoon these days.  I prefer it. She tells me she agrees. She asks me where I go because once again, she tells me she has never seen me in any other milonga. I decide to be a meany girl and use the names of the organizers because that is what we do. Those of us who dance all the time.  "You dance where?"  she says confused?  "I am sorry,"  I say to her, "those are the names of the organizers." Then I tell her the places.  She nods. I tell her that I have been dancing in the milongas here since 2000. "How can you?" she asks, "You are not from here."  I ignore her. It is not worth discussing.  I get up to go greet Juan Carlos and Julio.

Gricel is filling up.  I see Norberto or whatever his name is.  He is a beautiful dancer. I wish he would keep his hair the same color.  It is so confusing.  He makes his living off of foreign women. He never asks me to dance.  I am not worth it.  I have nothing for him.  Years ago I might have been an opportunity.  The shopping bag lady at my table is invited to dance by him.  She thinks it is because she dances so well.  It is because he is not sure where she is from. He has that smile pasted on his face.  I don't know how he can continue to dance night after night with women who cannot.  I suppose when you finally hit the jackpot, it is worth it.  He should consider working on a cruise ship.  He has the perfect smile.

I go to dance a tanda with one of my favorite dancers. He asks me how I am.  I tell him much better now.  "How many years are we celebrating your presence here in Argentina?" he asks me.  I tell him I am going into my 5th year.  It's funny how some people really like it when I tell them I have not been back to the US in 3 years.  The tanda ends and my friend hugs me, he tells me he hopes I feel better.

Back to the shopping bag lady and her friend.  Before I sit down I see Jorge leaning against the bar talking to Alito.  I have already greeted Alito several times.  He loves it that old milonguero.  I kiss Alito again and greet Jorge.  I ask him if he is going to sit with me. He says yes. Thank God.  I tell him about the shopping bag lady.  When we get to the table I ask the shopping bag lady if we could please move her things.  I am polite.  She looks up at me in shock and is about to object, but then she sees Jorge.  She bats her eyes at him and gives him an alluring smile "Disculpame Señor." Oh puulllleeeezzze.  Jorge smiles back at her, hip waders please...the things get moved, and Jorge sits down.

"Sandra?" he asks.  "No viene."  I tell him.  I tell him that she doesn't want to see any cretinos.  I tell him how everyone canceled on me tonight. He asks how my back is. I tell him I am feeling better.  I tell him how I am writing a lot more these days.  

He surprises me when he goes to dance a tanda.  Jorge is shy.  He has been learning to dance for about a year.  The women next to me comments on how I am not dancing.  I tell her "I don't want to dance."  She looks surprised. "One, I have problems with my back, and two, there are few men here I want to dance with, and three, the floor is too crowded." She should talk, she has not danced at all. 

Jorge comes back to the table. "Que bueno Jorge, tu bailes."  He smiles.  I am happy that he is now going out to dance. For the longest time he would just come and sit.  Sandra and I have offered to practice with him but he refused.  He said he wanted to be better, which made no sense at all.

Too many men are giving me the cabaceo, so I decide it is time to go walk around the room and say hello.  I love Gricel.  It is large enough to hold a fair amount of people, but small enough to still be intimate.  The crowd here is different than Lucy's.  It is hard for me.  I have so many friends inside the milonga.  I cannot afford to go to two milongas and see all my friends, yet I miss them when I don't see them.

I make my way around the room wishing my friends happy new year.  I see this fellow who is from France.  He too has decided to live here permanently.  We have not danced together in a long time. I am not sure why, but tonight he invites me. While we are dancing, I ask him about the man at his table, "Tu amigo, es un Frances?" He tells me yes. I tell him I think I know him, I ask him his name. He tells me Alain. I tell him I know him.  He tells me this is impossible as he has not been to Buenos Aires in many years.  When the tanda ends we go back to his table.

"Alain!" I say when I get to their table.  The man looks at me. "Deby!" he exclaims. He stands up and gives me a big hug.  His friend his surprised and amused at once. Alain explains to him we met in 2002 when we stayed at the same tango house.  He is an electrician.  He was appalled by the electrical wiring and ended up rewiring the entire apartment. In the end he fell in love with my friend Claudia. She left with him to go live in France.

I asked him if she was still with him.  He made a face. "No." he tells me, "The relationship lasted only two years." Our other friend is still in shock that Alain and I know each other.  We continue to talk, the 3 of us.  It is a little difficult for me to understand Spanish with heavy French accents.  They help each other to help me.  Alain tells me he has a picture of me he wants to send me.  I give him my email. I hope to see him again before he leaves.

I make my way back to my table.  The shopping bag lady is bending Jorge's ear.  He is very happy to see me.  I tell him how I found my friend Alain.   It is now close to 4:00 am.  Jorge wants to go to La VIruta.  I ask him to drop me at my apartment.  Just before I get ready to leave I see Horacio, one of my favorite dancers inviting me to dance. I tell Jorge I must dance this tanda.

I go into Horacio's embrace.  I have known him for maybe 7 years.  He asked me how my holidays were. I tell him they were spectacular. "You don't go back to the US?"  he asks me.  I tell him "No, everything I have is here now. I don't have anything in the US."  "No family?" he asks. I think about this, before I answer. "Not really, I am the black sheep. My family is here.  Familia de corazon."

Happy New Year!

It is 2009. Happy New Year.  I don't like to spend a whole lot of time talking about last year.  It is over. Done. Gone. You have to look forward not backwards.  I have always been that way.  I see it as a time for new beginnings.  I never understand why people get so depressed.

2008 wasn't so bad.  It was the year I realized I could swear with the best of them.  Beyond, boludo and pelotudo.  My Argentine friends are impressed.  Although my Spanish may never be grammatically correct I live in a 100% Spanish world.  I do not need anyone to help me.  I can call anywhere on the phone, go anywhere, communicate with doctors, lawyers,and create a "quilombo" with the administration of my apartment building all by myself.

This starts my 5th year of living in Argentina and marks the 3rd year that I have not been back to the U.S.  I find myself becoming more Argentine and less American. My Argentine ways are starting to creep into my English. I see it on the faces of the Americans I speak to.  I don't mean to offend them,it just happens.  The opposite of what happened when I first came here.  My American personality saturated my Spanish and offended Argentines. Now that almost never happens - unless it is an Argentine man who is not going to get what he wants from me.

How did I celebrate the new year?  The same way I have since I moved into this apartment in 2005.  I open my doors to foreigners here.  Most do not know that new years is a family holiday here in Argentina. Those that come to dance tango have the perception that we will be dancing in the streets. They are surprised to find most of the restaurants closed and taxis impossible to get.

My doorbell started to ring at 9:30.  A lovely couple from Quebec.   Lisa and her lovely friend.  I have no idea how they found me. Soon my apartment was full of people from France, Germany, Chile, and Sweden.  My friend Deborah came with her friend Alfredo from Ecuador.  After midnight my Argentine friends began to arrive with champagne. 

We had lots and lots of food.  Incredible food.  One of the crazy French guys cooked delicious pasta with sauce and the other Jules (who becomes Julio when he lives in Buenos Aires) served us all.  Amazingly they cleaned up as they cooked.  I decided that I would marry Jules/Julio.  I told him he is the perfect man.  Adorable, he dances tango (well sort of, but I can fix his defects), he lives in my two favorite cities, and he cooks and cleans. He agreed I was the perfect wife - intelligent and beautiful. All night he introduced me as his wife - but only in Paris, as in Buenos Aires, we decided we want our freedom.

I was happy to have Pilar in my house to celebrate with me.  She runs two tango houses.  I have wanted to meet her for years.  We have so many friends in common, but we have never met.  What a wonderful woman she is.  Everything that everyone has said about her.  She came with Angelo, a man I have known for years in the milonga.  I was honored to have them both in my apartment to celebrate with me.

I moved my furniture as much as I could to permit dancing,  A man who looked so familiar to me tells another that I am beautiful dancer.  I watch him dance.  Soon he invites me. I dance with him.  He thanks me and tells me that I am wonderful to dance with.  The French women tell him that I am a professional dancer.  My future husband asks me if that is true.  I tell him I used to be.

The man I danced with is saying good bye, "Where are you going?"  I ask him.  He tells me "I have to go to work."  I don't understand, I thought he was here with the French people. "What do you do?" I ask him.  He tells me he is a professional salsa dancer.  Now I am really excited, as excited as my back will let me be. "I love salsa,"  I tell him,  "I danced salsa for 11 years before I danced tango."  I tell him. "Maybe we can dance sometime." His eyes light up. "I am looking for a tango dancer who I can mix up tango and salsa with. Call me." He hands me his card.  Pepe "El Cubano"  I wonder if he can cook too. I am crazy for Cuban food.

My living room is full of good people, food, champagne, and we are dancing tango.  Then we hear the popping of fireworks.  It is midnight.  Everyone runs to the balcony.  We are kissing and hugging. Piso 17 is the place to be on New Years Eve.  The sky explodes in color.  There are fireworks all over.  Even with the cold and the wind.  It does not stop the Argentines from bringing the new year. 

My Argentine friends ask me how I know all these French and German people.  I tell them I don't.  I don't know any of them.  I explain to them I do this every year.  I open my doors and I never know who will come.  For me it is a wonderful way to bring in the New Year and to make new friends.  I would never ever thought of doing this when I lived in California, yet here I am in Argentina dancing tango with strangers in my living room.  Happy New Year!