TangoSpam:La Vida Con Deby

The Milonga Chronicles: Feels like forever

Friday night.  Amy and I go to a social event for an embassy. As soon as we walk in I see "Chinese Delivery."  I say to Amy "There he is Chinese Delivery." "Where?" she asks.  Before I can point him out he comes up to greet me. I smile and we walk away. I don't want to encourage him.  He can work his routine on someone else.

 It is crowded and the room is really not all that great.  It is impossible to socialize.  We walk around the best we can but decide to stand in one place and just check things out.  We get a glass of champagne.  I win the raffle for a free "Modulation corporeal."  Body molding.  Only in Buenos AIres.  I can only imagine. I kiss everyone thank you.  The woman who owns the salon is thrilled I speak Spanish.  She is very sweet.
I can't wait to make an appointment to find out what this is.  Amy and I make jokes about it.  They have so many different kinds of beauty treatments here it is impossible to keep up. 

We spend our time people watching.  Chinese Delivery is working the room.  He finally settles on a new victim.  Amy asks me "Do you think he using Chinese?"  I say "Nah, maybe pizza, the best pizza in San Telmo or where ever else he has an apartment he is watching he can stick the pictures of the dogs."  She laughs, "Do you think it works?" "Of course."  I say to her, "If it didn't he would not keep doing it. "Hey, the guy has a job, a new car, an apartment (sic), and is good looking.  What else could a girl want?"  "That is all so superficial." she comments.

At about midnight we are both bored and decide to leave. Amy decides to go home.  I have too much energy and I decide to go dance.  Too late for Leonesa.  Should I go to Celia's or Gricel?  I decide to go to Gricel.   I have not been on a Friday for awhile.

When I walk in I am greeted by people standing by the door. "Tanto tiempo Deby." Fabi asks me why I did not call ahead to resever my table.  I apologize and tell her I didn't know that I was going to come. I tell her not to worry, where ever she can put me will be fine.  I follow her to the back.

Like usual I stop at the table of men I have stopped at every Friday night I have gone to Gricel for years.  But tonight is different.  Painfully different. In the seat where Cachito usually sits is another man. I stop and say nothing. The men look at me.  It is awkward. Finally I lean over the stranger to kiss my other friend.  "Hola Linda." he says to me.  I smile.  I smile at the other men and mumble buenos noches.  I follow Fabi to my seat.

I would always stop to kiss Cachito.  He would always try to get me on the lips.  "Hermosa." he would say to me. I would always give him a hug. He would always tell the others we were going to get married.  Everyone would laugh.  I would greet all the men.  It was the same, every week.  Except this week.

Cachito as I always knew him died on April 5 in la milonga del Lujos. Cacho Masci died with friends.  He died in the place he loved the best, the milonga, with his precious tango.  He had been sick for years.  He had heart problems.  He didn't dance as much as he used to.  He still came to listen to the music, to be with friends.

I remember the first time I met him was in Gricel in 2002. I was told he was a good dancer.  He would not even look at me.  I always watched him like I did all the good dancers.  Then one day in 2003 I was here waiting for the subte and someone came up behind me and whispered "Hermosa." I was from the US I turned around ready to clobber whoever it was.  It was Cachito laughing at me.

After that he would greet me.  I had started to run with a different crowd.   In 2003 he asked me to dance.  I won't forget it. It was at Gricel.  He criticised me throughout the entire tanda. "Keep your feet down.  Keep them on the floor.  Lean forward."  When the tanda was over he said to me "Hermosa mujer, don't dance like the show.  Dance like a milonguera. You are in Buenos AIres. "

After that I ran into him on the subte, the colectivo.  He was always on the way to a milonga, an asado. I would see him in the milongas.  He was a friend in the milonga.  I have many friends in the milonga.  We all do.  People we never see  outside of the milonga, but inside we are part of family.

One day maybe a couple years ago or so in El beso he asked me to sit down and talk to him.  "Hermosa." he said to me "Why are you not sharing your life with someone?"  I don't like to talk about my private life in the milonga. He called me Mireya.  Until then I never really knew much about Mireya other than she was blond. 

Me being me I went and searched Mireya on Google.  There are many adaptations about the story of Mireya.  I only read a couple.  "How dare you tell me I am going to die alone."  I said to him.  He said nothing. He took my hand, "La rubia Mireya was the most beautiful woman in the milonga and the best dancer. But she was always alone.  Every man wanted her, but she was always alone."  I remember not saying anything.  He told me to open my heart and trust and then I got a lecture.  Pretty much the same one I get from Amanda from time to time.

After that I always made sure Cachito was the first person I would greet if we were in the same milonga.  I never saw him outside the milonga unless we bumped into each other.  Two months ago we danced in Gricel.  I had not danced with him for a long time. "You don't want to marry me?"  he asked. "No."  I told him.  "Don't take it personally.  I don't want to marry anyone."  "Don't be alone."  he said to me.  The I got another variation of the same lecture. When the tanda ended he gave me a big hug.  That was the last time we talked.  A month ago at Gricel was the last time I saw him.

I look around the room.  There are many people missing from here.  Gricel on Friday nights used to be a happening milonga. Some people are still here, some have scattered to other milongas, and some are too old or too ill to dance.  I don't care.  I still like to come here.  People come to the table to greet me.  I cannot take my eyes off the seat across the floor where Cachito sat for years at his table.  Across the floor on the other side is where my friend Reuben used to sit.  He passed away 1.5 years ago. There are others.

I have been dancing here since 2000.  Gricel was the first milonga I came to. 9 years is not a long time compared to people who have been dancing 40 years.  It is not a short time either.  When my friends die it feels like forever. 

Life in Buenos Aires: Estado de anima (my mental health)

Last night Snow called me from New York.  We had not spoken for a couple of months. Snow was one of my favorite guests, she is now a dear friend.  She stayed with me for a month last year and something clicked between us.  She the Wall Street genius and me, well, is me. 

We talked about our lives, personal and professional.  She laughed when I told her I was now a partner in an Argentine software development company. "Don't you ever get tired?"  she asked me.  I told her even I didn't know why I was doing it, but I thought it might be fun.  She is still the Wall Street genius even in the economic mess the US is in.  I admire her intelligence and maturity.

When our conversation ended she said to me "I am glad to hear that you are still happy Debster." I laughed, "Tell that to the people who read my blog.  They think I am sad, melancholy, that I need to leave Buenos Aires." "That's just because they don't know you." She said to me. "You complain a lot, that is what makes you so funny.  They probably think you are serious."

Every time I write about men I get a ton of emails. This time it was I found it amazing that my readers were not only commenting on the state of my mental health they were debating it with each other.  Let it suffice to say I am happy, because if any of you really knew me, I don't stay anywhere I am not happy.  There was a joke in my family.  When I was 4 my mother found all my toys in the trash.  When she asked me why, I told her I was done playing with them.  I didn't want them anymore.  This became synonymous with anything I no longer wanted; boyfriends, clothing, jobs, and places I no longer wanted to live in.  My family would always dredge up this stupid story about how when I was 4 years old I threw out my toys.  I haven't thrown out Buenos Aires yet.

As many comments as I get online, I get probably 10 times as many offline, the majority come to me in Spanish from Argentines.  They mostly translate my blog into Spanish or try to read to practice idiomatic English.  Of course there are many Argentines who have excellent English who also read my blog.  They write to me in Spanish for many reasons.  Some because they believe I should read and write in Spanish, and others because they feel more comfortable in their native language.

When I first started writing this blog many of the comments I received from Argentines were overwhelmingly negative.  Now it is the opposite.  It is interesting to me how this has changed in the 3 years I have been writing.  Most likely because I have changed. Before they saw me as this "Norteamericana who thought" she could live here. Mostly they are surprised at how easily I adapted to life here.  I don't know how easily, but yes, I have adapted. The other comment is that they think I am funny.  That I have managed to understand the craziness of life here and make fun of it.

Do I get any negative comments from Argentines? Sure. But not that many.  Some are because they don't understand exactly what Google or whatever translator they use has conveyed.  Other times it is just because we do not agree.  Like with Dr. Chanta.  Several wrote to tell me about horrible dentists in Spain and Miami. I agree, there are bad dentists all over the world.  I had a nightmare dentist in San Francisco.

My most negative comments seem to come from English speakers.  They want me to be wrong.  How can my experiences be wrong?  Everyone has a different experience of a place.  It does not make one person right and another wrong. It just gives them a different experience.   Go figure.  They post under fictitious email accounts because they don't have the huevos to put their own email account and name to their comments.  I suppose it gives them a feeling of power to say something nasty.  "OK today I am going to say something nasty to Deby because her blog is on Globalpost and mine isn't."

I don't expect everyone to agree with me or even to like me, but I am constantly amazed at the time people take to write incredibly nasty, vicious, and what they think will be hurtful comments.  I wish I had a peso for every time someone called me "fat" (I am 5´4 and 122lbs or 164cm and 56kg) or "ugly" (whatever)"old" (one guy told me to do something about it and I am trying to figure out what, if any of you have any suggestions please let me know.) or a terrible dancer or bad writer.  You would think that if they had such adverse reactions to my blog they would never read it again. But no, I have actual blog cyber-stalkers who continue to harass me with their  smartass or vicious comments.  You have to wonder how pathetic their lives are to do that.

When I decide to write in my blog I take slices of my life and write about them.  I cannot write about every single thing I do, that would be totally boring.  I wrote about Dr. Chanta because I thought it was funny.  Here was this stupid idiot dentist trying to pull 4 live teeth out of my mouth and he completely ignored the tooth that was giving me problems.  He was so melodramatic.  I suppose I could write about my current dentist Leo, but that would be boring.  What could I say after he is so sweet and nice and he has the hands of an angel and takes my insurance and found the tooth that was killing me? Nothing.  I mean come on, do you guys really want to read about that?

Or I could write about the times I go to the milongas and I fall asleep because it is boring. That would make an interesting blog. I don't think so.  I have an acerbic sense of humor. I always have.  Please don't tell me Gigi is the only person in the world that understands my sense of humor.  We decided when we are going to die we are going to jump off the balcony together.  Maybe Sandra will video it. She could put it on Youtube. (JUST KIDDING...)

I am amazed that the English speakers always fixate on the fact I am unhappy or see things so darkly. They take things so seriously like Snow said. Not all of you.  Some of you see the humor in my posts.  There is a woman in East Germany who wrote to me to tell me she loves my acerbic sense of humor.  I was amazed.  LIghten up guys.  Sometimes I am being funny.  Maybe I should be like cigarettes and post a warning - this post is depressing...

For you English speakers, including the ones who have come here a few times, this is Latin America. This is Buenos AIres which is very different from the rest of Latin America.  Coming here for vacation or even a few months is not the same as living here.  You cannot compare this culture to your own. It is completely different.  Changing your country is not an easy thing.  It is not only learning a new language it is learning a completely new way of life.  You cannot bring your old way of life with you. You have to forget it.

I have been able to adapt in most ways to my new country. I cannot however lose my sense of self - my self esteem, my independence. These are things American women fought hard for.  These are things that Argentine women are just starting to maybe look at.  American men changed because American women demanded it. Argentine men have not changed because there is no reason for them to change. This is their culture.

Asking me to find more "educated men?" What does that mean? More educated than a lawyer, judge, doctor, law professor, journalist?  More educated than vice president of a large company?  This is not a culture that sees women as equals regardless of how educated you are.  While I am sure there are men here who might think this way, I have not found them. At least as boyfriend material.  Men and women are not friends here.  Not like we are in the US, or England, or other countries.  It is not easy to start a relationship with someone who does not want to see you as a friend. So what are you? An object, property. 

So now we come to that question, "Why do I live here?"  Well obviously it is not for the men. I live here because I like it. Because I am never alone.  Because life is never boring.  There is always something new to learn.  (Usually because they are always changing the rules) While I love to have a man in my life it is not the most important thing.  The most important thing is to be happy, and that I am. 

If I was still in the US I could only imagine what my life would be like now.  I would be freaking out. Would I have still have clients?  Could I pay my mortgage?  I would be living in a fear driven environment.  Worst of all I would probably not have the money to come here.  Then I truly would be sad.

Life in Buenos Aires: Pura Ficción..and maybe a little more about the men

My ISP Arnet often gives free tickets to the theater or the movies.  When I can I like to take advantage of it. On Wednesday I invited my "hermanita" (little sister) Amy to go with me. She is part of a group of girls I call my little sisters.  They are beautiful women mostly in their mid to late 20s.  Some are Argentine, some are American, and one is Mexican.  They live here, they are getting their masters degrees in International Finance and or Business.  The Americans are all bi-lingual.  I enjoy their company. 

I didn't know much about the play other than Oscar Martinez is making a big comeback after 7 years.  He wrote, directed, and acts in the play.  All the big stars came to the opening.  He acts with Claudia Fontán, a well known actress.  The play was billed as a comedy.

I love the theater.  Amy and I were excited to go.  The free tickets give me an excuse, and if the play is not that good, I have not lost anything.  We decide to have dinner after the show rather than before.  After all, this is Buenos Aires.  Who eats before 8:00 pm here?

We take our seats in the Pablo Neruda theater.  It is a small but beautiful theater located off Corrientes.  I was here about 6 years ago to see another production.  The only problem was then I could not understand a word. 

The play begins to unfold. Oliver Martinez is on the phone. He and Fontán play actors in the play who are also a couple.  She comes in.  She asks a question about their daughter and he immediately lashes out at her.  OK, in my culture, Northamerican culture, this is what we perceive this type of behavior to be.  He does not talk to her, he talks at her, as if she is an annoying fly bugging him.  She cowers.

Amy and I watch at first in disbelief and then in horror as this play unfolds.  Martinez constantly puts  Fontán on the defensive. He makes fun of her. He puts her down. Fontán struggles to maintain her self esteem which Martinez also makes fun of.  She wants to know his relationship with his ex-wife, he treats her like an idiot.  The audience laughs.

Amy and I look at each other.  Both of us understand this play.  There is no language barrier. I say to her "I guess this is a cultural thing we don't get."  She says to me "How can anyone think this is funny?" It isn't like the audience is erupting in huge gales of laughter, but they are laughing, at him, putting her down.

As the play continues, for us it becomes more depressing. Amy comments to me "They are not communicating.  They talk at each other.  When she tries to talk to him he talks louder. He finds something hurtful to say to her."  I say to Amy "There are 3 of my relationships up there on the stage. Arrogant jerks who would refuse to listen."  "He makes everything her fault." Amy says to me.

The play ended with her wearing a dress fit for a 20 year old.  The stereotypical Porteño relationship.  Him pontificating, her hanging on every word.   She afraid in the end to say anything.  Better to have a man than no man at all.  Keep your anger inside.  They don't listen anyway.

This is a comedy?  OK, I understand, I am not from this culture.  Just maybe Martinez was being funny being insulting and putting down Fontán throughout the play. Then how come it was not a two way street?  All the laughs were at her expense, none at his.  Just like in real life.

I could imagine the same subject matter with someone like Enrique Pinti.  I am sure it would be hysterically funny and not at the expense of the woman.  This was another example to us how women are undermined here.  I am sure there was a message in this play.  I just didn't get it. Neither did Amy.

We went for dinner after the play.  My little sis wants to talk.  "How am I ever going to survive in this culture?" she asks me.  "I am not an object."  "Then do not let men treat you as one."  I tell her. "You know how I always say I have my first and last date on the same date.  There is no reason to stick around if the guy has that mentality.  It doesn't matter how sweet, how nice, because eventually they are what they are."  "Remember when he said the part about the emails?"  she says.  We both laugh.  Both of us have had men become angry with us because we did not answer emails or text messages fast enough.  The fact that we were working or busy does not matter.  You are girfriend on demand.

I am in my 5th year of living here.  I have learned alot. This is not my culture although I have adapted to it. I love living here.  I am not the same person I was when I came here, but in some ways I am still a California girl in my independence.  In my belief that women need to have their own life, that women should be able to choose their own path, and most important, that I do not need a man to be a complete person.

I do not accept the subtle ways that men put women down here.  Their need to constantly feel superior.  That went out in the 50s for us.  I will not pander to that ego.  Yet I watch my friends, all women who work, who are "independent" cloy for the attention of a man and if they have to - claw each other to death to get it.  I prefer to sit on the sidelines and watch.

There are women here who break up the relationships of other women.  Not because they want that man, but because they are jealous their friend has something they don't. So they do what they can to ruin it.  Once the relationship is ruined they are happy.  Can you imagine?  I cannot.  I am sure there are women like that everywhere, but there are an abundance here.

I watch my friends sit by the phone waiting for their "boyfriends" to call.  They trip over themselves to text their messages, they cancel plans with friends, the second the boyfriend demands attention.  To not do these things means losing the boyfriend.  He will be punitive.  There is no talking it out, negotiating, communicating.  Yet, the women all complain about the men and they support this behavior.

Men complain that women are manipulative - histerica.  I don't support that behavior either, but when no one listens to you and constantly puts you down?  What do you do to get attention?  If you are insecure you become manipulative to get what you want.

I find in conversations with men they tell me I am "exigente" - demanding.  Women are not supposed to be exigente.  It is not feminine.  You are just supposed to accept what is said to you, smile, and move on.  I of course tend to stand up for myself, which is unheard of, without histerica or manipulation.

Yesterday with a man I am seeing we were talking about relationships. I told him I do not like how the men talk to women, the tone of voice they use.  He told me that I need to understand the economic responsibilities that men have. I was shocked but wanted to hear his line of thinking.  He went on to say about how men have to provide and women expect certain things and they have all this pressure on them.  I wanted to strangle him.

Instead I counted to 10 and said to him, "I don't care what pressures you have, you have no right to talk to anyone, let alone your wife or girlfriend like she is a dog."  He looked at me like I was from Outer Space, but then I am used to that look. He started to tell me how difficult his life has been how he had to start working at 14.  I cut him off. I am so tired of hearing about the history of Argentina.

I say to him "I don't feel sorry for you.  I work.  I have worked my whole life and I continue to work. I started working at 14 as well.  I never depended on a man for anything. Working and having problems still does not give you the right to treat anyone like an object."  I continue "You have a great life. What does it matter what happened in the past? Look at what happened to me?  I came here with my mangled Spanish, I had to learn Argentine Spanish, your customs.  I was in a horrible car accident.  I still suffer from the damage done to my body. How can you justify men talking to women the way they do because they had "economic hardships?  With your reasoning I should be able to go out and commit murder."

He blinks. "Estas muy dura." he says to me. "Exigente tambien." I say to him. Then he starts the crap about working since he was 14. I want to punch him. "But you are Argentine, this is your country, you speak the language. Can you imagine how I felt not being able to walk, my so called boyfriend walking out on me after he ran the red light that caused all the damage to my body? Here I was in Argentina with all these problems and you are complaining about working since you are 14.  I am sorry I don't feel sorry for you."

"Do you regret coming here?" he asks. "Not at all."  I say to him.  "If I did, I would leave." His mouth drops open in shock.  I think now the full force of my independence has hit him between the eyes. "Why would I stay somewhere I didn't want to be?  I would just leave. I could go back to my country, to Australia, Spain.  I would never stay anywhere I didn't want to be."

 

The Milonga Chronicles: 4 blocks back in time

I say goodbye to my friends at Leonesa.  Lucy gives me another one of her famous hugs.  She wants to know if she should save me a chair for Wednesday.  I tell her no.  I am going to the theater on Wednesday.  She looks sad.  "I am loyal to you.  No precupes."  I say to her.  "No voy de otra milonga." Oh yeah like I would really go to Fish Face's milonga.  I would take up knitting first. She smiles.  I do not want to tell her I will not be there next Friday either.  Amanda is dancing with Beto at Canning.  There is no question that I will go to Canning to be with Amanda.  She would kill me if I didn't come. I think I would end up tossed over my own balcony.

I walk down the majestic stairs of Leonesa to the street.  I am wearing my heels.  I was too lazy to change.  A little daring.  Only because the neighborhood sucks.  I always warn my guests about this neighborhood.  I tell them to always take a taxi at night.  The chances of being mugged here are very good for foreigners.

I remember this walk well.  In 2003 when Oscar and Lucia had the milonga at Lo de Celia on Thursdays we would go there first.  What a great milonga that was.  Then at midnight we would walk down to Niño Bien and dance until 4 am.  I was very nervous about the neighborhood.  People had scared the hell out of me.  Rightly so I suppose.  I would always look for someone to walk with me.  Usually it would be my friend Reuben.  Another friend who has since died.  Another milonguero.

Those were special times.  I am glad that I got to be at the end of that era. Before tango became big business.  I am glad that I got to be a part of something that will be only a history.  I walk carefully so I don't fall.  The sidewalks are deadly.  I should have changed my shoes.  I need to stop daydreaming and pay attention.

I run upstairs to Celia´s.  When I get to the window to pay Mario is shocked.  He has not seen me for a long time. He gives me a big smile and reaches through the window to touch me.  I remember Celia's when there was no window.  When Mario could reach over and give me that hug almost falling off his stool.

I go through the curtain.  I think Dario is in shock seeing me.  When I told him on Thursday I was coming I don't think he believed me.  "Hay un groupo de Chinos?"  I ask him.  He gives me a bizzare look.  "Son mis amigos."  He tells me that there is only one table of chinos.  He leads me over there.  But before we get there he asks me "Che, how does one chino get so many beautiful girls and you?"  I laugh and say "Es un buen amante." (He is a good lover) Dario opens his eyes wide and says nothing. I go to the table and greet them.

These are my friends from Singapore.  I love people from Singapore.  Louis has a great blog.  We have sent each other emails and when he told me he was coming to BA I told him we had to get together. Here he is with a group of friends, all women.  I sit down to join them.

I look around the room to see who is there. Five years ago this room would have been packed to standing room only.  You would have been gasping for air because of the smoke.  There was no better place to dance than Lo de Celia's on a Friday night.  Or any night Celia had a baile.  It was where all the best dancers went.  This was where I learned to dance.  I look at the women.  Not even Yuli is here. None of the women who taught me to dance are here.  Not one of them.  I don't know where any of them are now.  Only Amanda.

Now I look at the men.  Interesting.  Men who used to go to Gricel on Friday are here. Pocho is not here.  He always sat by the bar, dapper in a suit. Tito is gone. Orlando.  Men who were here every night of the week. I see a few familiar faces.  Still it is not even a shadow of what is was before.

A man invites me to dance.  The music of Dany would put anyone in the mood to dance regardless.  I wait for the man to come get me.  In Celia the codes are still observed. He takes me to the floor. During the course of the tanda, he realizes he knows me.  I catch him up on my life.  I don't remember the last time I saw him. Just before the tanda ends he says to me "Tell me something, the guy at your table, how does he get all you beautiful women?"  I smile and say "Es un buen amante." and walk back to my seat. 

One of the young women at the table Belinda has been in BA for quite sometime.  She is a friend of some of my other friends from Singapore.  I give her a bad time for not calling me.  She is as sweet as she is beautiful.  I find this a common trait in people from Singapore.  They are such nice people.  

One of the men I know comes to the table.  He asks me in Spanish who the best dancer of the women are.  I ask Louis.  He shrugs his shoulders.  I tell my friend they are all good dancers and to just select whoever he wants to dance with.  He selects Louis' companion.  When he brings her back to the table he asks me to ask Louis if he is their teacher.  Louis says no.  He tells them she dances very well.  They he says to me "How does that guy get so many beautiful women?" I smile at him and say "Es un buen amante."  Poor Louis, he would probably die if he knew what I was doing.

I am having a great time. I get invited to dance milonga.  I almost never dance milonga.  I know this man dances well.  I am happy to be invited.  I tell him so.  He laughs, "Who else would I dance with? The others would probably die before the tanda was over."  Oh yes, the subtle finesse of the Argentine male.

I realize that I am dancing "un monton" and I am having a great time.  My friends from Singapore are the perfect company.  It isn't only that.  Celia's feels so good.  It is a small place but not too small.  Tonight the dancers are good.  I realize that this week I have been dancing more than normal.

I ask Louis how he liked La Viruta.  He smiles "Well I had to check it out."  Belinda is more blunt "That place is for sex."  She makes me laugh.  This starts a discussion on the milongas.  I am interested to hear their opinions.  Unlike many of my guests, we seem to share the same opinons of places.  These guys are young.  They are in their 30s.

They say that this is one of their favorite places.  That surprises me.  I ask them why.  They tell me they feel really comfortable here.  That Celia's is the only place no one has tried to hustle them.  To sell them anything, that people are very polite.  I go for the major complaint - "But you guys are so young."  They give me this look.  "So what," says one of the girls.  "I like it here.  I like how the people are.  Everyone dances nice.  Every acts nice.  The woman make themselves up nice. The men just want to dance with you."  Another one of the girls says "We went to Canning.  It was horrible.  They can't dance there. I would rather be here." 

I find it interesting because I have guests who stay with me who are in their 50s and 60s and rag on about the age of the dancers.  But then I am not sure what they are coming here for anyway.  The Buenos Aires experience I suppose. Yet here are these young people in their 30s from Singapore who have managed to find a spirit here not many find.

I go to dance with another friend of mine.  I have not danced with him for awhile.  Last time I saw him he told me he saw me in Quilmes with my buddy.  "Still dancing with el maestro?" he asks me.  "He's on vacation." I tell him.  He looks confused.  "No, I just saw him."  "On vacation from me." I answer.  He laughs.  "Rubia, rubia," The men from the south have their own form of dance.  It hooks me everytime. "Portate bien Rubia" he tells me.  "No tengo otra opcion."  I tell him.

I am at the table alone.  All of my friends are dancing.  I am happy for them.  A man comes to the table. "Bailas?"  "No gracias." I say to him. He retorts rather nastily "No sabes que perdiste." (You don't know what you lost) I say nothing. Then he comes back to the table looks me up and down and goes "RUBIA, pedistes muchas" I turn my head.  He walks away. Que tonto.

Before I catch my breath another walks over and goes "Bailas?"  I return "No gracias." Of course because he has just made a fool of himself he asks "Sabes que a bailar?"  He leaves when he sees the waiter rapidly approaching the table.  I have known this waiter for years.  He works several milongas.

He asks me "Que paso con los hombres?"  I ask him "El gordo es un boludo?"  He laughs "Demasiado."  I tell him what happened and then the other.  He laughs again.  "You always did have a way with men." "Gracias te amo tambien." 

It is almost 3:30.  I am exhausted.  I remember when I would stay here until 6:00 am and then go across the street to the gas station for coffee and medialundas.  I have had 3 nights out until 4:00 am and getting up at 8:15 for la demonia Maximiliana. (Now there is someone that needs to go over the balcony at times)

I say goodbye to my friends.  We plan to get see each other on Monday at Atilio's.  I tell Belinda to please call me.  I say goodbye to Dany, Ceasar, and to Johny. I go to say goodbye to Dario.  As I am talking to him they play the Cumparasita. "COMO?  They are closing? What?  It is only 3:30."  I say to Dario.  He tells me no they always close at 3:30. "Since when?" I demand.  He gives me some answer. Whatever.  I go down the stairs. I wait on the corner for a taxi. Another night ending at 4:00 am.

The Milonga Chronicles: Two to go

I am dancing a lot.  Not only that, late.  I have been coming home at 4:00 am lately.  Like the old days.  Only then I was not working.  It would not be so bad if I could sleep in, but at 8:15 my doggy alarm clock Maximiliana starts with the wimper, which slowly turns into a whine, which if I don't get up turns into a yappy bark. Some days flying lessons off the balcony sound like a good idea.  She is the pit bull Roxie never was.

I am exhausted. I wanted to take a nap but the phone kept ringing.  "Donde estas"  "Donde va a ir"  "Te vas a la milonga?"  I don't know why I answer, but I do.  How can I help it?  The phone is right there.  So after an hour and half I give up.

I decide to go to Lucy and Luis (Franca too) a little bit earlier.  Later I promised to meet my friends from Singapore at Lo de Celia.  It has been over two years since I have been to Lo de Celia on a Friday night.  They want to go everywhere and this was another place on their list.

I am not sure whether to drink mate or coffee to wake up.  I do a milonguero special.  I take 2 cafaspirina plus.  This is aspirin with a heavy dose of cafein.  I decide on the mate.  Natural energy mixed with cafein.  Hopefully it will help.

It is a holiday weekend so the milongas will be crowded.  I text Lucy to save me a chair.  My friends are all scattered.  I decide not to wait for anyone and to just go.  After an hour of hating all my clothes I finally decide on something.  Then I have 20 minutes of hating my hair.  It is a girl thing.  Now that my hair is long I actually have to do something to it.  At least I like my makeup.  My face is OK too.

I take the subte.  Going there is no problem.  Coming home I will have to take a taxi.  I am not too thrilled about that.  I have no monedas.  It is amazing that because I do not have 1.25 in monedas I have to pay 18 pesos to take a taxi.  I can only hope that one of the mozos tonight will take pity and give me some monedas.  If Amanda were working in the bathroom I know she would give me some.  She no longer works Fridays in Leonesa.  I miss her.

From the street I hear the sounds of tango. I am no longer tired.  I almost run up the stairs to the milonga. Franca grabs me in a  big hug.  I greet everyone as I pay.  "Yo soy tu amiga" I say as I pay. I have the exact change of 15 pesos. Everyone laughs, "Siempre estas nuestra amiga."

I push through the curtain to go into the milonga. It is only 8:00 and the place is packed.  I wonder if I will have a place to sit.  I wonder if Ana is here.  I know Pia is in Mendoza. Lucy throws her arms around me. She takes my hand. "Tienes lugar para mi?"  I ask her.  She gives me "a look." ¿Tengo LUGAR para vos, claro, tengo lugar para vos."  She leads me to the table I normally sit at to the seat in front.  I guess Fan Woman is not coming tonight.  Usually Fan Woman sits there and I sit behind Fan Woman.  Come to think of it, I haven't seen Fan Woman for awhile.

I greet the woman across from me.  The rest of the women are foreigners.  I smile at them.  I greet the women at the table next to me.  The milonga is packed.  I don't know if I like this.  It will not be easy to dance.  It looks like there are 15 women for every man, the majority are tourists - foreign women.  What must they think?  They come here to dance and there is not enough men.  A world problem.

I don't care.  I like to listen to the music.  I know I will dance.  I look to my left.  I am being invited. I go to dance with my friend. "How lucky I am." he says to me. "Why is that?"  I ask.  "I don't see you for so long, then I danced with you yesterday and again today.  I laugh, "Do you call that luck?"  We both laugh.

When the tanda ends he takes me back to the table.  I am content to sit.  It is a zoo out there. A woman dances in front of our table.  She is doing boleos.  The woman next to me has the same reaction I do.  We abruptly push our chairs back.  We are afraid of being kicked.  The man she is dancing with gives us an apologetic smile.  Her boleos are not being led.

The woman next to me says "Que tonta, no sabe nada las extranjeras."  I explain to her it is how they are taught.  "De donde sos vos?" she says to me.  I tell her I am from the US but I live here now. She says she figured that much since I am always around. She says she doesn't understand why the foreign women lift their feet when they see there is no space.  Force of habit.

I go to greet my friends.  Others come by the table and stop to greet me.  It is too crowded. I feel kind of bored.  I see one of my favorite dancers come in.  I smile at him.  He takes a seat at a table near the front.  At the next tanda he invites me to dance.

Always a dapper figure, well dressed. He askes me how my business is going.  I tell him my partners and I are working well together.  I am rewriting the website.  I am not quite sure what he does outside of his horses, but it is something.  I know he finds me un "bicho rado."  He thinks it is interesting that I am a partner in an Argentine software company.  "I am the only woman in the business."  I tell him. That gives him a start. "Really?  How do you like that?"  I tell him "In computers I am used to it.  My partners are great. They respect me."

He looks around the room.  "I cannot believe all the foreigners who are here."  he says to me.  He always comments on this to me.  "Who dances with them?"  "They are waiting for you!" I tease him.  Somehow he never sees this as a joke. "I just dance with my friends." he tells me.  "You and a few others.  I come after work for a couple of hours to relax before going home."  I know several men have said the same to me.  But not all of them...no, not all of them.

The tanda ends and I go back to my seat. A young man invites me to dance.  He is young.  Maybe 22 at the most.  A little guy dressed up as a tango dancer. He keeps pulling me off my axis.  He is using his left hand to lead.  He keeps laughing.  I am not sure if it is a nervous laugh or if it is because he thinks the reason we are having problems is because of me.  They are never too young for machismo.  I am glad he waited to invite towards the end of the tanda.  He is a little insufferable. 

Now I am invited by the other end of the spectrum. An old guy who thinks he is a show dancer.  I like him.  But I always have to refuse his dates.  He has given me his phone number many times. As soon as the first song begins he starts to tell me what to do.  I am not in the mood. I tell him "Can we please just dance?"  He tells me he needs to teach me.  I want to smack him across his little bald head. I tell him I do not want a lesson and besides that it is rude to teach in the milonga.  The milonga is to enjoy.

This does not stop him. I think of all the conversations I have had about his dancing with Amanda, with Brande.  We are not talking about a stellar dancer here.  I want to be polite but he is making it very difficult. "You need to learn he tells me."  "Fair enough" I shoot back at him.  "Then can we work on your posture?  Because your posture really bothers me."  He is shocked. "My posture?  What is wrong with my posture?" he asks. I just look at him. "My giros would be much lighter and I would be able to turn much farther if you had better posture." Finally he shuts up.  He is mad.

I know, Argentine women do not say anything.  They allow men to beat them down. They smile and listen.  Because the other side is that then they will not be asked to dance.  But who wants to dance with someone who is constantly criticizing them?  Especially when they are not that good?  I am not that desperate.

The tanda ends. He is mad.  I am sure he will go back to the table and complain about me.  I know the milongueros find me amusing. They know I don't care.  Sometimes they call me Mireya.  It is time for me to go.  I pay the mozo.  I get ready to walk to Lo de Celia. Just like the old days. Two milongas in one night.

Life in Buenos Aires: A trip to Dr. Chanta

Most of my friends here are Argentine although I do have some friends from other countries.  I am in my fifth year of living here.  It is not easy to live here.  For lots of reasons.  Once you get beyond the "system", you have to make a life for yourself.

Even a trip to the dentist can be a monumental task for some.  I am lucky I speak Spanish.  I do not have to depend on finding people who speak English.  I only need to find people who are good at what they do. I cannot imagine if I also had to make sure the person spoke English as well.

About a year ago I decided to change my dentist.  I have spent the past year in an "interview" process.  I would make an appointment with a dentist and see how they were.  Check out their office, staff, equipment.  Dentists here are different than in the US.  Not all of them have x-ray machines in their offices.  Even when they do, they still send you off to a special dental x-ray place to take the full mouth and panoramic ones.  The good thing is you own your x-rays here so you can take them with you from dentist to dentist.

My health plan covers dental, everything but what is done in a lab.  There are lots of good dentists.  The trick is finding the one that accepts your insurance.  The same as anywhere I suppose.  My insurance actually has their own dentists. 

I went to several dentists including the ones from my insurance.  None of them were horrendous, I just did not think they were all that great.  I had some specific shall we say issues,  and I didn't think any of them were being addressed.  Then one of the "specific issues" started to get worse.  I decided I needed to really step up my quest for a dentist.

On one of the ex-pat lists a woman sang the praises of a dentist.  "He was a God." she said. He saved her husband from the throes of a horrible dentist.  They got his name from the embassy.  Actually from 2 English speaking embassies.  Now understand something.  Getting a name from the embassy means absolutely nothing in terms of quality.  It just means that person speaks that language.

So I called to make an appointment with Dr. Smiley.  I was told I needed x-rays.  I told them I had x-rays.  My x-rays were 6 months old.  I was told Dr. Smiley ONLY accepts x-rays from a certain lab.  OK.  This means going to Dr. Smileys office, getting an "orden", going and getting the x-rays, BEFORE you can get an appointment.

Dr. Smiley's office is beautiful. Modern, clean. Computers, lots of great magazines.  It screams US DENTAL OFFICE.  He even has magazines in English.  Although the receptionist speaks English she is happy I speak Spanish.  I demand she make an appointment for me.  She does not want to make the appointment until I take the x-rays.  In the end she finally does - a month later.  Dr. Smiley is on vacation.

Appointment day comes.  When I check in with the receptionist she asks for my x-rays.  I am told Dr. Smiley must study them before seeing me.  Whatever.  Finally I am ushered into see Dr. Smiley and a team.  I am greeted in English with thick Argentine accents.  I speak in Spanish.  I really wish they would speak in Spanish. 

I look around the room.  The latest technology.  Large gas plasma screens, computers.  It is like an advertisement for modern dental technology.  They could film a commercial here.  Dr. Smiley and his staff are all color coordinated with the room.  Finally they realize I am speaking Spanish.  He smiles at me. It is the smile of a cougar.  "Wouldn't you be more comfortable speaking English?"  he asks.  (I think to myself this is sort of a stupid question as I am speaking naturally in Spanish.)

I smile back. "No, actually not."  One of his "Team members" smiles at me, "But you came from the embassy so you must want to speak English." I tell them, "No trabajo por la embajada." (I don't work for the embassy.) The other Doublemint Team twin gives me her best Argentine girl smile "No the embassy recommended you to us."

I laugh and still speaking in Spanish I explain to them I found their information on an expat website. They are almost let down.  They ask who was the referrer and I told them I didn't remember.  I let them know how long I was living here.  They ask me again about English.  I ask the dentist "Have you lived in the US or did you go to school there?"  He shakes his head.  He tells me that he likes Miami and goes there frequently (like a good Argentine) and sometimes takes a dental extension course, but no he has not lived or worked there.) "Then please speak Spanish." I request. "If I don't understand something I will ask you to explain it to me."  I don't trust his English.

Now Dr.Smiley looks very sad.  "We need to talk about your mouth."  If he tells me he is going to pull out my bridge I am going to take the mean looking dental instrument and stab him with it.  I notice that my x-rays are no where to be seen. 

Dr. Smiley looks like he just lost his best friend.  He touches my hand.  "This is so hard for me." he says.  His dental team in the back hang their heads.  They look like the backup group for Martha and the Vandellas.  "You are a beautiful girl and I don't know how to prepare you psychologically for what I am going to tell you."  I eye the dental tool.  He sighs.  I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes.

"You have many problems with your mouth," he continues. I am thinking the drill to his eye might be more fun.  I am waiting for his dental team to start softly crooning "doo opp doo opp".  Dr. Smiley is changing into DR. CHANTA!*  THE GREAT DENTAL DECEIVER! YES!  Well I can play this game too.  I look sad.

"You see," he says to me. "You have a tremendous loss of bone in your mouth." I open my eyes wide.  Amazing the periodontist I saw a couple of months ago never noticed this.  Maybe she should take lessons from Dr. Chanta.  "And because of that there are problems with the foundations of your teeth." I am ready to pick up that sharp dental tool the second he says "take out your bridge."  I can see the headlines in Clarin now "Wacko NorteAmericana stabs dentist and his team over prognosis"  Actually it would make better headlines in Cronica...

Dr. Chanta touches my hand again. "I am sorry to tell you, but you have 4 teeth that need implants." I smile at him, which shocks the hell out of him.  Maybe he saw me eyeing the dental tool.  "Is that all?"  I say to him.  I think he thinks I don't understand.  "He takes my hand in his "You have 4 teeth with fractured roots.  They have to be pulled."  He looks down.  He looks like he is going to cry.  Poor Dr. Chanta.  Swiss Medical doesn't pay for Implants, the patient does.  I wonder if he going to buy a new gas plasma screen, or something more fun with the implant money he thinks he is going to get from me.

"How do you know this?"  I ask him.  "I studied your x-rays before you came in." he tells me.  You know most dentists would have them up on the screen.  Mine are still in the envelope.  Maybe they were too scary for him to leave out.  Maybe he is clairvoyant as well as being a chanta. The Greek Chorus formerly known as his dental team take turns looking sad.  They need to take gospel singing lessons to provide background vocals for Dr. Chanta.

I am curious which of my teeth Dr. Chanta wants to pull to finance his next trip to Miami. He points them out to me using the dental tool.  Interesting.  The tooth that bothers me isn't one of them.  I wonder how he decided on these 4.  I know that fractured roots on a tooth rarely show up on a x-ray.  If the roots were fractured the tooth would be loose.  Even then they would have to open up the gum to make sure it was fractured before pulling it.  None of these teeth are close to being lose.  What a jerk!

I decide to yank his chain a little. "Well, I know I have lots of problems. My teeth are very important to me. What are my options?"  I see a little glimmer of greed go on in his eyes.  "He says to me "You can either do this or nothing.  If you do nothing then the teeth will fall out.  Eventually all your teeth are going to move and you will have a terrible problem. But you would not do that, you are too beautiful a girl to walk around with no teeth in your mouth."  I am trying to visualize what he would look like without teeth if I knocked them all out.

"Oh, yes, you need bone implants too." he tells me. "We will do the bone implants, the implants at the same time."  This guy is nuts.  I know enough to know that he is one scary dental nightmare.  I don't care if he has posters in English from Oral B.   I say to him "Wow, great.  I want to do this as fast as possible." 

Then I can't help myself. "What about this tooth?"  I ask him.  It is the tooth that is bothering me. He gives it a cursory glance. "Well that gold crown is ugly.  We can replace it with a porcelain one."  I don't bother to tell him that tooth hurts and ask him why is it gray.  He is too busy having multiple orgasms over pulling my 4 teeth for implants.

Dr. Chanta starts to tell me how his women patients are much smarter than his male patients.  That they take care of their teeth.  That his male patients do not.  I am sure, they probably figure the guy out.  Then he asks me if I have a boyfriend.  I tell him no.  Of course since I am American he probably has the angle figured out, he goes on about how the Argentine man doesn't know how to treat women. I am sure he wants to elicit a response from me. I should give him my blog address, but I keep silent. This is too good of theater.  He tells me that because he spends so much time in the US (I am sure if you keep pulling live teeth to sell implants)he has learned that woman deserve so much better than how they are treated in Argentina. Here is my favorite quote of Dr. Chanta "Argentine men do not know how to kiss."  I wonder how he knows that...

Anyway, he  tells me the receptionist will write me an orden for a cat scan of my mouth and tells me that we will start as soon as I have it.  When I get up, he gives me a big hug and tells me "Don't worry, you will be beautiful." Then he gives me a big toothy smile.  UGH!  For a guy who sells implants he should do something about his own smile.  Maybe he should find a dentist that does veneers.

I go out to his reception area. The room is filled with women, young girls. I wonder how many were referred because he speaks "English."  When the receptionist hands me the orden I ask for my x-rays.  I am surprised when she refuses to give them to me. "We want to make sure they are here when you come back." she says.  I realize that I am going to have to fight with her and I don't feel like it. 

When I leave I look back at all the women in the waiting room.  I wonder if the dentist tells them too, that Argentine men don't know how to kiss.

*The definition of chanta is a con artist, a cheat or a swindler, someone who deceives on purpose